Tangled up in Pain

by Charlotte Byrd

  I didn’t have to worry about her spending time with Aurora or Andrew, for that matter. It was just the two of us all of her life and that was fine by me.

  “So, tell me about you,” Aurora says, finishing her food. “You leaving this house after all of this time…what brought about this change?”

  Pictures of me driving around and attending formal events have been circulating on various social media accounts.

  “Harley Burke.”

  “Ah, so…tell me everything,” Aurora says excitedly.

  After Lila’s death, and my self-imposed seclusion, Aurora was one of the only people with whom I could talk about everything honestly.

  A few months after the funeral, which she did not attend, she reached out to me and we just started texting each other.

  The texts turned into an occasional phone call and then a weekly one.

  While she wasn’t there for me during our marriage and Lila’s early years, she was there for me in the aftermath.

  And she knew everything that I’d been going through.

  “C’mon, tell me. She must be one hell of a girl.”

  I debate how much I should share and how much to leave out and eventually decide to just tell her the whole story.

  She listens carefully and then says, “Wow, that sounds intense.”

  “So, what now?”

  “Nothing.” I shrug. “She’s not answering my calls or texts. I went to her place a few times and she refused to come to the door. So…I think it’s over.”

  Aurora shakes her head. “No, it’s not.”

  I laugh. “How do you know that?”

  “She’ll come around. You didn’t do anything that…egregious. I mean, you just asked a question.”

  “I know but that question represented the fact that I didn’t believe her, at least in her mind.”

  Aurora shakes head again. “Just give her some time. It will all work out, trust me.”

  Chapter 36 - Jackson

  When there’s a light at the end of the tunnel…

  The following morning, Aurora comes in carrying bags with designer names on them while I’m eating breakfast.

  “Agh, it feels so good to shop again! There’s nothing like a bit of retail therapy to get you out of a slump.”

  She piles her bags on the dining room table and starts showing me her haul, completely ignoring my less than interested demeanor.

  As she tells me about what she talked about with one saleswoman, she finally notices that I’m not exactly listening.

  “Hello, Jackson, are you there?”

  “No, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind,” I say, staring at my phone. “I just got a call from one of my lawyers. Apparently, Woodward is suing me.”

  “For what? Punching him?”

  “Yeah, but you know it’s a lot more than that. I bruised his ego so now he’s going to make me pay.”

  “Sounds like he had it coming.”

  I shrug, that hardly matters.

  “Well, I’m sure that your lawyers can reach some sort of settlement without this going to court.”

  That’s probably true.

  And given that it was only two punches, the settlement won’t be that expensive.

  The problem is that it’s just another thing on top of all the other shit that has been going on.

  I’ve mentioned some of the issues to Aurora before, but now I go into the nitty gritty details.

  “So, how much money was Woodward going to invest originally?”

  “About two million for a twenty percent share.”

  “And how much money do you need to keep Minetta operational for a few more months while you can find other sources of investment?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug.

  “Give me a figure.”

  “Five hundred thousand? But I don’t know if I can find other investors. Most of my money is gone so I can’t exactly prop Minetta up with my personal funds for much longer. And on paper, due to all the expansions, it’s bleeding money.”

  Aurora taps her fingers on the counter, lost in thought.

  “You need a plan.”

  I shrug. “I’m all ears.”

  “One that doesn’t include selling this house. Because you know that you’re not going to get a good deal on it and whoever buys it will most likely separate it into luxury condos instead of keeping it as one historic mansion.”

  “I didn’t know you were so into this place.”

  “Hell, yes. It’s a part of New York history. And I helped you buy it originally if you remember.”

  “How could I forget? You don’t waste an opportunity to remind me.”

  “Shh, let me think. So…Minetta is now operating entirely on advertising, correct? Articles and podcasts and videos get clicks and you sell advertising space based on those. Like google AdWords.”

  “Not exactly like Google AdWords, but yeah, you have the gist.”

  “So, what you are missing is revenue that comes from somewhere else. Real products that you sell in exchange for money.”

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a five-year-old. I was mentioned in Forbes as one of the richest self-made people in the world.”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. And now you don’t have shit.”

  “Okay, how about this?” She goes to her purse and takes out her checkbook. She writes a check and hands it to me.

  It’s for two million dollars.

  “What are you doing? What is this?”

  “This is the money that I’m going to invest in Minetta but under one condition. We’re going to use it to figure out some way to create revenue that isn’t based on advertising. You don’t have to change any of your content; your content isn’t the problem. People like it. Your problem is that you’re not generating any money.”

  I don’t accept the check right away, even though it’s basically the only thing that will get me out of this horrendous mess.

  Plus, I like her idea. I don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to me before, selling related products is of course the obvious choice.

  Most things are pretty easy and cheap to manufacture and given the size of our readership and social network, it is entirely possible that this company can be turned around and be made profitable again.

  We spend the afternoon brainstorming.

  I pull up a list of online magazines that we own and she helps me to come up with products, which fit the niche and the target audience of that content.

  There are the usual suspects including mugs, notebooks, hats, and pens, but I push her to help me come up with something more relevant as well.

  For example, a list of baby essentials for our two pregnancy blogs and a slew of kid products for our mom-related magazines.

  These are just ideas, nothing is set in stone, and I plan to reach out to the content producers themselves and others in the organization to come up with and narrow the list of appropriate products that we will private label under the Minetta brand.

  When the sun starts to set, I finally start to see a way out of this debacle.

  “I think this is really going to work,” Aurora says. “I mean, look at Costco and their Kirkland private label products. They stand side by side with all the other name brand products on their shelves and people buy them because they are Costco approved and usually a bit more affordable than the other guys.”

  I nod.

  “It’s just going to be a lot of work to find just the right products for the right audience, but I think it’s going to work and make all the difference.”

  “You don’t have to sell me on this anymore, Aurora. I’m on board.”

  She picks up her check from the table and hands it to me again.

  “What kind of percentage are you looking for in return for this?”

  “I thought that you’d never ask.” She smiles.

  “How about thirty?”

  “Woodward was going to take twenty.”

  “Woodward didn’t com
e up with a plan that will make you profitable within half a year.”

  I don’t tell her this, but that’s actually a lot better terms than I thought she would offer. I take the check and shake her hand.

  Chapter 37 - Harley

  When I finish…

  I finish the novel. I don’t have a good title for it yet, but it’s finished. Completely done with an idea for a sequel.

  Perhaps, I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Maybe I should just publish it first and then see if anyone even wants to read the second part of the story.

  Or maybe I should just keep writing and not give a damn.

  That sounds more like it.

  I’ve spent a lot of time writing for other people and trying to figure out what the hell they want.

  And now, this series of novels will be about me and what I want.

  It has a rich guy, a poor girl, damaged histories, and a whole host of obstacles as well as plenty of sexy bits.

  It’s lovely, based on the beginning of what Jackson and I were, but the story has since created a world of its own.

  The characters no longer belong to me.

  They are their own three-dimensional beings with their own hopes, desires, urges, and regrets.

  Some writers think of themselves as God.

  They create a whole world out of cloth and rule everyone in that story with an iron fist.

  Some think of themselves as architects.

  They map everything out.

  They plan every twist and turn.

  I’m not sure that I fall into either of those categories.

  I see myself more as a mother.

  I create a life, or lives, and then I watch them flower.

  I throw some obstacles at them because what is life but an endless series of obstacles?

  But what gives me encouragement and hope is how my characters overcome the odds.

  I have re-read my novel a few times already, fixing a few mistakes each time.

  I find a few proofreaders who are willing to read my novel and correct the errors that I didn’t catch at a reasonable price.

  It should really go through two rounds, but I can’t even really afford one.

  So I choose the cheaper, but the friendlier one with more experience in indie romance, and she sends me a proof in two days.

  There aren’t that many mistakes, but there are still plenty. It was well worth the ninety bucks and while she had the document, I set out to learn how to make a cover.

  I’ve taken one art class in college, but it taught me nothing about photoshop or graphic design.

  But nowadays, there are so many different apps that help you put fancy words on images for social media purposes that I download a few and start playing around with them.

  Through one of the social media groups for indie publishing, I learn about the various stock image websites where I can buy an image to use for my cover.

  I debate whether I should go with a traditional shirtless man, which every romance reader knows means this book has something sexy inside, and an object cover with just a pair of cufflinks, a diamond necklace, or a pearl.

  I’ve been doing my research and I’ve seen them popping up more and more.

  Of course, there are the big names out there who rely entirely on object covers, but will it work for me?

  I’m nobody. I just have one book.

  I download a few images of both options.

  Hot sexy abs vs a sparkling diamond.

  Hot sexy abs vs a pair of cufflinks.

  On one hand, it should be an easy choice.

  But something draws me toward the objects.

  They’re a bit more visually interesting and not so outwardly sexual.

  On the other hand, maybe that’s a bad thing.

  I don’t want people to overlook my book because it doesn’t have a hot sexy guy with a ridiculous six pack on the cover.

  But before I can make a decision about this, I need a title.

  A few possibilities run through my mind.

  Alone.

  Recluse.

  Recluse Billionaire.

  Saved by a Recluse Billionaire.

  The last one isn’t so much a title as a description but it will definitely tell anyone who is interested what the book is about.

  But do I want to be so direct?

  Do I want to be so on the nose?

  In reality, the book is so much more than that.

  That’s just the catalyst for what’s to come.

  Unable to make a decision, I put my laptop away and pace around the room.

  I’d go for a walk, but it’s already dark outside and the last time I was out I felt like someone was following me.

  When that doesn’t help, I flip on Netflix and lose myself in the latest binge. Somewhere around episode four, it comes to me.

  Object cover, diamond. Recluse.

  While the episode keeps running, I pick up my phone and pull up the image in the graphic design app.

  I choose the book cover size, and then choose one style of typography for the title and another for my name.

  They don’t look that good together.

  So I do it again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Until I stumble on just the right combination.

  And that’s it.

  Just like that…the book cover is done.

  My heart skips a beat and I’m unable to contain my excitement.

  I grab my computer and immediately log into Kindle Direct Publishing, where I already made an account.

  I’ve looked at the layout of this website before and watched about five YouTube videos about how to upload the book to Amazon.

  But in reality, the process is a lot smoother than I thought it would be. I upload the title, blurb, keywords, and the cover.

  I have already converted the Word document to the right format for Kindle and all I have to do now is upload it here.

  I set the price on the following page and then hover the mouse over the last button.

  Publish.

  There’s a choice of publishing now or setting it up as a pre-order.

  Without further delay, I press the publish button and the book is off.

  Sitting back in the chair, I look at what I just did in awe.

  No query letters.

  No submissions of three chapters to literary agents who probably never even read the books that are submitted to them.

  Yet, the book is on its way to get published.

  Did this just happen?

  Chapter 38 - Harley

  When I read his letters…

  “So, are you ever going to talk to that boyfriend of yours and let him off the hook?” Julie asks.

  At first, she was there for me, taking my side and listening to my complaints.

  But the more Jackson tried to contact me, and the more times she had to turn him away from our doorstep, the harsher she became toward me.

  “You really think I should forgive him?” I ask.

  “You should at least talk to him. He didn’t do anything that terrible for you to just ghost him.”

  “What about you and Logan?”

  “What about us? I caught him cheating on me and I still talked to him. You need closure, Harley. I see you. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck in this limbo forever.”

  My thoughts drift back toward Jackson.

  I miss him.

  I’ve tried to put him out of my mind.

  I tried to forget him.

  But no matter what, I didn’t, he kept coming back to me.

  Whenever I would close my eyes, I would see those high cheekbones.

  His exquisite blue irises.

  His thick lavish hair.

  He is running his fingers down my arms.

  He is kissing my neck.

  He is tonguing my navel.

  But it’s not just his body that I find myself craving.

  It’s so much more than that.

  He was th
ere for me when I needed him most.

  He took me home and he was there for the whole mess that turned out to be.

  He held me while I cried, and most importantly he didn’t push me away from him.

  “What is it that he did exactly to deserve this?” she asks. “And don’t go over the details, they don’t matter. Tell me how he made you feel.”

  I think about that for a moment.

  “I felt betrayed. He didn’t believe me and it just…hurt me, you know, right in the heart.”

  “Now, I’m not trying to deny your feelings, but isn’t it also possible that he was just trying to give you a way out?”

  “Way out?”

  “Maybe it was his way of telling you that you were in a safe place. That you could trust him. And if you did have a past, then that was okay with him.”

  “Yes…I guess it’s possible.”

  “I don’t know him, Harley. But you do. Put your pride away for just a moment and really think about this. Because the thing that you have with him, that doesn’t come along too often. If ever. And you don’t want to lose something over anything as stupid as a little bit of pride.”

  Her words run through my mind over and over until they force me into a realization that I’m not too keen on.

  They say that time is the healer of all things, but in my case, it made me realize my own stupidity. I wasn’t wrong to get mad.

  I wasn’t wrong to get upset or angry for what he did.

  But throw away the special thing that we had, this relationship that was just beginning to blossom…that was wrong.

  Julie is right.

  I have this tendency to shut people out.

  Whenever anything gets difficult and I can’t really deal with the confrontation, I just put up a guard.

  It’s as thick as plexiglass and nothing and no one can get through it.

  I did that with my mom back when I found her cheating on my dad.

  I didn’t care why she was doing what she was doing.

  I didn’t want to hear any excuses or explanations.

  She had lied to me and to my father and that was enough for me to write her out of my life.