The Misters: Books 1-5 Box Set

by JA Huss

“You know what, Ellie Hatcher? I was right about it all along.”

  I glance back at him standing down the aisle, his hands by his side, his posture straight, head high. “About what?” I yell back, lifting the latch on the door and pulling it open. “Me?”

  Mac shakes his head and then his shoulders slump a little. “Never appear too perfect. Law 46 was right. People don’t like perfect, they much prefer fake.”

  “Well,” I say, a sad final laugh passing my lips, “then maybe that law was a warning to stay away from me, Maclean Callister. Because I invented the fake world, remember? I’m just another sign on the highway of life telling you to move along. I’m not where you belong. I’m not even worth stopping for.”

  I get in my car, start it up, and drive away.

  He didn’t understand anything I was trying to say back there. Not one thing. And I can’t blame him because I’m not sure that I do either. All I know is that everything feels… wrong. This job, my book, that fake life I dreamed up to numb the emptiness in my heart.

  I follow the manicured landscaped roads until I get to my apartment building. Just another reminder of how little I’ve been living since college. How little I’ve accomplished.

  Mac gets accused of rape and murder and he goes off to feed the world and make a difference.

  I land a cushy job at the number one corporation to work for in America and end up writing delusional text messages to a man who has no interest in me.

  Way to go, Hatcher. Your parents would be proud.

  That makes me cry. Hard. Tears begin streaming down my face and instead of slowing down to turn into my parking lot, I keep going until I hit the freeway. I enter and drive east. The landscape changes after about twenty minutes, going from suburban city to sprawling horse property, to ranch and farm land. Two hours later I pull off and follow a lonely two-lane highway south until the roads turn to dirt and the grazing land turns to waist-high cornfields.

  I stop the car at the top of a hill and get out, the summer wind blowing my hair across my face as I turn my back to the sun and stare down at the farmhouse I grew up in.

  It’s half a mile away from where I stand, but I don’t need to be close to it to see what I need. The sprawling front porch. The children playing in the yard. The dogs running around. We had sheep as well as corn when I was a kid. But the new owners never did raise animals. Just crops. They even tore the barn down so they could squeeze every bit of yield out of that land.

  I lived here on my grandparents’ farm with my dad after my mom took off. And after my grandparents died, we sold. I was in college anyway. But it made me so sad to sell. This was the one place that felt like home. Where I could be me. How long have I been living my delusional life? Longer than those text messages to Heath, that’s for sure.

  I haven’t been me in a very long time. Why did I stay at Stonewall all these years? It’s not the career I ever imagined for myself. I minored in psychology for a reason. I have always wanted to help people and I always had a dream of being a life coach. Getting to know celebrities was supposed to be a stepping stone but instead it became a dead-end road.

  I’m glad someone bought the farm. At least it’s not sitting empty. At least it’s got a new family inside those rooms.

  And they look happy.

  I’m happy for them. I was happy growing up there, that’s for sure.

  I wipe the tears from my eyes and get back in my car, my head resting on the steering wheel for a few seconds. I guess this is why I like my delusional world better than my real life. I guess I’m just trying to get back the part of my life I left behind when I left this place. Fill up that hole inside my chest that threatens to come out every time I slow down and have a few minutes to really think about my own life. My own hopes and dreams.

  I am such a joke. Why did I ever think I could coach other people through the pitfalls of life when I can’t even face the reality of my own situation?

  My phone rings inside my purse. I take it out and then thumb the accept tab. “Hey,” I say.

  It’s Ming. “I just heard what happened, Ellie. What’s going on?”

  I start crying and Ming does her best to get it out, piece by pathetic piece. I sit on the side of that road and face the facts as I tell her everything. About all the things I wanted out of life, and all the things that never happened.

  Ming listens with the patient ear of a best friend, offering me encouragement and soft words to ease my hurt feelings.

  “Come back,” Ming says. “You can stay at my house for a while.”

  “No,” I say, my breath still hitching from my sobs. “I can’t. I need to figure out what the hell I’m doing, Ming. I need to come to terms with this stuff. I can’t keep pretending that things are good. Hell”—I laugh out one last sob—“they’re not even close to OK.”

  “Publish your book, Ells. Just put it up online like we talked about. It’s good.”

  “How can it possibly be good?” I say. “How, Ming? My life is a mess. My career. If you could ever even call it that, is over.”

  “Your career hasn’t even started yet, Eloise Hatcher. That book is your future. You’re a good life coach. Don’t they always say that? The cobbler’s children go shoeless or some shit like that? Well, you can still find clarity in the lives of others, even if you can’t in your own.”

  “It’s fake,” I say. “It’s fake to say I can help people when I can’t even help myself. And I can’t deal with this fake life anymore.”

  “Ellie.” Ming sighs. “I like your funny dreams and delusions. Everyone does. Your fantasies make people happy.”

  “Well, they don’t make me happy,” I admit. “Not one bit.”

  “So change it, Ells,” Ming says softly. “Come home and change it. We’ll do it together.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four - Mac

  A knock on my office door disrupts my pensive mood as I gaze out the window at the cows. It’s snowing today and all they are are little blobs of black and red on a sea of white. “Come in,” I call out.

  “Mac?” Stephanie says from behind me.

  “Yes,” I say, sticking my hands in the pockets of my suit trousers.

  “She’s on in three minutes.”

  I nod without turning around.

  “Do you want me to turn your TV on? We’re all going to watch on the big TV out in the Atrium.”

  “No,” I say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Stephanie leaves, closing the door quietly behind her. It’s been six long months since I saw Ellie. Six months of wondering how to fix things and six months of coming to the realization that there are some things people need to do on their own.

  Returning to this office after Ellie walked out was mine, I guess. I was hiding when I came here as McAllister Stonewall, I just didn’t realize it. But Alexander has been a dear friend of mine all growing up. Heath and I really are like brothers. And if anyone messed with Camille I’d be there to set him straight just like any big brother. So I guess I rationalized it. I could still be Mac, I’d just take the Stonewall last name until the company was sold. Alexander never wanted to sell, he wanted me to step up. And I guess he got his way after all. Because the thought of walking away from this place after Ellie left was too much. I wanted the job at that point.

  No, I correct myself. I needed it. To give me a lifeline to her. To give me some hope that the things I was beginning to realize about myself might not be true.

  They are true. Were true.

  I was hiding. For ten years I lost myself in the charity. In philanthropy. In the hopes that it would wipe away the dirty stain left over from college.

  The guilt.

  I didn’t rape that girl. And if she hadn’t accused me, and all my friends, of raping her, I’d probably never even remember her name.

  But the guilt after she was killed. That was something I couldn’t live with.

  She was dead because of who I am. Maybe I didn’t do it, but if Maclean Callister didn’t exist she would never
have been involved in that setup. She’d still be alive if I was never born.

  So yeah. I ran. I can admit now, but only because I know what it feels like to be left behind.

  Which is why I stayed, I guess. I pictured what my father probably went through after I took off and started giving my money away like it was growing on trees.

  I never needed the money. And giving it away isn’t even meaningful. I have so many trusts that are accruing interest, and some mature every year or two. My family set me up this way so I’d never have to work a day in my life.

  It wasn’t a risk to give it away. Not even in the denominations I was dealing with. Because barring some continuous financial catastrophe, I always knew there’d be more.

  The philanthropic work was satisfying for a long time. It kind of felt like work. I got up every day and had phone calls. Meetings. Made decisions.

  I just never had to report to anyone.

  Which is why I stayed on here at Stonewall.

  I report to Alexander now. I sold him two percent of my interest in the company, just to give him peace of mind that the empire he built would never be threatened by the whims of another partner.

  He agreed to sell the company if I wanted to, even after I sold my controlling interest. But by that time I had figured it out.

  I want this.

  I want what he has.

  A family. A fresh start with someone I trust.

  Things I had been denying myself ever since I heard that accusation back in college.

  Giving away my money to self-select myself out of the company of other billionaires was never going to get me that. It feels good. And I will never give up the charity, but they don’t need me to pretend to work as I write checks. I never did anything meaningful anyway.

  Stonewall does though. Camille is successful over in Europe. And Heath, even though I do consider him a total pig when it comes to women, is making major inroads in China. He’s not coming home anytime soon.

  So here I am. CEO of Stonewall North America.

  And here I am. Still alone.

  “Mac?” Stephanie yells. “Ellie is on!”

  I’ve had regular updates from Ming about Ellie. We’ve had a standing Friday evening appointment since the week Ellie walked out, but that’s all been about business.

  Ellie stopped looking for a publisher for her book.

  She got a new editor.

  She found a cover designer.

  She got the book formatted.

  She found a printer.

  She pushed publish.

  That was last week’s report, so there are no more meetings about Ellie Hatcher’s book release progress. And I haven’t dared to ask even one personal question. I refuse to discuss Ellie like she’s a thing that needs to be planned and plotted.

  But every minute—every second—of every day, I wish I had.

  Does she have a boyfriend? Does she ever talk about me? Is she happy?

  I won’t ask, but I want to. I won’t ask until Ellie agrees to see me. And she hasn’t. I’ve asked her at least two dozen times to meet me somewhere. Drinks? Lunch? Dinner? A weekend at my house?

  No. No. No. Hell, no.

  All that was in text messages. She won’t take my calls. And she hasn’t answered a text in over two months.

  Face it, Mac, she’s moved on. Just like she wanted to. She’s remade her life, her book is on sale, and she’s only here for the interview on the Tuesday Book Review segment of the Living Life show. A low-budget news program with the worst ratings in all of Stonewall Entertainment. Their ratings finally hit the rock-bottom threshold, and even though I hate to cancel shows, I was going to have to do it weeks ago to save more prosperous shows, but Ming said this was the only show she’d agree to.

  Ellie and her principles. She won’t take promotion from me—her exact words to Ming. She won’t build a career on contacts and favors. She doesn’t care if she never sells a single copy of her book, she will do this her way or not at all.

  So here we are.

  She has sold books. Plenty of them, from the reports I’ve gotten. So I guess it’s true, she didn’t need me.

  “Mac!” Stephanie yells from the other side of the door. “Hurry! You’re going to miss it!”

  But today is the day I let her know… I need her.

  Chapter Thirty-Five - Ellie

  “Are you nervous?” Ming asks, brushing a piece of lint off the shoulder of my dress.

  “Kind of. Why am I doing this? I feel so stupid.”

  “Eloise Hatcher,” Ming says in her stern BFF voice. “If you were life-coaching yourself right now…”

  I stop listening. She’s been doing that to me for months. Eloise Hatcher! If you were life-coaching yourself right now you’d ask why you set yourself up for failure… or why you have such a low opinion of what you do… or why you don’t own the good you do in this world.

  I know all that. But that psychology doesn’t help much when you use it on yourself.

  “Maybe I need a life coach?” I ask Ming.

  She scowls at me. “You have me, bitch. And if I hear one more excuse for why you shouldn’t own your success I’ll…”

  I’ve heard all those threats too. She’s not right, though. Not about how I’m feeling right now, at least. Right now it’s not doubt. It’s nerves. From being back here at Stonewall Entertainment. Ming and Jennifer have tried to set me up with interviews on all the shows to promote the book, but I said no. I didn’t want to bump into Mac. I can’t go through another round of texts and invitations from him. I feel like I’m almost over that whole relationship.

  Relationship. Ha.

  Sexcapade is more like it.

  But I’m moving on. I straighten out a wrinkle in my dress as Karen and Jose do my intro.

  I miss him though. I miss him like crazy. And even though I didn’t want him to text or call, I secretly did. Do. I wish he’d never given up on me because I hate the fact that I walked out.

  “With us today,” Jose says, “is Eloise Hatcher, the debut author of The Happy Place: Finding Your Own Way and Living to Your Full Potential.”

  Yes, I changed the title. Seeing Stars? I couldn’t do that. Not after I made all my celebrity clients into anonymous composite case studies. No one knows that Chapter Seven is about Adeline or that Chapter Eleven is about Andrew. I didn’t want any celebrity status attached to the book.

  Ming says I was trying to sabotage my success, but that’s not it.

  I just don’t want the book to take off because of namedropping. That’s all.

  “Please give her a warm welcome,” Karen says, as both she and Jose stand to clap. There is a small audience. And by small, I mean, like twenty people. It’s pathetically tiny. But I like it, and when I step out into the studio I give them a little wave.

  “Eloise,” Jose says as I take a seat. “Welcome!”

  Both he and Karen have been giddy with excitement all morning. I can’t imagine I will do anything for their ratings, but bless their hearts, they still believe in their show. The Stonewalls must as well, because it’s been running for eleven years and is always dead last when the numbers come in.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I’m so happy to be here with you today.”

  “So you launched a book—” Karen starts. And then she turns to look at the audience. “By the way, full disclosure. I’ve known Ellie, as we call her around here, for almost eight years now. She was a part of the Stonewall family until recently when she left to make her own way in the world.”

  I smile, but there’s a little pain in my chest. Something akin to loss. Or sadness. Or regret. “I did, Karen, and thank you for that heartfelt introduction. I’m thrilled to be able to share my first book with you today after working on it for several years.”

  “I hear that the case studies were based on real people, is that true?” Jose asks.

  I nod, but squint my eyes at him. I told them not to say anything about the celebrity clients. “Yes, Jose, that is tech
nically true. But their identities have been hidden and each study is a composite of several cases.”

  “Really?” Karen says. “That’s so interesting.”

  I force a smile. “Is it?” I want to slap her. Remind her that she promised not to bring it up. “I don’t think so. Not particularly. Every self-help book has case studies.”

  “Yes,” Jose says. “But you know what’s funny, Ellie?”

  “No…” I say, still forcing that smile. “Not really.” My cheeks might crack if I grin any wider.

  “What’s funny,” a voice says behind me—I whirl in my chair and Adeline walks out into the studio adjusting her mic—“is that you’d think I’d let you get away with cutting my starring role out of your book.”

  “Oh, my God, what are you doing here?” I just stare at my friend, bewildered.

  “I’m Chapter Seven, Miss Hatcher, the Case of the Risk-Averse Creative.” She looks straight at the camera, which has maneuvered to get a close up of us as she settles herself onto the couch next to me with more dignity than the Queen. “And Eloise Hatcher has been my friend and confidante for seven years. She was always there with advice and comfort. An ear for the details whenever I was a sobbing mess over unfair contracts and egomaniacal executives who were constantly trying to take advantage of me. Ellie Hatcher, you changed my life. Did you really think I’d sit this out and let you make me into a nobody?”

  “What about me?” Andrew Manco says, jogging up to us like he might miss something. “She kicked my butt back when I was a mess, practically enrolled me in college, forced me into rehab, and then wants to pretend she isn’t directly responsible for the success I’m reaping now? Please, Ellie Hatcher. I would never let you sabotage your own career after you stopped me from sabotaging mine.”

  Jose and Karen are practically clapping with excitement. The whole audience is up on their feet. Never in a million years did these twenty people think they’d meet Andrew and Adeline when they got themselves up and out to the Tech Center for this show.

  After that there is a line of every celebrity I used to write the book. Every one of them comes out to sing my praises. As a friend. As a confidante. As the reason they are where they are in life at this moment.