by Susan Ward
I stare stonily forward and pass on commenting, though I can tell she expects some kind of reply.
“I’m the one who picked you,” she says, smiling. “Do you know why?”
I shake my head. God, is this ever going to be over and make sense? I want to get out of here.
“I picked you not in spite of your service record, but because of it. You did the right thing even though it cost you a lot. I respect you for that. And you have a sister.”
She pushes up from her chair and starts rinsing her glass at the sink. That doesn’t help to clarify why she wanted this chat with me or where it’s going.
“You see,” she murmurs without looking at me, “a month ago Alan said something to change my mind about Krystal having a bodyguard in Manhattan. He said, ‘Chrissie, don’t think of him as a bodyguard. Think of him as a professional big brother, love. Krystal isn’t a savvy girl. She’s just like you were at eighteen.’”
Shutting off the water, she pauses there and laughs, then comes back to her seat.
“That got me. I agreed with Alan we should do this. So I went through the employment files and I picked you. And so we understand each other, you’re not a bodyguard, because she doesn’t need one and it would be absurd to hire her one. You’re there as insurance. To help her out when she needs it and for emergencies if something happens there and we can’t get there quickly enough. You don’t work for Krystal. You don’t work for Alan. You work for me. Any questions?”
I open my mouth but the sound that I hear isn’t my voice.
“What do you mean you’re sending me to college with a bodyguard? Have you lost your mind, Mom? No, you’re not doing this. I won’t let you turn me into some freak there.”
Krystal is standing in the doorway.
“K-bell, it’s not like that. Let me explain,” Chrissie counters calmly.
“There is nothing you could say, Mom, that would make this OK for me.”
Krystal darts from the doorway. The family room slider is opened and slammed.
Chrissie lets out a loud breath. “That did not go well.”
She stares, an anxious crinkle in her golden brows, and then moves from the island.
“Please, ma’am. Why don’t I go talk to her? She’s upset with you. She might listen to me.”
Those brilliant blue eyes search my face. Her brow puckers. “I’m not sure. Maybe you’re right…or, I don’t know…what I’m trying to say is, I’d appreciate if you tried. This is how it is and Alan’s not changing his mind. Not after that call from the British finance minister. Alan thinks he’s more right than ever that something terrible is going to happen in the US soon. We need to smooth this out. Yes. I think you should go talk to her.”
The air I’d been holding in my lungs too long—because that took entirely too long—releases and I set down my glass and go after Krystal, trying not to look like I’m rushing but, fuck, internally I’m running.
The backyard’s empty but I don’t need a tracking device to know where she’s gone. I head for the dance studio.
Krystal’s sitting in the center of the room crying, her legs pulled in close to her, tightly held by her arms. I can’t tell for sure what her expression means; my heart twists anyway.
I cross the wood floor and crouch down next to her. “I was planning to talk about this with you tonight when I called.”
Her eyes flash. “Oh my God. You knew about this before they told me. You went to bed with me knowing they’ve hired you as some sort of keeper for me in Manhattan.”
Tears stream from her eyes, and I swallow the lump in my throat as I reach out to touch her face. “It’s not like that, Krystal—”
She slaps my hand away before my fingers get to her cheek.
“I’m sorry. You have a right to be angry with me. Hear me out. I know there’s no excuse for any of it, but I need to explain—”
Her ravished blue eyes silence me.
“Angry doesn’t touch what I’m feeling, you jerk. I would never have slept with you if I’d known I was ever going to see you again. And definitely not if I’d known I’d be stuck sharing my apartment with you in Manhattan. Your greatest appeal was that I’d never see you again.”
She jumps to her feet and runs from the studio.
I stare at the vacant room, trying to figure my next move. I know what I want to do, what I should do, but Krystal’s perspective was heart-rippingly direct.
No, I’m not going after her. I don’t matter. I never did. She’s made that clear.
Chapter Thirty
“Krystal”
“No, Daddy. This is not OK. I just want to live a normal life. Don’t you get that?”
I stare at my cell as Alan’s eyes flash.
“You don’t pay attention to things, sunshine. There’s a lot going on in the world. And you have a normal life, as normal as this world lets it be. We have to be practical and smart. The realities are the same in New York as they are in Pacific Palisades. Jacob Merrick is going to Manhattan with you. End of subject.”
I clench my teeth as I shake my head. “You’re being absurd. Don’t you know that? How could you do this? No wonder Kaley ran off with Bobby at eighteen and then married. She did it to get out of this box you have us living in. To have a normal life. Not this.”
The features of my dad’s face smooth over into something enigmatic. Damn, I hurt him with that. I didn’t want to, but it had to be said. He means well, but sometimes it seems he can’t see what he’s doing to us. Even Mom hates all the security and thinks it’s stupid.
“Do you know why I’m in the UK, Krystal? Why I up and left suddenly to come and do an endless stream of public appearances, when I haven’t done that in years?”
Oh great, now he’s changing the subject. Trying to get his way by confusing me.
“What does this have to do with me going to Manhattan with a bodyguard?”
He rakes his unruly black hair from his face. “It has everything to do with it, Krystal. I’m here because the British Government reached out to me to calm the panic in the UK. The euro has collapsed. The pound has collapsed. The economies of Western Europe are in a death spiral. The UK finance minister personally rang and asked me not to pull my UK assets. They’re worried and should be. That’s the reality of the world we live in outside of your dance studio, baby girl.”
My face burns.
That was mean, Daddy.
“That’s Europe, not the US. What does that have to do with anything?”
My dad’s eyes grow darkly intense and somber. “It’s Europe today. It’s the States very soon. I want you to go to New York. I want you to chase your dreams. I’m not willing to have you there alone when what I’m seeing in Europe hits America.”
“I don’t care about any of that, Daddy. Haven’t you heard a single word I’ve said? I just want a normal life. If it hits, I’ll cope and manage like the rest of the country will. Like normal people living a normal life.”
“And that’s what I want for you. But if our recession slips into a depression you are going to see things you’ve never seen happen on American streets. It’s indescribable chaos when a society breaks down and people are frightened. We’re a wealthy family. We’ll be wealthy even if what I’m seeing happens at home. Any manner of threat could come our way. Like 2008, only worse.”
2008?
What chaos?
“The US is a safe country. Our economy is fine. You’re being extreme and unreasonable and paranoid as always. I should run away from home like Kaley did.”
My dad’s face hardens. “You don’t know how it is in Europe right now, sunshine.”
Damn, that was the biggest tantrum I could have and it isn’t working. No, Alan’s not changing his mind in this century.
My lips purse up, blowing out air, frustrated. “That has nothing to do with how unreasonable it is to send me to college with a bodyguard. Don’t I get a vote, Daddy? You couldn’t make m
e stand out more in the wrong way if you wanted to. You’re ruining my life.”
Alan rakes his hand through his hair. “I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. What’s happening here is going to come to the States. One more shock to the global economy and it’s unavoidable. Economic collapse. Depression this time. Civil unrest in the streets. Millions of people broke overnight. ’08 will look like good times compared to this. Jacob Merrick is going with you. We’re not debating this further. I don’t want you alone there if it happens. Hard times always bring out the worst in people. Never the best, Krystal.”
“Clearly,” I snap then my cheeks burn. That was snotty. I’m not going to win and I’m certainly not going to change Alan’s mind with petty, hurtful comments he doesn’t deserve. “I’m sorry, Daddy. That was unkind.”
He relaxes back in his chair. “I know you didn’t mean it, sunshine. And I know you’re disappointed. I wish I could be there with you when you leave tomorrow. I’m going to miss you.”
Now I feel awful.
“Manhattan is on the way back from the UK,” I say, my face scrunching up to hold back my emotion. “You could always do a short hop to see me.”
My dad’s spectacular smile brightens his face. “Yes, I can. There isn’t anything on this earth I can’t do for you, Krystal. Thank you for reminding me and saying you want to see Pop.”
“I’m angry about this. Not angry with you, Dad. I love you.”
He nods, his mouth tightening. “I need to run, baby girl. You have a good night.”
“You, too, Daddy.”
Click.
I stare at the blank screen. That was pointless. I’m moving to Manhattan with Jacob Merrick.
Jacob—my heart rends.
God, I was horrible to him in the studio. Rightly so, because he shouldn’t have kept from me what my parents were up to and then slept with me. Dishonest, getting us tangled up together, and then knowing he can press the issue with me because we’re going to be living together. I didn’t take him for that kind of guy. An opportunist jerk.
I run my fingers through my hair, tightening them until my scalp hurts. He’s not a jerk. Whatever he did, it wasn’t because he’s that kind of guy. Maybe it just got out of control for him. It definitely got out of control for me.
It’s happened.
Can’t change it.
And pretending he’s a bad guy isn’t going to make him less wonderful or it easier to stop liking him.
I grab my cell and check the screen. No notifications from Jacob. It’s lame to keep checking. He isn’t calling and it’s foolish to expect him to. I was horrid and he has a right to hate me.
Fudge, now I’m going to see Jacob every day until I can get my dad to change his mind about the bodyguard thing. Not good. You let a guy into your head, Krystal, and you have to get Jacob outta there. Crazy girl infatuation needs to be over. Ballet is the only thing you can focus on if you want to succeed.
But how am I going to keep him out of my thoughts? I can’t even block him from my mind tonight and I’m angry with him. And it’s going to be miserable because I don’t doubt he’ll be Buckingham Palace Jacob with me again.
I flop back on my bed, groaning. Maybe I should have told my dad I was sleeping with Jacob Merrick. Yes, that truth would’ve gotten me my way.
I cover my face with a pillow and cry myself to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Jacob”
I stare at the ceiling after a sleepless night. At least a dozen times I’ve switch on my phone to call Krystal. Almost as many times as I nearly called my boss to quit.
I should never have made a move on her. It wasn’t professional—I deserve to be jobless—and it sure as hell wasn’t right.
It’s not like I didn’t know how it would end. Brayden warned me—I warned myself—but those crystal-blue eyes of hers, no chance, not ever.
After tossing back the blankets, I sit on the edge of the bed and check the clock. Crap. I need to be at the house by 9:00 a.m. Then I’m off to LAX to start a new life with a girl who despises me. Worst day of my life about to commence. That’s what today’s going to be. No point in sugarcoating it with denial.
Inside my shower, I stand beneath the streams without moving. It’d be great if my gut would stop churning.
It’s just another day, Jake, like the last six months of days before Malibu.
I clock in. I clock out. And I get paid. The two days in Malibu were a mistake. Better forgotten by both of us.
I never had a shot of being anything to Krystal. Even if she wasn’t Alan’s daughter, it wasn’t ever going to happen, not even for Daryl the rich idiot, because she’s got everything all planned out for herself, and that plan doesn’t include a boyfriend. It absolutely doesn’t include me. Her dedication and determination are admirable. She doesn’t want me fucking up her life, and only a douche would want to do that to a girl.
She’s a job, not a girl. That’s all she’s ever been, even after those two incredible days with her.
Why can’t I shake it off?
Get over it.
It was only two days.
But it was so much more.
It felt like I’d been in love with her my whole life.
I groan.
Only a loser falls this fast for a girl.
No more stalling.
Stalling won’t change anything.
I’ve got to get moving.
I switch off the water and reach for a towel.
When I leave my bedroom, suitcases in hand, Brayden is waiting in the living room to drive me to the main house.
His gaze narrows as his chin bobs. “You’re going to go, then?”
I shrug. “No choice. I need my job. That hasn’t changed since last Friday. You cool with me leaving my stuff here?”
“No worries. It’s all good. Told you, you could keep your stuff here until you decide what you want me to do with it.”
“I may be back sooner than you think.”
His answering expression is not encouraging.
Inside the car, I text Janie.
Me: Heading out to NYC. Call you when I get settled. May be jobless and living with you soon. Haha. Not joking.
Janie: Cheer up, bro. If she doesn’t appreciate you, she doesn’t deserve you. I don’t care how special you think she is. If she meant what she said to you she isn’t worth knowing.
I stare at the screen, smiling slightly even though I don’t agree with her insights. She’s just being a good sister after I poured my heart out to her last night. And yes, I told my sister everything, and yes, Brayden thinks that’s part of my nice-guy complex. But no, it’s what guys should do; go to their sisters if they want their thoughts straightened out in a productive way. They sure as hell shouldn’t talk smack about a girl to their friends. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s the worst move any guy can ever make since guys like to pile on when you’re drowning. Never helpful, always inflammatory, and egging you on to do wrong shit.
As I type on the screen, out of the corner of my eye I see Brayden’s watching me with that running to Jane with girl problems frown again. Who cares if Bray thinks it’s a pussy move? I’d rather get advice from Janie any day than him. His resume includes the Shanna four months that are going to be life-ruining forever.
Me: The problem is she meant what she said about my greatest appeal being never having to see me again, and she’s still worth knowing. I get why she said that. Too many guys screw up too many things for girls and Krystal knows what she wants to make of her life.
I stare down at the text box then backspace out the last sentence. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I can’t believe I’m so self-absorbed with my own problems that I nearly sent that to Janie after what she’s been through.
Janie: You get it. I don’t. Don’t expect me to ever like her. Don’t invite me ever to Manhattan. Won’t come. I hate her.
Not responding
to that last comment, I shoot off “text you when I land” and shut off my phone.
At the Pacific Palisades house, we make a fast stop at the security building to grab the Black Star packet left there by my boss, Jared.
I thumb through the pages quickly. Location. A loft in Tribeca. No surprise there. Trendy. Expensive. Safest neighborhood in New York City. Security system details. Hmm, Alan even arranged for a full-time driver with car there. Can’t have Krystal traveling by subway or even taxi. Cleaning staff schedules. Photos attached to resumes with background checks on everyone. Not exactly your average kid-off-to-college orientation package.
Shoving the papers back in the file, I head for the black SUV waiting by the main house to take us to the airport. I toss my military-issue duffel in the back and wait with the hatch up since I’m pretty sure baggage handler is part of my job duties now. I don’t doubt whatever Krystal wants is part of my employment responsibilities moving forward, even after that speech by Chrissie that I work for her.
No, not buying that one.
And by the look on Krystal’s face as she drops her bags at my feet, she’s decided I’m a servant and not security. She hurries off and disappears into the SUV with her mother.
Letting the air out of my chest in slow, measured increments—two seconds of being with her have already gotten me all jammed up again—I grab her designer suitcases and set them next to mine.
I take my place in the front seat with the driver, buckle, cross my arms, and stare straight forward with eyes locked on the road.
Halfway to LAX I realize there’s no talking coming from the backseat. Well, not from Krystal. Her mother is chattering up a storm. Can Chrissie not feel the current of tension pulsing between her daughter and me? Thank God, she can’t. Or maybe she can and that’s why she’s talking so much. It’s impossible to ever know what Chrissie’s thinking.
I peek in the mirror. Yes, she’s got that odd expression on her face. Overly happy, quirky, undefinable. Unsettling. This is a mistake. I need to not board the plane and quit.
