Before I know it, the day is half gone. The Scotch has numbed me enough that I don’t give a flying fuck about the time or all the meetings and decisions I should be making, but it hasn’t numbed me enough to stop hurting over Darcy.
Grabbing my phone, I type out a text to her. It takes me several attempts to get the spelling and autocorrect right before I hit send.
You’re right, it was wrong of me to keep things secret from you
Setting the phone on my knee so I can keep an eye on the screen, I finish off the amber liquid in my glass. No response comes. I don’t know what I was expecting. Perhaps I had too much hope.
I pour more Scotch into the glass, filling it almost to the brim. Some spills as I lift the glass to my lips, droplets land on the phone’s screen. I don’t bother to wipe them away.
The vibration on my leg startles me, and I realized I’d passed out for a bit. The crystal glass is still in my hand, perched on the armrest of the sofa, but sideways and most of the liquid has spilled out.
It takes me a few seconds to realize the phone, still on my leg, received a text message.
-Things with an s? You mean there are more secrets you’re keeping from me?
Darcy responded. It’s so good to hear from her. Relief floods me, I thought she’d ignore me forever. I read the message over again, only then does my drunken brain start to process what her text means.
I hit call. The phone rings and goes to voicemail. I slur a little into the phone, “Sweetheart. I’m not keeping anything from you. I love you, Darcy. I just want you to be happy. I want us to be happy. Come on back here, I’ll give you all my passwords, you can see anything you want about me.” I realize I’m rambling and probably incoherent, so I hit end call.
Using all my concentration to get the right words on the screen, I send her another text.
I’m not hiding anything from you
-First your identity, then your ownership of Elite Exhibitions. What’s next?
Nothing’s next
I curse my drunken brain for not being able to come up with anything better.
-I don’t know who you are. Not really. You’re so secretive, how can I ever know whether to trust you or not?
You’re the only one who knows who I actually am
-How could I ever forgive you for what you did?
Before I can stop my drunken self, I text back.
Come kick me really hard in the balls
Holding the phone close to my face, I stare at the screen, waiting. But no matter how long I wait, no reply comes.
Dizzy (Darcy)
The first thing that goes through my head when I wake up in the morning is ‘come kick me really hard in the balls.’ It’s the last thing I thought of before I went to bed last night, and the night before that.
It’s a phrase that keeps popping into my head throughout the day.
Would hurting him make me feel better? Probably not. But still, part of me really wants to hurt him anyway.
Finally I opened up my heart to someone, after all these years of keeping it safe, and he crushed it.
I feel like the biggest idiot on the planet. I still haven’t worked up the nerve to phone my father.
What would I say to him? That I’ve been giving away our secret strategies to the owner of our biggest competition? That I only got the CEO job at Elite Exhibitions because of my boyfriend? That I’ve now broken up with said boyfriend and will not be taking the CEO job, and can I have my old one back?
No fucking way. I can never go back there.
For starters, he’d treat me even worse as punishment. Assuming he'd even take me back. I wonder if he’ll ever even speak to me again. I haven’t heard anything from him since his call telling me that Elite Exhibitions had bought the interior design events.
Now I have no job, but I can’t deny it feels so damn good to be away from my father. Normally I dread getting up every morning because I don’t know what crap he’ll hurl at me that day, and that dread is all gone now.
Quitting was the smartest thing I ever did. I wish I’d done it years ago.
Too bad it’s been replaced by the heartache Liam’s caused.
My phone dings again with a text message. I don’t have to look at it to know it’s Liam. He keeps texting me, since the day I walked out on him. I should stop replying to them, it just encourages him. But I can’t seem to stop myself.
My heart leaps every time my phone dings. At least I’m strong enough to ignore his actual phone calls.
I walk across my living room and pick up my phone from the pile of snotty, teary Kleenexes by the armchair I’ve been cocooning in the past few days.
His text is two words.
Trust me
We’ve been going back and forth on this issue for the past few days.
I text him straight back.
You have too many secrets, you’re fundamentally untrustworthy
What else isn’t he telling me? I should’ve known on the jet, when he admitted Jones wasn’t his real last name, that I couldn’t trust him.
Why did I let myself break my biggest rule, and enter into a relationship with him? I was happy being single. But now that I’ve experienced his love, can I ever be happy being single again? My body craves having his strong arms around me.
In my heart, I know we’re finished.
I’ve come to believe that he doesn’t have any day-to-day role in the running of Elite Exhibitions, and that he probably didn’t pass on any of my observations — including the purchasing of the chocolate or interior design events.
Presumably he passed my name along for the CEO role, but he’s adamant he had no part in the hiring process. And I have enough faith in myself and my abilities that I believe him. I know I got that job on my own merit.
While my phone is still in my hand, it rings. It’s Kirsten, and I hit accept. I’ve spoken to her at least once a day since I left Liam.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound cheerier than I am.
“Hey honey, how’re you feeling today?”
“Like shit, same as yesterday.”
“You still making Chase hang out in your lobby?”
“Yes,” I say and feel a twinge of guilt.
“Poor guy.”
“I know. Maybe I’ll take him a coffee.”
“Any word from your father?”
“Nothing, thankfully. I can’t deal with him too.”
“And Liam?” she asks tentatively. “Have you talked to him?”
“No, but he keeps texting.”
“He really cares about you, obviously.”
“I know, but what he did was so deceitful.” I don’t bother finishing my sentence. We’ve had this conversation at least three times already.
Kirsten seems to want me to forgive Liam, and act like nothing happened. Or maybe that’s just me reading things into her words.
“Was it?”
“He let me talk extensively about Knight Global Events’ strategies!”
“But did he do anything that with that info?”
“Who knows? He said he didn’t. He claims he has nothing to do with the day-to-day running of Elite Exhibitions. But —”
“But what? Either he did or didn’t.”
“There’s no way to know for sure, since they went and bought the two events I told Liam about.” Except I’ve convinced myself he didn’t.
“So it comes down to trust. Do you trust him?”
I don’t say anything. That’s a different question altogether, one I don’t know the answer to.
Kirsten sighs loudly into the phone, and says, “Young Hearts has been doing great. With all our funding worries gone, we’ve been able to finish the website and increase our call center staff. Plus we’re focusing on building the best programs for helping victims and their loved ones.”
“That’s great,” I say smiling for the first time in days.
We talk in more detail about the charity. The whole time I think about how Liam saved it with his donation. Kirst
en and his people are still hammering out the details of the trust, but it shouldn’t take much longer.
I’m really grateful to Liam for everything he’s given the charity. While she speaks, my mind spins between how amazing Liam is, and how he deceived me. The thoughts spin faster and faster, until I’m dizzy.
“Kirsten,” I interrupt her speaking about some sort of financial structure for the charity.
“What is it?”
“I’ve got to go,” I say and end the call.
Before I can even reach the Kleenex box on the coffee table, my body heaves with the hurt Liam’s inflicted on me. Tears burst from my eyes, the pain fresh again.
Why did he do this? Why couldn’t he have just been honest from the beginning?
Without thinking, I grab my phone instead of the tissues, and send him a text.
Stop contacting me. I can never trust you again, you have too many secrets.
Exposed (Darcy)
I slept badly, again. When I finally did fall asleep, I woke up again at five. I tossed and turned, desperate for more sleep. Somehow I managed to turn off my brain long enough to doze off. I woke up again just after eight, with a desperate need to pee.
In the bathroom, I try to avoid looking in the mirror, but can’t. I look like shit. I don’t even think I brushed my hair yesterday, and my eyes are puffy and red. I pull on my housecoat and plod out of the bathroom and back into the comfort of my armchair.
My cell sits on the coffee table, in the same spot I’d put it after sending the last text to Liam. As soon as I’d hit send, I switched it off and haven’t turned it back on in the two days since.
And I never want to turn it back on. Whatever texts he’s sent will be too painful to read. Right now I need to focus on getting on with my life.
I need to figure out what to do about a job and my father. And my heart.
Except I’ve been thinking about those things all night. I need a break from my thoughts.
Pulling out my laptop from underneath the sofa, I click into YouTube. If anything can ease the pain, it’s cat videos. After five minutes of them, I’m able to find the motivation to make a coffee.
The hot drink in my hand, I settle back into my chair and lose myself in more cat videos. My home phone rings but I ignore it, instead focusing on the silly kitty who’s guarding his toy Minion.
About twenty minutes later, there’s a frantic pounding on my door, and I jolt in my seat.
“Darcy,” Kirsten screams, followed by more pounding. “Darcy!”
My neighbors are going to kill me. I jump up and rush to the door. I fling it open, and Kirsten pushes past me. Chase, stone faced, follows her into my apartment.
“What the fuck? Why don’t you answer your phone?” Kirsten asks, out of breath. “I had to run half the way here. Haven’t you seen?”
“Seen what?” I ask, my eyes flicking between Kirsten and Chase. Her face is lit up with a joyous smile, but he looks as confused as I do.
“Good Morning America? You have to see it. Here, I have it on my phone.”
I take the phone, but it fucks up and the tab on her browser is gone.
“There’s nothing here,” I say.
“Fuck. Where’s your laptop?”
I point to the armchair and she doesn’t even comment of the mountain of used tissues. My heart races, wondering what it is that has her, of all people, not caring about snot mountain.
Kirsten sits down and begins searching for whatever it is she’s looking for. Chase and I stand behind the chair, from where we’re able to see the screen.
“Do you know what this is about?” I ask Chase.
“No idea. She ran into the lobby and used me to get past the doorman and dragged me up here. I tried asking her in the elevator, but she wasn’t making any sense.”
“Here, I found it!”
Kirsten leans back in the chair, and props my laptop on the armrest so we can all see it better.
“What is this?” I ask, as the screen is taken over by an ad for the new iPhone.
“You have to wait for the ad to finish.”
I look at Chase and shrug.
“Give me my phone,” Kirsten says prying her phone from my hand. “I’m going to Google it.”
“Google what?”
“I can’t believe you,” she says. Her voice is exasperated and I wonder what I’ve done.
George Stephanopoulos appears smiling on the screen and says, “We’re here this morning with the until-now-unseen-billionaire William Bannerman.”
The camera pans out, and my heart is in my throat.
“Holy shit,” Chase says, as Liam appears in the frame.
“You didn’t know?” Kirsten asks him.
“I’ve known him six years, and no clue.”
“What about you, Darcy. Did you know?” she asks.
My chin hangs open as I focus on the screen and what Liam is doing. Kirsten pokes me, and I nod.
“I can’t believe you never told me!” she says, and smacks my hand.
“I couldn’t,” I say.
“Whatever. Let me forward it to the good part,” she says, and before I can stop her she jumps the video ahead.
“What made you decide to reveal your identity now?” George Stephanopoulos asks.
“Someone called me fundamentally untrustworthy because I keep myself a secret,” Liam says, his rich voice wrapping around me like a vortex.
“That someone being a business partner?”
“No, nothing like that. I run my businesses however I want, I have no need for partners.”
A smile springs across the interviewer’s face. “Did a woman make you do this.”
“No one makes me do anything. Ever.”
“But you’re coming forward now because of love.”
“Something like that,” Liam says, shrugging.
His eyes are vibrant, and the studio light catches in them. My pulse throbs in my ears, and I can barely hear what he’s saying.
“What can you tell us about her?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all? Surely you can tell us something about the woman that’s driven you to march in here this morning and reveal yourself to the world after keeping yourself such a closely guarded secret for so many years.”
“No, no. I can’t say anything about her. Other than that I love her, and that I don’t have any secrets to keep from her.” Every inch of my skin prickles at his words.
“Holy fuck, the internet is blowing up with you!” Kirsten squeals.
“Shh, I want to hear this,” I hiss.
“Listen to this,” she says, ignoring me. “It’s on Buzzfeed. It’s called ‘Mystery Billionaire Outs Himself Because of Mystery Woman.’ Ready?”
“No, shut up, I want to hear Liam,” I say, leaning over and hitting pause.
She ignores me and reads the article. “Until now, we never knew anything about the elusive billionaire. Already bloggers and websites have dubbed him the sexiest man alive, and William Bannerman is the most trending name in internet history.”
“I don’t care, I want to hear him on Good Morning America,” I say, my finger hovering over the play button.
“We’re scrambling to bring you his full profile. But good news, ladies, he appears to be single, though perhaps against his will.”
“Would you shut the fuck up,” I say and hit play on the Good Morning America video. I turn the volume up as high as it will go to make my point.
George Stephanopoulos laughs, and says, “That’s it? You’ve got to give America something.”
“I don’t really have anything to give America. All I can do is give myself to her. I need her to know that this is everything I am. If you know, then she knows too,” Liam says, staring straight into the camera. His eyes are intense, and penetrate me to my core.
“Holy shit, you’re the lead story on Perez Hilton.” Kirsten’s voice barely registers with me, I’m too busy processing what Liam’s done.
The vi
deo freezes, and the frame is Liam’s intense stare. The video darkens, before disappearing altogether. I hit reload, but nothing happens.
He’s spent his entire adult life trying to hide his identity, and whoosh, he wiped away all the secrecy in one fell swoop. All because of me.
Just to prove to me that I can trust him.
“This is unreal,” Chase says, shaking his head.
“It’s titled, ‘Who is the Mystery Woman? The Nationwide Search.’ Holy shit,” Kirsten smacks my hand, “They’re offering a reward for information on you.”
Out of nowhere, I’m momentarily hit with Liam’s story about his mentor’s father, and am relieved Chase is here with me. The memory leaves my head just as quickly when Kirsten squeals.
“Right now, they think the mystery woman is most likely Jennifer Lawrence!”
The absurdity of the situation hits me, and I burst out laughing. I wonder what Liam is making of all this.
I walk around the armchair, and grab my phone from beside snot mountain. I try to turn it on to see if he’s texted me, but the battery is dead.
Too Fast (Liam)
After spending so much of my life guarding my identity, I actually feel lighter from exposing myself on television. Keeping a secret as big as my entire identity takes a lot of effort, and I feel free from the burden. Free to be who I am.
Until I walk out of the tv studio and am swarmed with people. They take photos and yell things at me.
“I’ll be your mystery woman!”
“How much money you got?”
I tune out the rest, and focus on barreling myself through the crowd and into a waiting cab.
Once inside, I turn and look out the back window. The crowd is so large, it overflows onto the street. I’m about to turn back and face out the front, when someone gets into the taxi behind me, and pulls out into traffic. In the lane behind me.
Suddenly I don’t feel as light as I just did.
Maybe I’m paranoid, but I don’t need any reporters or paparazzi knowing where I live.
“Actually, can you drive around for a bit,” I tell the driver.
“Yes, sir. Whatever you wish, sir,” he says with a thick Hindi accent.
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