He growled as he put it all together. “So you trust someone like Caz Bixby now?”
“At least he tells me the truth,” I shot back. “That’s more than I could ever say for you.”
His eyes narrowed. He leaned up over me. “Are you saying you trust him more than me?”
I tipped my chin. “You shouldn’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”
He grabbed the covers on either side of my head and balled them into his fist. “Just how far does this trust go? Have you fucked him, Coralie? Has he touched you?”
I scoffed. He had some nerve playing that game now. “What difference does it make? He’s just keeping me busy so you can do Suzanne’s bidding, right? Isn’t that how your demented little game is played?”
He grabbed me hard and kissed me even harder. He tried to shove his tongue between my tightly clenched lips, but I fought him, pushing my hands against him. “You’re mine,” he growled against me. He held me down by the arms as he positioned himself over me.
I glared at him. “What’s the matter, Dev? Afraid if you don’t make me fat and pregnant, I’ll actually sleep with Caz?”
It was though I tossed cold water right in his face. “What did you say?” he asked in a low, ominous voice.
But I didn’t care. “Come on, stud. You have to be expecting karma to come back and bitch slap you one day. I turn into the little woman at home, barefoot and pregnant, chasing after four kids, while you get to lead the jet-set life as Suzanne’s permanent fuck-buddy. Eventually, one day, I’ll find a way to get even. How many lonely, neglected housewives have you been paid to fuck over the years, Dev?” He glared at me, his fingers cutting into my wrists. “And you already know I’m not shy about paying for what I want. That’s the benefit of being rich. Just ask Suzanne.”
Devlin pulled himself off of me and off of the bed with a frustrated growl. He breathed hard as he glared down at me. “Way to pick the wrong team, baby.”
I leaned up on my arms. “Don’t you get it? I’m not playing your stupid game. It’s over, Devlin.”
His jaw clenched as he stared at me. Finally he said, “You did this to us, Coralie. I want you to remember that.”
“There was no us, Mr. Masters,” I said softly. “There was only you.”
He pivoted on his heel and stalked from my house.
I was on the phone with my lawyer the next day.
Because I could claim fraud, I was able to annul my marriage to Devlin Masters, which made it as though I had never been married at all. Legally speaking, anyway. Sandblasting him out of my psyche was the more difficult task.
Father naturally fired him, though I did keep mum on the sordid little details. I simply said that something in his past had become known to me, and I didn’t want it to affect the Cabot brand, which is all Father really needed to get the wheels in motion.
I had no one to protect now except myself, and I was humiliated that I had both hired and married a gigolo–like an idiot. No one ever needed to know the truth.
Since I was no longer married to Devlin, I was able to drop Caz like a stone, too. He didn’t even demand payment, though he had succeeded in doing what he had always threatened to do. “You did the right thing,” he had texted. “I’ll miss you, pussycat.”
I deleted his number from my phone.
The Darcy thing was a little more delicate. I didn’t want to see her punished, yet again, for Suzanne’s dastardly schemes. What we were doing was important work, something I had wanted to do for a long, long time. Dev had destroyed a lot of my dreams, but by God I wasn’t going to let that be one of them.
But I also didn’t want to be called to the boardroom on a regular basis by her new partner, her brother, Devlin, which was what happened that very next week.
I could barely make it minute by minute without either crying, kicking something, or puking from all the stress. And there I was, sitting with Father and Oliver on one side of the conference table; Devlin, Darcy and their lawyer sat on the other. Devlin’s glare landed on me and stayed there as the lawyer explained how things would work going forward.
“Things don’t have to work at all going forward,” Father reminded them all with a deep scowl. “I think under the circumstances, it would just be wiser to cut all ties now.”
“Only if you’re willing to pay substantial damages.” The lawyer slid a copy of Father’s contract with Darcy across the table. “Feel free to consult with your attorney, of course, but your contract of exclusivity for Ms. Masters was for the period of one year. Since she has not broken this contract, according to the very specific terms you set, the contract is still binding.
“Furthermore, my client has incurred considerable expensive commuting back and forth from Las Vegas, to attend meetings and conferences, as well as obligations with the media. Since Mr. Masters has orchestrated several successful campaigns for your company, much of your projected profit for the coming fiscal year depends on Darcy working with Cabot resources. Quite a loss for both parties, based on these figures and projections.” He slid those across the table as well. A big bold number was circled on the bottom of the page.
“Bottom line, Darcy has nothing to do with the marital discord between Mr. and Mrs. Masters. It would not only be totally unfair to punish her for their separation, it would throw her into immediately and significant financial crisis. In other words, we don’t want to take legal action to protect her interests, but we will.”
I could feel Devlin’s eyes drilling holes in my skin. I cleared my throat. “We have no intention to leave Darcy hanging. You’re right. It’s not her fault what happened between her brother and Cabot’s. We fully intend to honor the contract.”
“That’s good to hear,” the attorney said.
“Given the delicate circumstances,” Father interjected, “certain changes will have to be made. I want no further contact between my daughter and Mr. Masters.”
I glanced at Devlin, who still watched me quietly. He didn’t even flinch when Father stated that all future contact will go through Oliver. Darcy sent him a shy glance before dropping her eyes to her hands in her lap.
“I’ll do it if you can promise one thing,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to do the press for Youniquely Cabot.”
We all turned to her, including Devlin himself, obviously taken aback by her request. “But you are Youniquely Cabot,” Father insisted.
She shook her head. “Look at her. CC is the success story,” she dismissed. Her eyes drifted to mine. “Please,” she added softly.
In her softly spoken words, I heard her screaming for help. She was afraid, and I knew she was afraid. She was afraid of failing. She was afraid of succeeding. She was afraid of being seen every bit as much as being invisible.
“A big part of my success is that I meet people where they are. If you make someone feel important as they are, they reach higher than they ever thought to try. Forcing their choices, or worse, making their choices for them, generally always backfires. They have to get there on their own.”
I ignored Devlin completely, but I followed his advice to the letter. “I’ll do it,” I finally decided. “I made you a promise, and I’m going to keep it.”
I turned back to Devlin, whose eyes had narrowed as he glared at me. I looked away and didn’t bother looking back until they left the boardroom.
“Are you sure you want to do that, CC?” Oliver asked. “That’s a lot of attention on you, especially right now while things are so chaotic.”
I scoffed a bit at the term. I only thought I knew what chaos was before I met Devlin Masters. “Better me than her,” I said softly without looking at either of them. Finally I turned to Father. “I’m just glad you decided not to scrap the deal because of everything that happened with Devlin.”
“Don’t thank me, CC. Thank Suzanne.”
My stomach dropped. “What? Why?”
“She believes in Youniquely Cabot and she believes in Darcy. It’s a multi-million dollar idea,
one that would connect her with other women all over the country.”
“You mean other voters,” I sneered, suddenly sorry I hadn’t connected the dots between Devlin Masters and my father’s favorite person, Suzanne Everhart.
“Potato, po-tah-do,” he said with a wave of his hand. “She wants to ride this wave all the way to the White House, and she thinks she can. And I think she can. It’s just business, Coralie.”
Of course it was business. I hired a man to give my fantasy for a price. It dawned on me that I might never stop paying for that.
To further scrub Devlin from my life, I decided to sell the house in Brentwood. Devlin surprised me–yet again–by buying me out, using his high-priced lawyer to handle the sale.
Whether all his months as a Cabot had worked out well for him or Suzanne was using all her money to dig even deeper into his life, but I ended up with a $4,000,000 check within weeks of leaving what should have been our forever home.
Lucy was ready to tar and feather him when I arrived at her house to finally cry on her shoulder about it. She burned through about four mood swings, one right after the other, as a result.
“Oh, Ceece! I’m so sorry,” she cried as she held me. “This is all my fault. I never should have suggested this. I’m such an idiot.”
“You’re not the idiot. Devlin Masters is the idiot.”
“Damned right he is!” she raged. “What a fucking ass clown. Someone needs to Lorena Bobbit his ass.” To Gus, who sat quietly nearby, “Where did we put those knives we got for the wedding?”
“Lucy, he’s not worth it,” I encouraged, which sent her into mood swing number three: the ultimate cheerleader.
“You don’t need him. You never did. You’re strong, powerful, beautiful – you can have anyone you want. Fuck him.”
“No, thanks,” I mumbled. I honestly didn’t want to have sex with anyone ever again.
“You leave it to me,” she said as she hugged me again. “We’re going to find the right kind of man for you. Or woman. Fuck em all!” she decided before she dissolved into more angry tears. “I just don’t understand. I thought he was the one!” she wailed.
Gus finally disentangled us, whispering to me, “You’ll have to forgive her. She’s a little more excitable than usual these days.”
At least Lucy Dunleavy had an excuse to be a raging psychopath. She was pregnant and hormonal.
I was simply heartbroken and stupid.
I was so over all of it. I didn’t want to see him again. I didn’t even want to think about him again, though it was all I could do in those first awful weeks. Every time my phone rang, I jumped. Every time I opened the door to my home, I expected to see him leap from the shadows and once again take me into those powerful arms that had been hard as hell to forget. Every song on the radio reminded me of him. There was a memory of Devlin attached to every square inch of Cabot’s. Even Petit Paradis was haunted by his ghost. Every time I climbed into my bed, I remember his taking me there that very first night. I remembered all the pleasure. I remembered all the pain. I felt everything all at once, all the time.
I ended up taking a sabbatical from work. The only thing I would commit to was publicity for the new line, simply because I had promised as much to Darcy. I used it however I could to my advantage. In the dark days following the public announcement of my annulment, I wrote a blog post about not settling for anything less than the perfect fit, and thanks to the innuendo of what that meant for my marriage, it landed with a huge splash. I got to have my say even when I wasn’t really saying anything at all.
Such was PR. It was my image to sell, and I could offer as little or as much as I wanted. Everything else had to march on without me.
Oliver, thankfully, showed mercy on me by not telling me “I told you so,” every five minutes. Instead, he worked as the liaison between Darcy and me so I wouldn’t have to deal with either of the Masters if I didn’t want to. He’d often bring Chinese takeout to Petit Paradis so that we could do our work remotely, rather than at the office, just so I wouldn’t have to go in, fighting past the mob of paparazzi curious to see how the new It Girl was taking her public breakup.
I just couldn’t face anyone, particularly after I had to scrub social media of all references to my ill-fated romance with Devlin. I felt the dream die all over again with every happy photo I had to delete. Telling myself that it had all been fake didn’t help much. The romance had been a fake. But the pain of that breakup was very, very real.
The official press release cited “irreconcilable differences,” though annulling the marriage on the basis of fraud did get quite a few tongues wagging. I didn’t know whether to be amused or relieved that people thought that meant Devlin was gay.
As long as no one connected the dots of how we really met, I didn’t really care what happened to his reputation as a result.
Many fans sent their condolences, but I simply asked for a little space and privacy during this difficult time and continued to hide out at my Father’s house.
He, too, was quite generous about everything. He seemed genuinely sorry that things didn’t work out, particularly the no grandkids part.
I still ached over that too, though I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe if I had a child, it wouldn’t have seemed like a waste of time. I’d still have one person who loved me, who wouldn’t go running every time some horrible woman snapped her fingers.
The bitch of it was that if Devlin had committed half of his energy to building a marriage with me, rather than a fabrication of one, we would still be together.
Despite it all, there was a part of me that still loved him. That missed him. That couldn’t just let it go.
I spent most of October either drunk or high. I could do that now that I was an official hermit. November passed much the same way. I didn’t give a shit about Thanksgiving. I didn’t have anything to be thankful for that particular year, at least nothing that I thought I might have.
The only thing I cared about was Black Friday, when we’d really test Youniquely Cabot on the market. It flew off the shelves, one of the most successful things we’d ever done.
I was finally forced out of my shell by Christmas. Our calendar was full of social obligations and commitments, especially pushing Youniquely Cabot, so I knew I couldn’t go on hiding forever. Instead I did everything possible to ensure I was sufficiently numb (and/or medicated) to my new reality.
I drank even more when I had to see Suzanne Everhart’s hateful face. Sylvia had thrown another fundraiser that December, and I could hardly beg off of going considering I never told Father about her connection with Devlin, so Youniquely Cabot–and by default, its spokesmodel–were still tied to that despicable twat for the foreseeable future. I was scared as shit that Devlin would be there on her arm, but per his social media, he was spending the holidays in Vegas with his sister.
Suzanne still wore that possessive smile on her face when I greeted her at that party. “Mrs. Masters, so good to see you again.” She quickly corrected her faux pas, proving it wasn’t a faux pas at all. “I’m sorry, dear. I forgot. How are you holding up?”
I glared at her. “I guess that’s the one thing about being so young,” I said with a sweet smile. “I can rebound a lot easier than most.”
I yanked my hand free and stalked off to find the nearest bar.
I honestly didn’t want to go anywhere after that, much less the annual New Year’s Eve party at Father’s club. But I threw him a bone and volunteered to go as his date.
The last thing I wanted to do was sit in my house, alone, and think about the grand church wedding that would never be. We hadn’t gotten very far in planning our second wedding, just the date (New Year’s Eve,) and the venue (our church.) But I hadn’t been able to think of either of those things without my gut eating itself up with angst, especially the closer it got to the date. I needed the noise to distract me.
And since Suzanne was spending the holidays campaigning in Nevada, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t
have to see her there, which was reason enough to celebrate. I could manage to make it all the way to the new year without ripping her goddamned heart out and landing straight in jail.
“It’ll do you good to get out of the house,” Father had encouraged with a loving pat on my shoulder. I got more of those now that I was a smaller size. “Let them see you are a survivor.”
I was tasked to do that a lot. As the face of Youniquely Cabot, I constantly posted positive statuses, (mostly empowering to other women,) and those endless photos of me living an exciting, jet-set happy life, courtesy of my newfound confidence and my fabulous new wardrobe.
It was all a lie. Everything, still, was all a fucking lie.
The only thing I had to show for that calendar year was Youniquely Cabot, and the fact that I had lost even more weight as a result from all the stress. I was now half the size I was when I met Devlin.
I was the one wearing a bandage dress to the New Year’s Eve party, while Lucy made her brief appearance at the party wearing something a little more forgiving. Now in her third trimester, her tiny body was in full bloom, and I envied her every goddamned day. Every single time I looked at her growing baby bump, I was reminded of all I had lost.
Actually, that wasn’t true. I was reminded of things that I had never really had in the first place, which hurt even worse. None of it was mine. Not Devlin. Not my marriage. Not my home. Not my choices. Not even my chaos.
Nothing.
I took a deep breath as I entered the club, reminding myself that was no longer the case. I was in charge of everything now. I was lonely, sure, and I certainly hadn’t had one suitable orgasm in months, even with all my favorite toys.
Memories of Devlin had wrecked even that.
“If you’ve ever been fucked by someone who really wants to fuck you, then you know being wanted is better.”
There had been several times during the last many weeks that I thought about just ripping the bandage off and fucking someone, anyone, to get Devlin out of my brain. I just needed new memories to replace the old ones.
I even entertained the idea of hiring another professional. I went to the websites, perused the available escorts. But with every new photo, I realized that I didn’t want anyone to pretend to be with me. I was tired of the pretense and the lies and the games. I wanted to be wanted for real.
Masters for Life Page 29
