Butterfly

by Rochelle Alers

  Leaning her hip against a table, Seneca told Booth every thing, from leaving his condo, going with Phillip to his hotel suite, their going to Vegas to marry before the shoot, and the reason why she wanted to annul their short-lived marriage.

  Booth rolled his eyes. “If you’d told me this I wouldn’t have put you in the same room with him.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  A savage curse escaped the agent’s compressed lips. “I thought Kingston was smarter than that.”

  “Don’t blame him,” Seneca in defense of her husband. “We never should’ve married. If I was thinking beyond the next orgasm I would’ve rejected his proposal—at least until I’d gotten to know him better.”

  Flashing a sardonic smile, Booth shook his head. “That’s no guarantee, baby. I’ve been married twice, and each time I thought I knew my ex-wives, but something would jump off where we were unable to work through it, so it was the lawyers who made out like bandits when they charged me through the nose to get rid of them.” He sobered. “Did you have a prenup?”

  “No. It doesn’t matter, because I don’t want Phillip’s money.”

  Booth’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “The man’s a fool. He could’ve had it all—a beautiful wife, half a billion in endorsements and a multimillion dollar basketball contract—yet his fuckin’ insecurities had to blow it.”

  It was Seneca’s turn to lift her eyebrows. “We’ve decided to remain friends.”

  “No, Seneca. That’s not going to happen. The man has confessed to being obsessed with you, so you continuing to see him will just feed into his sick shit. He’s one of those guys who believe if they can’t have you, then no one will. You will cut the ties after this weekend. And I’ll talk to Kingston and let him know the deal.”

  “What makes you think he’ll listen to you?”

  The blue-green eyes hardened like stones. “He’ll listen to me. I’ve saved his ass more than a few times when he got a little too rough with several of his girlfriends.”

  “What do you mean about too rough?”

  “Either that or Kingston doesn’t know his own strength, because some of them wound up with some pretty nasty bruises.”

  Seneca’s mouth opened, and she wasn’t able to utter a word, recalling the two times she’d had to warn Phillip about grabbing and holding her too tightly. She would be hard-pressed to explain the bruises if she were to do a shoot.

  “Okay, Booth. I’ll stop seeing him.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “You’re not lying to me, are you, Seneca?”

  The seconds ticked as they stared at each other. “No.”

  Booth gave her a thin-lipped smile. “After the Super Bowl ad airs I’m certain you’ll get tons of offers to appear with him again, but that decision will have to be yours.”

  “Do you think it would be wise to work with him again?”

  “You’re going to have to learn to separate business from personal. If you’re going to feel uncomfortable working with him, then I’d say don’t do it. But, if not, then go for it.”

  “I need you to answer one question for me, Booth.”

  “What is it?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Phillip’s proclivity for roughing up women?”

  “I don’t involve myself in my clients’ private lives until they involve me. I’ve been in this business long enough to see how young men become victims to their own hype. Either they come from a single-parent family or from one where their parents are struggling to make ends meet, then suddenly they’re being bombarded with offers from people for more money than they could ever hope to earn in ten lifetimes.

  “There are the cars, jewelry, drugs, mansions, and let’s not forget the women. Women who would never give them a second look if not for their multimillion-dollar contracts. It doesn’t matter if they come from the projects or the trailer park, it’s just too much for them to digest. I picked up Phillip because he was different. He comes from a good family, he’s intelligent and without peer when it comes to making three-pointers. But unfortunately, he feels the need to hurt women every once in a while, and mark my words, there is going to come a time when I’m not going to be able to cover for him. You’re a young, beautiful woman, Seneca, and I’d hate for you to have to give up your career because some man decided to rearrange your face.”

  Seneca couldn’t stop the audible gasp when she processed what her agent had just revealed. “He hit them in the face?”

  Booth nodded. “Not only did he have to pay their medical bills but he agreed to pay them for pain and suffering to the tune of millions. He had to give one ten million. His only consolation is that the money is paid out over twenty years—half a mil for each year. If she decides to get diarrhea of the tongue, then she’s cut off and legally must repay what he’s given her.”

  “Why don’t you turn him in?”

  “You have to remember that he’s not beating my ass. It’s up to the women to press charges.”

  Seneca recalled the first time when Phillip grabbed her and she’d threatened to sue him if he’d bruised her. Little had she known that other women had sued him. She said a silent prayer of thanks that she’d gotten out unscathed.

  Looping her arms around Booth’s neck, she pressed a kiss to his smooth jaw. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Booth’s hands went to her waist, and he resisted pulling her closer. “You and Phillip are my clients, but morally, it’s my responsibility to protect you from him. When you told me you’d married him I freaked. That’s why I cautioned you about telling anyone. You say he didn’t hit you, and that leads me to believe that hopefully he’s learned his lesson.” He kissed her forehead. “Let’s get back to the others before tongues start wagging about us sleeping together.”

  Seneca sucked her teeth loudly. “That’s never going to happen,” she said confidently. She walked out into the bright sunlight, leaving Booth to follow a minute later.

  Talking with the agent was enlightening and frightening, only because she’d been unaware that the man she’d been sleeping with and had married was an abuser. She forced a brittle smile when she returned to the large tent that had been set up to protect everyone from the harmful rays of the hot summer sun.

  Seneca sidled up to Phillip when he stood in line waiting for the bartender to take his beverage request. “I know everything,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Phillip angled his head, staring at his soon-to-be ex-wife as if she were a stranger. “What?”

  “Booth told me about the other women,” she continued sotto voce. “After this weekend I think it best if we do not see each other again. Get some help, Phillip, or you can kiss your dreams of becoming a doctor bye-bye.”

  Phillip, who’d decided it was better not to pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about, nodded. “I’m seeing a therapist.”

  Seneca placed a hand on his back in a comforting gesture. “Good for you.”

  “I was going to tell you—”

  “Don’t, Phillip. It’s okay.”

  “The first time I saw you,” Phillip continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “I knew I wanted to marry you. All I thought about was you having our children and our growing old together.”

  Turning on her heel, Seneca walked away from him. She’d heard enough. His obsession was frightening, and she feared what he could possibly do to her. There was no way she was going to share a bedroom with him ever again.

  Thankfully, she’d packed the clothes she’d left at his hotel suite and her luggage was stored in the trunk of the limo that would take her back to Manhattan. She bumped into Luis, who caught her before she lost her balance.

  “¿Cómo estás, Mariposa?”

  “Do you mind sharing your bedroom with me?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Answer the question, Luis.”

  “Of course you can.”

  She grabbed his hand. “Come and help me move my th
ings.”

  Luis’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on, Seneca?”

  “I just don’t want to share a room with Phillip Kingston.”

  Luis recognized fear in the eyes of the woman who’d become the inspiration for most of his creations. “Okay. I’ll help you move your things.”

  Seneca chewed her lower lip, praying not to break down. “Thank you, Luis.” The skirt of the ankle-length tank dress swirled around her long legs as she and Luis returned to the house.

  Phillip watched his wife and the designer through narrow eyes until they disappeared from his line of vision.

  “Now is the time to let her go,” said a familiar voice next to him. He turned to see his agent standing only a few feet away.

  “What if I don’t want to let her go?”

  A feral smile twisted the agent’s face. “You will let her go, Kingston, or you’re done with a capital D.”

  “Don’t worry, Gordon. I’m not going to hurt her.”

  “I know you’re not, because if anyone’s going to get hurt it’s you. I’m tired of cleaning up your messes, Kingston. And I blame myself for letting you go after Butterfly.”

  “Butterfly?” he spat out. “You’re nothing but a greedy bastard, Gordon. This is not about Seneca.”

  “You tell me what it’s about, Kingston.”

  “It’s the money. Everyone who signs with BGM is nothing more than a dollar sign to you.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Booth rocked back on his heels. “Listen and listen well, my boy. I didn’t sign a document stating I wouldn’t divulge the details of your physical altercations with several women who will remain nameless. Fuck with me and I’ll not only drop you, but I’ll also make an anonymous phone call to a friend who works for a newspaper that thrives on salacious gossip. I told you before. Even if you were my one and only client, I’m not going to stand by and let you hit another woman. What is it going to be, Kingston? Are you going to stay away from her?”

  The sweep hand on Phillip’s watch made a full revolution. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You do more than think about it!” Booth countered. Physically, he knew he was no match for the ballplayer, knowing he would have to even the odds. That’s where Dennis Mayfield’s special skills came in. He never asked his boyhood friend how he managed to coerce people into seeing things his way. All he was concerned about were the results.

  But one thing Booth Wilkes Gordon was not, and that was easily frightened. He hadn’t issued an idle threat when he’d mentioned leaking information that Phillip Kingston had battered women. “After this weekend, you will never contact Seneca Houston again.” He gestured to the bartender. “Take his drink order. He’s holding up the line.”

  A ripple of silence descended over the two hundred guests who’d gathered on the property of Francisco Abrams when Booth Gordon walked onto the property with Seneca Houston clinging to his arm. Those close enough to glimpse her tall, thin figure draped in a short, backless, silk chiffon dress in flattering colors of tangerine and cream whispered among themselves while wondering who she was. The flared skirt, ending at midthigh, showed off her long legs to their best advantage. Five inches of Christian Louboutin black patent-leather pumps had her towering over many of the men in attendance.

  Booth introduced Seneca to the Argentinean-born director who lived half of the year in the States and the other half in Buenos Aires. Francisco cradled her hands, kissing her knuckles. His sharp brown eyes took in everything about her in a single glance.

  “When Gordon told me he was bringing me a gift, I never thought it would be so incredibly beautiful.”

  Seneca laughed, the sultry sound catching and floating on the rising wind off the water. She’d found the tall, slender man charming. His slightly accented English was musical, and he was attractive without being handsome.

  “Since today is also my birthday, are you going to be my gift?”

  Throwing back his head, Francisco roared in delight. “It would be my pleasure to be your gift.” He released her hands and peered around her back. He smiled. “Lovely dress. Ah—you have a tattoo. What is it?”

  “It’s a monarch butterfly and my signature.”

  “Your signature?”

  Seneca pointed to Luis, who was attempting to extricate himself from a woman who’d latched onto him like a ravenous predator. “That’s Luis Navarro, and he designed this dress. He claims I’m his muse and his mariposa.”

  “It’s a fitting signature. Booth told me you’re a model. Do you have any acting experience?”

  Seneca affected a sexy moue. “I have a little.”

  “How much is a little?”

  “Do you mind if we don’t talk shop tonight?” she asked.

  “When do you wish to talk, Mariposa?”

  Booth moved closer. “I’ll call you, Frankie, and set up a day and time when the three of us can get together. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to introduce Butterfly to a few other people.”

  “Thanks,” Seneca whispered when he wrapped an arm around her waist and led her away from Francisco. “I was running out of witty repartee.”

  “You do all right for a twenty-one-year-old. How about a drink—now that you’re legal?”

  “No, thank you.” She didn’t want to tell Booth that turning twenty-one wasn’t an excuse for her to drink.

  “Don’t you feel like celebrating?”

  “Being here is a celebration. When I used to read Vanity Fair and Town and Country and see photos of celebrities vacationing and partying in the Hamptons, I never would’ve imagined being here.”

  Booth gave Seneca a sidelong glance. “So, you like hanging out with counterfeit people?”

  “Why are you so cynical, Booth?”

  His fingers tightened on her tiny waist. “I’m getting old, Butterfly. Old, tired and crotchety.”

  “You need a wife.”

  “I don’t know if getting married again would mellow me out.”

  Booth was still faced with the Carter Browning dilemma. He had hired a private investigator to have the man checked out. He’d also had a security technician come and sweep the entire building for electronic listening devices. Carter hadn’t lied. The technician discovered a total of eighteen bugs, and if Joan Powers hadn’t disappeared he would’ve personally strangled her.

  “Let’s go down to the beach,” Seneca urged Booth when she spied Phillip with a buxom redhead clinging to his arm as if he were her lifeline. It was apparent he was ready to move on.

  Seneca returned nods and exchanged smiles with invited guests as she followed Booth down to the beach. Leaning against him for support, she slipped out of her shoes and dug her bare toes in the sand. “It’s going to be a long time before I’ll be thinking about getting married again.”

  “Now who’s being cynical?” Booth teased.

  “I’m being realistic,” she countered.

  “May I give you a little advice?” Seneca nodded. “Don’t get married again until you retire from modeling.”

  She nodded again. “That sounds like good advice.”

  “I’m going to set you up with my lawyer, who will handle your annulment.”

  “Is he going to charge me through the nose?” Seneca teased, repeating what Booth said about his divorces.

  “No. There’s no division of property or children, so it should be short and sweet.” Booth gave her a peck on the cheek. “I’m going to get something to drink. Try and stay out of trouble.”

  Seneca noticed the beach was becoming crowded as party-goers carrying cups and plates of food sat on the sand to watch the awe-inspiring sunset. Electra joined her, balancing a plate piled high with food.

  “I got enough for both of us,” she explained, handing Seneca several cocktail napkins.

  Seneca took a large prawn and a skewer with grilled chicken. “Where’s Jayson?”

  “He’s hanging around the pool waiting for you to introduce him to Francisco Abrams.”

  “Why is
he waiting for me?”

  “We’re your guests, Seneca.”

  “And I’m Booth’s guest. Tell Jayson to go over and introduce himself.”

  Electra pushed out her lower lip. “Why are you being a bitch, Seneca?”

  She glared at her roommate as if she’d suddenly taken leave of her senses. “I’m a bitch because I won’t take your bitch-ass, poor excuse for a man by the hand and introduce him to someone he wants to meet?”

  “Who the fuck are you to call my boyfriend a bitch?”

  Seneca struggled not to lose her temper. “I’ll call him anything I want. When Booth told me we were going to Francisco Abrams’s soirée, I thought of you and Jayson and that he could possibly connect with the man.”

  “What if he introduces himself and Mr. Abrams gives him the brush-off?”

  “That’s his problem. He’s just going to have to learn to deal with rejection, Electra. You’re his girlfriend, not his mother. You can’t pick him up when he falls and scrapes his knees.”

  Electra went completely still, her eyes filling with tears. “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I am your friend, Electra, but I’m not a bitch.”

  “What I don’t need is a shady friend. Ever since you signed on with BGM you’ve changed. It’s like you’re breathing rarified air and you don’t have time for us common people. You’re dating Phillip Kingston, yet when I asked who PK was you acted as if I’d asked you something that would jeopardize national security. Now you get a one-on-one with Francisco Abrams and you refuse to introduce your friends to him. Has he asked you to appear in one of his films?”

  Seneca didn’t know where Electra was coming from or what had set her off. “I don’t have to deal with this.” She walked off down the beach without giving her roommate a backward glance. Hot tears pricked the back of her eyelids, but she refused to cry—not on her birthday.

  Turning twenty-one had become a sobering experience. She planned to dissolve her two-week marriage, and the woman she’d called friend had just turned on her.