by JA Huss
“You had me followed?”
“I followed you myself. I saw you with your… wife, lover, girlfriend… whatever she’s called in your sick world. And your daughter. Do they know what you do, Fletcher?”
“She knows,” I say, leaving Shelly out of it. “And she knows why.”
“So she’s OK with you whoring yourself out? Taking home girls, fucking them on the roof, stringing them along so—”
“I never strung you along. You’re the one who got up and walked out on me this morning.”
“You set Cole up with one of your clients.” She snarls the words out. “You wanna tell me why you did that when you knew I wanted him?”
“You can’t always get what you want, princess.” Her face hardens. “Besides, he’s no good for you. I realized he was an asshole the first time I saw him up at this hotel months ago.” I wait for the surprise, but it never comes. “So you know he was up here?” I ask.
“I do now. Not that it matters. He and I weren’t dating then.” Her anger morphs into pain before my eyes. “He and I weren’t fucking. You used me. You lied to me.” Tears begin to form. “You sold me out, Fletcher. And all I ever did was try to help you keep your job.”
I scoff out a laugh. “I told you the other day, you can keep that fucking job. You think this one measly paycheck is enough to pay my bills?”
“What bills? I saw your house today, Fletcher. And I’m not a real-estate expert, but I looked the address up, and comps come in around four million dollars.”
“Shit.” My laugh is practically a guffaw this time. “If that house was worth four million dollars, my problems would be over. Try thirteen million, Tiffy. Thirteen fucking million dollars. Almost three acres of lakefront property. Two hundred yards of beach. A dock with deep water access so the bigger boats can get in. Eight thousand square feet of living space, home theatre, heated pool in the backyard, and a gym on the lower level that would put this hotel gym to shame.”
“Then why do you need money? And is that why you were so interested in me? For my money?”
Jesus Christ. I eye her, considering if I should tell her or not, considering if she deserves the truth. In the end, I let her decide. “Why do you think?” She lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m serious,” I say, before she can protest. “Tell me why you think I need money.”
“God only knows. You already admitted to using me for that stupid column of yours. Who knows why you need anything.”
“Give it a shot,” I growl.
She purses her lips and shrugs. “Drugs. Gambling debt.”
“You have a really low opinion of me, don’t you, Tiffy?”
“Oh, please!” she chortles. “I have a low opinion of you? Try the other way around, Fletcher.”
But I’m shaking my head, and then my words come out so low, I’m practically whispering. “I never lied to you. I just don’t hand the truth out to just anyone. And I never had a low opinion of you, Tiffy. From the minute I saw you out in the audience, I was hooked. You were beautiful. So fucking beautiful, you caught my eye in a crowd of hundreds. And even though you didn’t realize it, I liked you because you were confident. It shone through all the doubts you had. I saw it, even when you didn’t. I thought you were sexy. I thought you were funny, and intriguing, and smart. And yeah, the first time we fucked, it was a fuck. But if you think that was fucking last night, then I feel sorry for you. Because you don’t seem to be able to recognize love, Tiffy. And that is just sad.”
I stare at her as she stands in front of me with her arms crossed, shocked into silence.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna be busy packing, so get the fuck—”
A knock at my door stops me mid-sentence, and since I could use the distraction, I walk over and open it up.
Claudio is standing on the other side of the door, his face in a long, sad frown. “Is Tiffy with you? She’s got her phone turned off and I need to talk to her.”
I open the door wide and wave him in.
“Claudio,” Tiffy says, rushing forward. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
Claudio nods, looking at me first, before shifting his gaze to Tiffy. “Your father is in the hospital. They’ve sent a helicopter to take us to Reno where the jet is waiting.”
Chapter Thirty
My father died on Tuesday. And the saddest thing about it was that the world went on.
The doctors and nurses in the private hospital suite were too used to death, too wrapped up in the realities of it, and too busy to mark this one particular occasion as special. It wasn’t, in fact. Special. And aside from a somber three sentences muttered on the stock report news that night on the cable channels, no one noticed.
I got there in time, at least. I spent nearly forty-eight hours with him before he slipped away. He wasn’t coherent though. He hadn’t come to the show Saturday night because he’d had another stroke due to the tumor pressing on his brain.
And now that I’m sitting here alone at the cemetery five days later, I feel like shutting down.
At least it’s not raining, though. But it might later because I can see a storm brewing out over the Pacific from where I sit. And it’s not quiet. The traffic from the city is all too familiar. It’s just an ordinary day marking another ordinary death. I don’t mind. I don’t care about anything right now.
Claudio and Cole both explained the money situation. I’m not even sure I mind that. It wasn’t mine, after all. Why should he let me have it?
No, it’s not the money that nags at my calm exterior. It’s the fact that being cut out makes me feel like it was all a lie.
Of course, Claudio insists that I shouldn’t feel this way. But what does he know about rejection? His parents are still together. They live in the same top-floor condo in Russian Hill as they did when he was five. He’s the poster child for unconditional forever love from his parents. He can’t possibly understand.
And that’s why I’m here alone. I told Claudio I’d talk to him later. I just wanted a few minutes alone with my dad to say goodbye. People who have been loved their whole life like he has can’t possibly understand how I feel right now.
I sigh as I wring my gloved hands in my lap. It’s warm today, so they’re sweating. My whole body is hot and slick under my black lace dress and my matching hat. It feels like punishment for some reason.
It’s not the money that bothers me. I’m not sure I remember what it’s like to live on a budget, I was so young when Randall appeared. But I’m smart and I can adjust. I can figure it out. So it’s not the money. It’s the feeling I get about the whole situation. The lies about his illness. The last-minute changes to the will. It’s like he left me behind. Like he took it with him, after all. He took everything with him and left me here all alone.
My mind wanders to Fletcher. I think about him constantly. His home up in those mountains. His family. How happy he looked when he was there. A different kind of happy than when I saw him at the hotel. Why does he keep them secret? Why does he cheat? Why does he do anything?
I can’t stop thinking about him.
It’s like he switched places with Cole, who I have barely thought about at all in the past week. I can’t stand to look at Cole, to be honest. Even now, his name starts to make my stomach sick.
A man clears his throat behind me. “Do you need anything, Miss Preston?”
I don’t turn. I just shake my head.
“You can stay as long as you want. Do you need a ride home?”
I’ve been here for more than an hour, just staring at the grave. Contrary to movies, they don’t just fill the grave in after people leave. Cemeteries, it seems, run on a schedule just like anyone else. So the shiny black coffin in the hole in front of me only has those few symbolic handfuls of dirt on it. I can hear the machinery off in another part of the cemetery as it works to cover another recently deceased’s grave. I might be fucking up their schedule, come to think of it.
But who cares? I guess if there is a mom
ent in life when you can be a little bit selfish about taking up other people’s time, it’s when you’re sitting at a cemetery.
“No, thank you,” I finally say. “I have my car.”
Everybody disappeared after they found out about the will. It’s not official yet, these things take time. But the writing is on the wall. Tiffy Preston was cut out. She owns one struggling luxury hotel in Nevada, and I’m sure they think I’m gonna get nowhere with that, since the whole place is in flux after Fletcher left and Chandler took the job in Vegas that Cole offered him.
Cole. I can’t even.
I can’t even with that hotel either. I just feel… defeated.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
I turn my head a little at the woman’s voice behind me, but not enough to see who it is.
“Thank you,” I mutter.
Clothing rustles as she makes her way up to the row of chairs in front of the grave where I sit alone. She takes a seat two chairs down and places a black leather attaché case on the red velvet cushion.
I stare at it, then glance up at her face and frown. It’s the woman who was having lunch with Cole last Sunday. “Can I help you with something?”
She smiles. And she’s very pretty with her blue eyes and blonde hair, her perfect face with her perfect makeup. No bloodshot eyes for her. No tearstains on her cheeks. Her hair is swept up in a professional do that is sophisticated and sexy at the same time.
“I’m a friend of Fletcher’s.”
I shake my head and look down. But I say nothing. I just haven’t got the energy.
“And he was going to show you this last weekend, but he…” She pauses, maybe trying to find the right words for what happened last weekend. “But he didn’t have time.”
“I’m not interested.” It comes out flat. Devoid of emotion.
“Maybe not.” She sighs. “But he thinks you should at least know.” She pats the case and stands. “When you’re ready.”
I have nothing for that. I don’t even have a slight curiosity about what that case might contain. A letter of apology? That makes me snort and the woman halts her retreat mid-stride, to see if I have anything to say.
No, more likely it’s more lies.
“He’s sorry,” she says.
“I bet he is.”
She sighs, letting out a long stream of frustration into air that is so damp from humidity, it probably clings to her breath. “He really is sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, finally looking up again. “What exactly is he sorry for?”
The woman gives me a little gesture with her hands. Something akin to, I’m not sure.
That makes two of us.
“If you have any questions, you can call me.” Those are her final words. She turns and walks off.
I stare at the case, then turn around in my seat and watch her retreat. The man in charge here is waiting a little ways off, his hands clasped together behind his back, like he’s standing guard.
I look back at the case, pick it up by the handle, and then stand. I peer over into the deep hole that holds the only father I ever knew and feel the sting of sadness as a final tear streaks its way down my cheek. “Goodbye, Dad.” My chin trembles. “I just want you to know, I love you. And I don’t care about the money. If you feel I don’t deserve anything, then there’s a reason for that. I’ll be OK.”
And that’s it. That’s all there is to say about it. He made his decision and I’m going to live with it.
I walk off, the heels of my shoes sticking into the soil underneath the deep grass with each step. I get my car, place the black case on the passenger seat beside me, and then start it up and drive away.
Chapter Thirty-One
At home, in my Preston Resorts-owned condo in Pacific Heights—how soon will they take this away, I wonder for a brief second—I lie in my bed. The AC is on, and the small one-bedroom condo I’ve called home for the past two years has allowed me the luxury of hiding under the covers, pretending reality is a dream and the dream is reality.
The phone rings, but I ignore it. It’s been ringing all day. There are at least ten messages on there.
The machine picks up and Cole’s voice meanders into my bedroom. “Tiffy, we need to talk. I know you’re upset about—”
He has no idea what I’m upset about. I barely know what I’m upset about. It’s more than the death. It’s everything that happened last week end all rolled up into one giant WTF.
“—but I have investors interested in the Landslide. I hadn’t had time to talk about the financial situation—”
“No,” I say bitterly, “you were too busy using it as your fuck palace to have a frank conversation with me about the hotel.”
“—they made a decent offer. So if you need the capital to…” He hesitates here, maybe choosing his words carefully. “… to clear up some financial obligations…”
Wow. That was tactful.
“… I can arrange for the sale. Just let me know.”
The message ends. The machine beeps. And then the apartment goes silent with nothing but the sound of the air-conditioning coming out of the vents.
I go back to sleep.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
When I wake the light streaming through the sheer white curtains of my bedroom tells me it’s late afternoon. But I don’t turn to see the time. The phone is ringing again. I listen to a strange voice claiming she is from the probate lawyers telling me that we have a meeting tomorrow.
I won’t be going, so I turn over and fall back asleep.
The next time the phone rings, the sunlight has that new-day brightness to it. This time it’s Claudio.
My eyes close and I pine for my mom.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
“Tiffy?”
Claudio has found his way into my apartment. I open my eyes and wait for him to find me.
“Tiffy,” he says, walking through my bedroom door. “Oh my God. Jesus Christ, girlfriend. I thought you were dead. Some dramatic suicide—”
“Claudio,” I croak out. “Why are you here?”
“I’ve been trying to call you for two days!” He screams it, jolting me awake. “You fucking bitch!” I look at him and realize he’s been crying.
“Claudio,” I repeat.
“No,” he says, shaking his head in that dramatic way he does. “No, Tiffy. You had me so worried. I came all the way from Nevada. Drove straight through. I asked Cole to come check on you, but he said he’d send someone from his office. And the thought that a stranger would find your body—”
“I’m fine, Claudio.”
“It doesn’t matter. I thought you…” He sniffs. “I thought you’d…”
“I didn’t.” The fact that he thinks I’d take the easy way out like my mother stings more than I care to admit. “I just don’t feel like talking to anyone.”
He comes over to the bed and lies down next to me. He pulls me into a hug that is deep, and sad, and says all the things I needed to hear in one silent gesture. “Please,” he says. “Don’t do this. Don’t give up. We’re going to be fine. OK?”
I nod into his embrace. “I know. I do. I just needed… time.”
We lie there like that. Me and my best friend. I don’t know how long, but it’s a considerable amount of time. It slips away from me these days.
“Get up now, OK?” he asks. “I’ll make you breakfast and coffee. And we can put things back together.”
“I’m not sure I want to put things back together, Claudio. Cole.”
“Oh, God,” he says. “Don’t even mention that bastard’s name.”
“Why?” I turn to him. “What’s happened?”
“You mean besides the fact that he’s got foreign investors all over the Landslide like he owns it? You need to fire him, Tiffy. Today. He needs to get his nosy ass out of your hotel. He’s out there making decisions. He fired all the dancers.”
“What?”
“He shut down the show, Tiffy. And the review on that travel sit
e came out today. It was a five-star rating and he’s fucked it all up.”
“Why would he fire them? They were the only money-makers we had.”
“That’s the million-dollar question, right? Why would he fire them?” Claudio sucks in a deep breath through his teeth and glares at some image of Cole in his imagination.
But that bit of news gets me moving. Cole fired the dancers? It just doesn’t make sense.
I let Claudio make breakfast while I take a shower. I had no idea it had been two days since the funeral. Claudio is right. I need to pull myself together and find a way to get through this. So I pull on a robe, shuffle out to the kitchen and take a seat at my breakfast bar.
“Hungry?” Claudio asks over a griddle filled with pancakes. He flips them and then pours me a cup of coffee, adding in the cream and sugar he knows I love, and then slides it down the counter.
“Starved, actually.”
“Yes,” he says, pursing his lips and placing a spatula-holding hand on his hip. “Well, forgetting to eat for two days will do that to you.”
I sneer back at him, good-naturedly, of course, then I sigh. “It’s all so surreal, ya know?”
His sneer becomes a pout, and he walks over and hugs me. “I know, baby. But we’ll find a way to survive. We always do.”
“We’ve never really had to, Claudio. Have you ever thought of that?”
“But we’re equipped, Tiff.” He looks at me seriously. “We are. We’re smart, and innovative. I just know it.”
I have to laugh at that a little. “We might be. I guess we’ll find out.”
I get up with my coffee and wander over to the terrace to open the drapes. I spy the black attaché case from the day of the funeral on the coffee table and walk over to it. I pick it up. It’s not that heavy.
“What’s that?” Claudio asks from the stove.
“I’m not sure. Something from Fletcher. That blonde woman Fletcher set up with Cole—”
“What?” Claudio says. “When did that—”
