Beauty and the Barbarian

by Nikki Winter

Throwing herself into the work had helped her regain some of the confidence that had been eaten away in the years that she’d watched Ashleigh attract attention from the opposite sex with no more than a small grin and a lift of those distracting eyes. Her intimate sets found their way into local stores and national ones, giving Mackenzie the opportunity to see women actually enjoy shopping.

  Offers came flooding in and by the time Arista was in kindergarten, Mackenzie was sitting at the head of a major department in her industry. Every step was like a nail in the coffin of her teenage self, proving that she wasn’t just the local Amazon who’d walked the halls of her high school, wishing she’d been gifted with the subtle, delicate features of her older sister Marissa. No, Mackenzie had become the Amazon Queen and she relished it.

  There were others scrambling about and looking for her nod of approval. They tried to impress her. It was intoxicating. But it wasn’t enough; not when the temporary glances of admiration weren’t nearly as fulfilling as the way Ashleigh used to look at her. Where she’d simply felt like a fixture to be dismissed by others, he’d changed that. But then, somewhere along the way, his dedication to their life together had become a dedication to his image, his endorsements and his need to receive a pat on the back from others. Special events were forgotten, dinners were canceled and time together had been stilted in lieu of running after a bigger name, a bigger acknowledgment. Arrogance had come with every award and the person who’d had so much respect for her was suddenly telling her, “If you don’t want to stay, I won’t beg you to, Mac. Leave.” She’d followed through with that. And it hadn’t made a goddamn thing easier.

  Meeting Michael during a shoot for one of her campaigns should have put it all to rest, and she thought that it had. They were compatible and he’d never looked at her with anything other than a really acute possessiveness that she’d liked. His gentle touches and sharp intellect had felt so right at the time. He was a polar opposite to Ashleigh. Mackenzie had taken pride in that, wanting to prove to everyone else—with all their sympathetic stares—that she was over him, that she could move on. When Michael asked her to marry him, she thought it was the most natural thing in the world to say yes.

  He and Arista had bonded in their own way, her family respected him and he had a successful career as a freelance photographer so what could be wrong about it? She’d asked herself that same question over and over again, determined to ignore the fact that her love for him and the love she’d had for Ashleigh didn’t compare in the slightest. She was determined to ignore how his possessiveness sometimes turned overbearing, how he could be demanding of extra time that she didn’t necessarily have to give. Mackenzie had overlooked his obvious jealousy of the friendship she’d developed with Ashleigh and she couldn’t be bothered to complain about how childish he behaved when he didn’t get his way. All of these things were manageable, right? Right?

  “You’ll be able to see, Ari in another few days, Ash,” Mackenzie finally said, ignoring his words. “I haven’t told her you’re coming.”

  “That’s not what I meant, plums,”—her gut tightened at the nickname—“I miss y—”

  “Mooommmyyy,” a voice sang from just outside her door.

  She looked away from her phone. “C’mon, Ari-bear.”

  The door swung open and a flash of pink, teddy bear laden pajamas charged the bed. Arista’s small legs launched her onto the mattress and she climbed up with a wide grin. “What’cha doin’?” she asked before giving Mackenzie a smacking kiss on the lips.

  Wrapping an arm around her small waist, Mackenzie sat the child firmly onto her lap and pointed at the screen of her phone. “Look who got up bright and early to talk to you, Ari-bear.”

  “Papa Bear!” her daughter cheered.

  “Baby-doll!” Ashleigh called from the other side, imitating Arista’s high-pitched tone and eliciting a giggle. “Harassing the pretty lady already?”

  Arista shook her head. “Not harassment, Daddy. It’s intense love.”

  Mackenzie burst out laughing. “Where do you get these things?”

  “Beneath the hair is a mass of brain tissue that concentrates all her evil,” he commented dryly. “And if you don’t feed her soon, I think things are going to get real ‘Blair Witch Project’ real quick.”

  Snorting, she rolled Arista onto the bed and tickled her sides. “Is Daddy right? Are you going to eat my soul if I don’t get your breakfast?”

  “Yes!” her daughter shrieked, twisting about. “Because I need the nutrition!”

  Mackenzie highly doubted her child was concerned with nutrition but she decided it was time to get up and moving and unfocused on Arista’s father.

  “You finish saying good morning to Papa Bear and I’ll keep myself safe by making waffles.”

  Arista nodded enthusiastically and went into an explanation as to why Ashleigh needed to have more than just protein shakes for his morning meals. “Don’t you miss the waffles, Daddy?”

  “Yeah, baby-doll,” Mackenzie heard him murmur in a low rumble on her way to the bathroom. “I miss their maker too.”

  She stumbled slightly but caught herself against the doorway. The subject changed to Arista wanting to do dolphin watching off the coast again and she closed the door behind herself, leaning against the sink with a shaky sigh.

  The overhead lights glinted on her ring and that’s when she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t talked to Michael in days. Mackenzie closed her eyes and tried to conjure an image of the man’s face that she’d agreed to marry but all she saw was Ashleigh, his expression set in sincerity when he said, “You were home.”

  Her head dropped and she fussed quietly to herself, “Your. Fault.”

  Four

  She couldn’t work. She couldn’t work because she couldn’t focus. Numbers and words, expense reports and statistical findings on revenue and audience had begun to blend together in a foggy smoothie of complicated bullshit that she found herself gazing at in frustration. All of it marched across Mackenzie’s vision and seemed to fade moments later into numb-minded oblivion. The corporation she worked for was aptly named She-Devil, because at the moment, she was in hell.

  “Mac?”

  Her head jerked up and she blinked down the long, wide glass table that seated ten, staring at the woman who’d called her name. From the line of gazes solely on her, she knew she’d missed something. “Yeah?” she squeaked.

  Nala Gregory, the advertising accounts coordinator for Mackenzie’s department, smirked slightly. “The proposal?”

  Mackenzie felt her eyes widening slightly. “Proposal?”

  “From the adult store franchise Kiss and Tell?” Nala leaned forward when Mackenzie only blinked owlishly and hedged, “They want to exclusively carry the new line of corsets you’re planning to release at the end of the year?”

  Right. That. The store and the corsets. Focus. “I’ll run over the projected numbers with Adrian later,” she retorted with a wave of her hand. “We can talk exclusivity when I see what their earnings were from at least the last three years.” Falling easily back into the role of pseudo business runner, she drummed her fingers across the glass. “I don’t want to waste my time with a set up that won’t draw any interest. In the meantime, tell me about how the new site is going for the From Eden line.”

  Nala lapsed over into an animated discussion about the amount of clicks they received each day along with orders. Suggestions rotated about the table on what would be the next step in advertisement and Mackenzie could once again hear none of it.

  Her head was out of sorts and seemed to be inescapably centered on Ashleigh’s call this morning. The call that ended with him telling her in a tone that sounded more like a threat than a promise, “See you soon, plums.” The flip of her tummy that followed made her feel like an utter shit. Her belly shouldn’t be flipping for her ex. But here she was.

  What was even happening?

  When people began to stand and file out of the conference room, Mackenzie kne
w that the meeting was over. She was out of the door and well on her way into serious avoidance when she noticed Nala had seemingly disappeared. Mackenzie reached her office quickly and closed the door, leaning against it.

  She took two steps further into the room and stopped, her shoulders dropping as she sighed, “You’re behind my couch again, aren’t you?”

  “Nope,” Nala announced as she popped up from Mackenzie’s left and ignored the loud yelp that followed. “Closet. You threw a stapler at me the last time I came at you from the couch.”

  “Because I didn’t understand then—the same way I don’t now—why a fully grown, seemingly mentally stable, adult would be lying in wait behind my office furniture.”

  “You avoid,” Nala accused, taking a seat at the edge of Mackenzie’s desk. “You get skittish like a rodent—”

  “Because yes, I definitely want to be compared to disease ridden carrion with undesirable hands and alarmingly large teeth.”

  “—And you just scamper off.”

  Mackenzie stared. “I’m almost six feet tall. It’s against the laws of nature, physics and God for me to successfully scamper anywhere.”

  The other woman pointed down. “You’ve got surprisingly small feet so you manage to scamper well enough.”

  “Why is it a surprise that my feet are small?”

  “Subject change!” Nala cheered, throwing up her hands. “Let’s talk about your lack of attention on me and my pretty face today.”

  “I’m still trying to determine if I should be insulted by your thoughts on my shoe size.”

  “We’re moving on from that. We’re moving on from that and discussing the fact that you looked to be contemplating something other than the complete importance of me and my lasting effect on your life.”

  Mackenzie would love to deny that statement; she’d love to throw another stapler at Nala’s head. And yet, it wasn’t particularly inaccurate. The woman in question had been Mackenzie’s first introduction into the inner workings of She-Devil. Her mouthy, ridiculous, and surprisingly funny rhetoric set the painfully shy and awkward side of Mackenzie at ease. Normally uncomfortable around women that she could probably carry around on her hip in the same manner that she did Arista, Nala’s huge personality only served to make up for what she lacked in height.

  Her looks were…devastating. But Mackenzie had learned that despite her seemingly arrogant ways, Nala could really give two fucks about genetics that had made her a veritable model for dainty, effervescent, fairy princesses and preferred that it not be mentioned unless she was doing the mentioning. Mackenzie knew this because the last time someone had made the mistake of describing the woman as such while leering down her blouse, she’d stabbed him in the hand with a pencil. That pencil had been sharp. Mackenzie would never forget the tearful sobs of “Why?!” She liked her hands puncture free, thank you.

  Mackenzie made her way over to her coffee maker. “Do you have daily affirmations that help you with being this conceited or…?”

  “No,” Nala answered. “I simply occasionally let one of my slaves up from the crawl space beneath my bedroom floor to tell me how wonderful I am.”

  “With anyone else I’d think they were joking…”

  “You’re evading again,” her friend sung. “Which means you were either in a land far, far away that sprouts dicks from the ground like squash in the fall season or you’re actually, deeply concerned about something.”

  Narrowing her eyes at the plum colored carpeting of her floor, Mackenzie suggested, “Dick squash?”

  “That sounds like a question rather than a confirmation. If you’re going to attempt convincing me that your mind is on male genitalia, you could at least try looking enthusiastic about it.”

  “I didn’t?” she asked. “I thought it was convincing. You think about a land where you’ve essentially got cock gourds and it should make you happy. Unless, of course, the cock gourds are seasonal and it gets a little sad again, but—”

  “Mac,” Nala cut in. “Hit the brakes on that steam engine of a brain you have for a moment because if you start in on the questions about preservation and allergies, I’m going to punch you…in the boob.”

  Mackenzie frowned. “Why the boob?”

  “Ever been punched in the boob before?”

  “I have a sister. I’ve absolutely been punched in the boob before.”

  “Then you know the pain of that.” Nala cocked her head at an angle and demanded, “Now tell me your worldly problems and stop trying to distract me.”

  “My God, you’re like a raccoon who’s been casing a house for days, watching the owners when they take garbage out,” Mackenzie breathed, sitting on her couch and staring up at the ceiling.

  “That was in response to my rodent scampering comment, wasn’t it?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Mackenzie Annalisa!”

  She flinched. “Don’t do that. My mother does that. I hate it when my mother does that.”

  “You’re not talking to me!” Nala exclaimed, throwing out her arms. “So I have to resort to full naming!”

  “And if I tell you that I don’t want to talk about it?”

  “It’s so sweet that you feel as though I’m giving you options.” The other woman came to take a seat beside her. “Speak to me. Tell me your woes.”

  “All of them or…?”

  “The boob punch is still on the table,” her friend warned.

  Purely for safety reasons, Mackenzie crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a dilemma happening in my home.”

  “Marissa and her girlfriend in town again? Did you find inappropriate items in the guest bathroom sink?”

  Quickly attempting to shut that memory down, she shook her head. “No. My issues surround the men in my life. The one who is to blame for the spreading of my vulva and the one who is to blame for the thinning of my patience.”

  “Okay, I’m going to try a mature approach here as opposed to simply ramming my head into a wall several times until I lose consciousness and ask, when you speak of your stretched out Johnny cake—”

  “Really? That’s what we’re calling it? The woman who brought up dick squash is suddenly modest about the word vagina. Heh.”

  “—Are we discussing the birth of the world’s next overlord or the recreational use of penis?”

  “The first. We’re discussing the first. And my child is not the world’s next overlord.” She’d been trying to convince her family and friends of this for years and yet, they seemed to think otherwise. Arista’s vastly intelligent eyes and quick-witted responses only served to undo any progress in that area.

  “She is, but that isn’t the point. Ashleigh and Michael are causing you stress?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because…?”

  “Because one is sending me signals that I desperately want to ignore and the other is acting twitchy and pushy. You know how much I hate pushy.”

  Nala was silent for a moment. “I want you to expound of this. I want deep, gritty details. But I want them over pasta. And garlic bread.”

  “You want me to take you to lunch,” Mackenzie filled in.

  “If I’m going to be your sounding board—”

  “Something I don’t remember asking for.”

  “—You could at least have the decency to feed me.”

  “I could also throw another stapler. That’s an option.”

  Nala grasped one of her hands and tugged her up. “Italian. I want it. I want it now. Let’s go.”

  Mackenzie let out another heartfelt sigh. Like most things, she didn’t argue, instinctively knowing that the underlying threat of assault and battery to her person was there. She really wanted to avoid the boob punch.

  ***

  “So you know Braxton’s friend with the really nice ass?”

  Ashleigh snorted at his brother’s question and went about the systematic destruction of an entire village via his gaming system. “I thought you said all of Braxton’s friends have r
eally nice asses,” he retorted into the mouthpiece connected to his controller.

  “No,” Hayden argued from his end, cursing when a magically altered soldier came swinging an axe at his character. “I said that I wished all of her friends had asses as nice as this particular friend. Because, and I mean this with complete sincerity, it’s a really nice ass.”

  “No limit on the credit card nice or…?”

  “I’d sign documentation to give this ass my last name. I’d literally list this ass as the sole benefactor of my life insurance policy.”

  “I’m intrigued,” Ashleigh announced while simultaneously running someone through with a sword. “Keep going.”

  Hayden sighed. “She won’t even talk to me. I mean, I’m there, in the same space as her and she can’t be bothered to do anything aside from give me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “You know, that look?” His brother decapitated an enemy. “The one that says, ‘I know where your dick has been and I do not approve.’”

  Ashleigh laughed. “Are we blaming her for this line of thinking? I don’t think we should blame her for this line of thinking. Because you’re infamous for being a friend fucker and I highly doubt she wants any parts in that.”

  Hayden ran through women like…well there was really no analogy for it. He was simply a hound of the highest order. He was the alpha of hounds.

  “I’ve taken out a few of Braxton’s friends and—”

  “I can literally take down a list of names right now that would dispute this ‘a few’ theory you have.”

  “—It always ends amicably,” Hayden finished, ignoring Ashleigh’s commentary.

  Scratching his temple, he questioned, “So the woman who tried to set you on fire, are we just going to pretend that didn’t happen? I don’t think we should. That restraining order has been renewed right?”

  His brother muttered, “As of May 17th, yes. And that was a simple misunderstanding.”

  “Didn’t she also break into your place and put cut out faces of herself on all your photos—aside from the ones featuring you?”