by Mj Fields
Aaron: Tomorrow then.
Me: I have plans.
Aaron: Tell me you’re not seeing that fuck.
Me: See you Sunday.
Aaron: If you see him, you don’t get to see me. Do you understand? Make a choice.
Me: I choose me.
Over the past few days, I opened up to Autumn and Natasha about all the things I overlooked since being home. The reporters’ questions, specifically the pissed-off redhead’s. The fact that he was so busy. The fact that he wasn’t ever possessive until Aaron showed up. The fucking cleavage dress and heels. The overheard conversation in which Spencer had bashed my look.
Without my asking, Autumn spoke to a friend who works for the Times, and she pulled up articles from fundraisers and galas over the past few years. Elijah, the boy I had trusted completely, had in fact never attended a function dateless. The redheaded reporter and Spencer were frequent companions. As were many older women. Some divorced, some widows, all wealthy. Many have invested millions with Donahue and Hearst.
How stupid was I to never question him?
I told them about what I allowed to happen the day I broke up with him. Both urged me to have him arrested. But the reality is that I had stayed there, thinking I could handle myself. Then I tried to get him drunk and ended up drunk myself.
With my guard down, my emotions heightened, I had let my heart break for the broken in him. I thought … well, it doesn’t matter what I had thought. I had been wrong. Then I made a choice. One I will regret for a long time for putting myself in a situation like that. I will never put myself in such a situation like that again.
They still urged me to make a call, to have him arrested. But honestly, all I could think was: why was he any more guilty than I was?
He wasn’t.
My bad.
I will not give it power again.
Now, walking into the pub, I scan the room for him, hoping, per his norm, he’s late. However, I see him in the far corner, arms stretched out on the back of the half-moon booth with so much confidence and arrogance, such a big intimidating presence that it scares me. But not for me, not this time. This time, my fear is for him.
My heart beats hard against my chest. I’m more nervous than I wish I was. But no part of me wants to turn around and walk out the door.
I need to do this.
I need to do this for me.
When he sees me, he stands.
I don’t cast my eyes downward, because I no longer feel giddy. There are no butterflies, and I don’t wonder why he chose me out of everyone. He didn’t. I was a pawn.
When he steps around the table and places his hand on my hip, leaning down and attempting to kiss me, I turn my head.
He chuckles, holding out his hand. “After you.”
I take the crossbody briefcase off, slide it across the seat, and then move in.
He slides in beside me.
“What would you like to drink? Whiskey?” He raises his eyebrow. “Scotch? That’s what we had the other night at my place, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. I think it was Macallan twenty-five-year Cherry Oak. But I’ll take a water.”
“Don’t trust yourself around me when you’re drinking?”
“I trust myself just fine, thank you.”
I turn my body, reach into my bag, pull out the file, and set it on the table.
“What’s this? Bringing work with you to have dinner with me?”
I shrug off my blazer, and his eyes fall to the swell of my breast.
“Well, that’s not business attire.”
I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Eyes up here, Elijah. Look at me. Tell me what you see.”
“What’s the point in this?”
I open the folder and pull out the picture of Elijah and me in the big blue chair from when we were kids. It’s cropped. Aaron would be seen sitting on the floor to the side of us had I not cropped it. But then I wouldn’t have his full attention. I need it.
“What did you think about me then?”
He’s annoyed by this question, but he plays along. “Everyone was drawn to you then. You had a charm about you.”
“What specifically made you fall in love with this little girl?”
“That was a long time ago.”
As the waitress approaches the table, he hides the picture under the folder as he looks up at her. “Two of your best brands of scotch, on the rocks. Macallans if you have it.”
He knows they don’t. It’s not the kind of place Elijah would normally frequent.
“A water for me.” I smile.
“I’ll be back to take your orders.” She walks away.
I pull another picture out, one at the height of my awkward stage. “And this?”
It’s almost comical the way he nearly cringes at the sight of it. “The same thing.”
“So, it wasn’t my fucked-up hair, jacked-up teeth, or the fact that I dressed like a clown?”
He narrows his eyes. “You were a late bloomer.”
I pull out a dozen more pictures of all of us. In most, he’s looking at Aaron, while Aaron is smiling at me in every one of them.
“What do you see here?”
“This is ridiculous.” He runs his hand through his hair.
“Not in the least.” I point at the picture. “You were so unhappy here, but you saw the way he looked at me. That was the allure. You wanted desperately to see what it was that made him happy.”
“I was under the impression that we were—”
“Getting back together?” I shake my head. “But because I once loved you, Elijah, you’ll always be in my heart, so—”
“You need an exit interview, Stella?”
“No, I need the man I loved to stop hating the little boy he so desperately wanted to be, that he—”
“Are you really that daft? Do you really think I’d ever want to be like him?”
“I’m not daft, nor simple, nor some commoner who doesn’t understand problems regardless of class. I know you were raised by a man who broke your heart because he didn’t pay attention to you or your sisters, or his wife.” He starts to stand, but I grip his thigh, stopping him. “I am not done with you yet, Elijah.”
“I’m done—”
“I wouldn’t push a woman who knows all your little secrets too hard because until I’ve said my piece, you are not excused.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m the girl who loved you, and you’re the boy lucky enough to have been loved by me.”
His eyes widen, and then he looks away.
“I loved what I saw in you—a heart aching to be loved. You needed me.”
“I could have had a hundred of you,” he spats.
“No, you couldn’t have, because you were so afraid everyone wanted you for what you could give them. I hated them for it, all of them. When you told me that Evan was to blame for your father’s death, I was as angry at him as you were, because you needed me to be. I always became who you needed me to be. But Aaron, he didn’t need me to be angry for him. And you used me to hurt him because you needed him to hurt. You wanted to hurt him.”
He’s still looking away from me when I tell him, “I spoke to a friend of my father’s who was on the case. There wasn’t even a skid mark, Elijah. No brakes tampered with, no late-night cell phone records, no affair. So, tell me, Elijah, why do you think your father would pick up Aaron’s mother on a night when you and he were at a middle school party at a friend’s house?”
“Because something was going on between the two of them. They were having an affair,” he hisses.
“Or because he—” I swallow and look down. I can’t even say the words. I can’t tell Elijah that I know he had as much hate in his heart for Evan as Elijah has for Aaron. “As angry as I am at you, I could never hurt you by forcing you to see something in him that you’ve chosen to ignore. But because I loved you once, I am terrified your life is going to take the same path. And Elijah, I don’t wa
nt that for you, or for whatever woman you end up with, or your future children. You had a father who, whether you admit it or not, had mental health issues. And a mother who—”
“Enough!” He glares at me.
“I’m sorry. Are you ready to order?” the nervous waitress asks.
I pick up the menu. “Mr. Donahue will take the lamb with asparagus and Brussel sprouts. I’ll have the house salad.”
As she quickly leaves the table, I look back at him. He’s still glaring at me.
“You are brilliant, Elijah. You’re handsome. You have a sense of humor when you allow it. But you’re angry, guarded, and look down on everyone around you because you’re afraid they’re looking down on you. You’re artistically talented, like your mother, and brilliant, like your father. Take those things and do something that will make you happy. Stop carrying the weight of a dead man around.”
“I’m not my father,” he snips.
“You’re going to become him if you don’t do something to change that.” I hold up my wrists. “Look at my wrists, Elijah. I tried to leave, and you grabbed me so hard that you bruised me.”
“That’s ludicrous.”
“My shoulders, too. I tried to walk out, and you didn’t allow it.”
“I didn’t force you to stay.”
“You may not have, but I was terrified of you.”
“You seem to forget that you and I drank and talked and then fucked. Are you saying that I forced you to do that as well?”
“I’ll admit I was trying to get you shitfaced so you would pass out, thinking I could sneak out when you did.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” He rolls his eyes.
“I chose to stay at first because I had never seen you so out of sorts. Then, honestly, I was so shocked at the things you were saying that I couldn’t leave. I was seeing a side of the man I loved and never really knew. You don’t have any friends, Elijah.
“I poured you drink after drink, hoping you’d pass out. You asked for a blow job. I hoped that getting you into your room, you’d fall asleep. Then I felt guilty that if I left you, something might happen to you.” I look down. “I’m ashamed of my actions. I’m ashamed of my fear. I’m ashamed that I got drunk and my emotions got the best of me when you told me how much you needed me, that I decided then and there that I owed you. Hell, I even thought, One more week, Stella. Maybe he’ll come around. Look, he’s already opening up to you.”
He leans back now, interested in what I have to say, less dismissive. I know it’s because it’s no longer about me and all about him.
I lean forward so he doesn’t miss the rest of the words I have to say.
“Even though I was game to give you more time, for the sake of five years, I wouldn’t kiss you because all I could think about was Aaron. I wouldn’t give you a blow job because all I could think about was how selfish a lover you are with me. I wouldn’t undress because I couldn’t help thinking about the girl who left crying, another assistant that you degraded or demanded too much of. I let you stick your dick in me to get it over with. I was drunk. I put myself in a situation that I shouldn’t have, and I knew as soon as you came, you’d pass out.
“But, while I was lying on my side and you stuck yourself inside me, I pulled away, told you I had to use the bathroom. I couldn’t stand that I let you even get the tip in. Then I saw it. A box of condoms on your nightstand, ones you and I never used, because I’m allergic to latex.
“I got up and looked at the box. You didn’t even notice I saw it. You had passed out. I picked it up, and there were several missing. Several. I wanted to shake you, scream at you, tell you I hated you for doing that to me, to us. But more than that, I wanted out of there. I wanted away from you.
“Then I went to the bathroom and, as I was throwing up, I saw this in the garbage.” I pull a baggy out of my briefcase and toss it in front of him.
“You’re a narcissistic, anti-social, manipulative asshole. There’s medication and therapy to help with those issues.
“I had certainly hoped being loved by me could show a genius like yourself that, if some common, simple-minded Staten Island girl could do something so simple as love, you should be able to master it.”
“You’re nothing but a whore, like your mother.”
I pick up my glass and throw the contents in his face.
“You bitch!”
I push the file forward. “I’d play nice, Elijah, because the blinders are off. I know things I couldn’t have even imagined about you. You either sell out or buy out Evan Hearst, or I will turn your world upside down. I’ll let your board know how you lost investors and clients due to arrogance and how you replaced them with money from women you fucked to get their business. Married, older women.”
I slide out of the booth and stand. “By the way, congratulations, Daddy. And tell Spencer that my hair may be wild, my teeth were jacked-up, but at least I don’t have chromophobia. Tell her that her kids need color in their lives because not everything is black and white.”
With my bag slung around my body, I grab my jacket then walk past the bar.
“What the hell is chromophobia?” Autumn whispers as she follows behind me.
“It’s a fear of color. That bitch said I dressed like a clown.”
With Autumn at my heels, we pass by Natasha, who’s sitting on another bar stool, waiting for us.
“All done.”
“No dinner?” she asks as she slides off the stool and follows behind me.
“No way. Let’s roll.”
When we walk outside, I see Roger leaning against Elijah’s car. He nods to me.
“Have a good evening, Miss McCarty.”
“Thank you, Roger. Take care of him.”
“Will do, Miss.”
Sitting on the plush white couch of Jean’s penthouse, I share a celebratory glass of champagne with Natasha and Autumn.
Natasha smiles. “I wish you could at least stay for the summer.”
“From the moment I got on that plane, everything felt wrong. From now on, I’ll pay better attention to my feelings.”
“And how are you feeling about Aaron Esposito, Aaron Esposito, Aaron Esposito?” she asks.
“I’m feeling okay. I’m sorry I hurt him. I’m sorry I felt the need to try to fix things with Elijah when I should have known …” I shrug.
“Do you love him?”
I laugh. “Funny, I think I asked you the same question.”
“He’s a great guy.” Still smiling, she takes a sip of her champagne.
“You’re insane,” Autumn interjects. “If I were younger, I’d be all over that.”
Natasha laughs. “Isn’t he about the same age as your boy toy?”
“Oh, shush. Besides, that’s over.” Autumn rolls her eyes. “But Esposito, boy’s just got a swagger about him. Smooth, sexy—”
“Told you I could put in a good word for you,” I joke … even though I don’t like the thought of it.
“I don’t need to be hooked up. I have a date with that young cop tomorrow night.” Autumn winks.
“Yeah?”
She smirks. “He was leaving a ticket on my windshield the other morning. I recognized that fine boy in blue. I may have name-dropped to get out of it.”
I laugh. “My name?”
“Yeah. But funny thing, he called you by something else.”
I palm my face and shake my head. “Oh my God.”
“The Staten Island Starlet. You went viral.” Autumn holds up her phone. “Fifteen million views on the videos combined.”
“Combined?”
“Yep.” Autumn laughs. “Despacito has about two million.”
“No,” I groan.
I look over as Natasha scrolls through her phone and asks, “Staten Island Starlet?”
“Thank God I’m leaving the country. I can hide from that, too,” I lift my flute. “Cheers to that.”
Natasha laughs. “Are you changing your name, too?”
“No. Why?”
“Stella McCarty is the Staten Island Starlet.” She holds up the phone.
“I’m not leaving those buildings ever again,” I groan. “Autumn, you mind having my crap shipped to London?”
23
Aaron
I’m officially a stalker, I think as I sit in the corner of the pub and watch her with … him.
The only reason I haven’t walked over there and kicked his ass is because I know her, and I can see the contempt on her face, even from across the damn room.
When I see her toss the baggy on the table and see the white stick inside it, I get that numb feeling again, the one that renders me almost motionless. But then she dumps a glass of water over him, and shortly after, I watch her walk away with a smirk on her beautiful fucking face. I can’t look away.
When I see Autumn follow her, and then Natasha, I know this wasn’t some fucking date like I’d dreamed up in my mind. She’s done with him.
Yet, forever bound by a child.
When the waitress comes over and sets down the food, I decide it’s a good time to chase after her. He won’t see me, too busy being a dick to some poor soul.
When I get outside, I see Roger leaning against the car. He tips his head. “Hello. sir.”
I look down the street and see her walking. She’s got her arms linked in Natasha’s and Autumn’s, and I hear her laugh. It’s like a beautiful song, her laugh, just like her smile has always been sunlight on the ashiest days.
“I think she’s all set for this evening, sir.”
When I turn to walk toward her, Roger grips my shoulder. “Your father hired me to watch after Mr. Donahue, to make sure I knew where he was and who he was associated with a long time ago. He wanted me to try to teach him how to be a man.”
I turn and look at him. “You did a piss-poor job, Roger.”
“Can I be frank with you, sir?”
“If you stop calling me sir, then sure, Roger.”
I look back at her as she gets farther and farther away.
“Some men are too self-absorbed to teach a damn thing.”
I nod. “This is true.”
“Let her be. She’s with two friends. Give her space.”
