by K B Cinder
After everything, there was no sense sticking around for the inevitable blowback from Trey’s fans. I was only planning a half-day originally, anyway, not that it made much difference.
I hadn’t checked squat beyond scanning texts for something from Sage — not my site, not my voicemails, and definitely not my emails. I didn’t want to know what was waiting. I needed a day to unwind.
My face still throbbed like a raging hemorrhoid, while my gut clenched over Sage’s silence. I appreciated the ab workout but not the anxiety that came with it.
I’d let Sage in, and so far, it seemed like he’d left with the door wide open.
If there was a silver lining, at least he hadn’t slammed it shut like last time, when he took my virginity and repaid me with a gruff it’s not you, it’s me speech the next morning before I ugly-cried the whole way home from his sparring session.
That day was burned into my memory, eating away years of teenage worship for the godlike hunk and leaving a wake of broken pieces behind.
I’d never forget the heartache, that sudden bucket of hot shame and soul-crushing sadness that rained down for days. He’d been every bit the player-type I’d read about in magazines but somehow so much worse.
I pressed the elevator call button a second time as I waited, the memory flooding back with a vengeance.
I wouldn’t be that girl again. That day inspired me. It was at the very foundation of Kinx, a company I started from the broken pieces. I found myself in those dark days, rising from a heartbroken little butterfly to a raptor of a woman who wanted to lift others with me.
The thought of losing that power ached to the core, but I wouldn’t cry. I would recover. Physically. Emotionally. Financially. Trey wouldn’t control my destiny. Nor would Sage. That was 100-percent, unequivocally on me.
Good thing my mama didn’t raise a quitter.
As I stepped into the elevator and the metal box shuttled down, the real test began. A handful of guests hopped aboard without a second glance, while some shot strange looks at the sunglasses shielding my eyes. But so be it. I’d take confusion over pity any day.
I resisted the urge to pull the hood of my sweat jacket high as the doors opened to the lobby. The Unabomber look wouldn’t help me blend in. The sunglasses stuck out enough as is.
I hustled toward the convention center, the walk a far-cry from times before. Gone were the hours of prep to gussy up for the cameras, my sexy little outfits replaced with jeans and a weathered t-shirt. My sneakers carried me with confidence the sky-high heels could not, tethering me in reality.
The early-morning hour left the common areas a ghost town with the few clusters of guests fluttering around outside the coffee shop serving as my only company as I walked by.
I flashed my purple access pass to the security guard when I reached the hall, the mustached man offering a nod in passing.
The convention hall itself was eerily quiet with the hodgepodge of music quieted, the heavy buzz of the forced air system the only sound overhead.
I weaved through the menagerie of booths to my own, stopping in my tracks as soon as I saw it.
My table, which I’d left tidy the night before with my products stowed in a locking suitcase beneath, was overrun with flowers, cards, and get-well balloons. There had to be dozens of them.
As I stood in complete and utter disbelief, I heard the squeak of a tire. I turned to see a bellhop’s cart arrive, the metal rack overrun with more flowers and envelopes.
“Ms. Nunes?” the deliverer called. The man was barely my height with a mop of red curls atop his head.
“That’s me,” I muttered, glancing between the cart and my table.
The man looked at my overflowing booth with a scowl. “There are at least four more deliveries at the loading dock for you. Where do you want ‘em?”
Holy shit.
“I…uh,” I stammered, looking back and forth. “I…”
I had no fucking idea; that’s where.
“Look, lady, where do you want this shit? I have a pallet of shellfish coming in an hour. Chop, chop.”
I flipped my sunglasses up to get a better look at the impatient twat. He had a lot of nerve catching an attitude so early in the morning.
As I did, the man jumped back, visibly horrified at what he saw.
Way to make a girl feel good, dude.
“You’re… oh, God. You’re the girl from that video. I’m so sorry, Miss. Please just let me know where you want these, and our team will deliver them.”
“Can you do me a favor?” I asked, taking in every beautiful bouquet with a sweeping glance.
Orchids. Daisies. Sunflowers. There was something for every woman’s style.
“Can you collect the tags from the flowers, and deliver those along with the cards to my room? I’m in 703. Leave the flowers and balloons on the dock. I need to make some calls.”
I packed up my booth and made it back to my room without incident, a boxful of cards and well-wishes arriving after my second bath in 24 hours.
Fully swathed in an oversized hotel robe, I set to making arrangements, a flurry of phone calls making quick work of the balloons and flowers waiting downstairs.
Since I was flying home the next day, I might as well spread the love and let someone bask in their beauty while they were at their best.
The hospital that treated me happily agreed to send a transport over for the balloons, while a women’s shelter was ecstatic to have the flowers. I paid a delivery shuttle to take them, happy to share the joy.
Every woman deserved fresh flowers. I might’ve missed Valentine’s Day, but the day after was better in my eyes anyway. It showed someone wasn’t just interested in showing off or getting in your britches.
When I hung up the desk phone after the final call, my whole body was tingling with warmth, the worries of earlier washed away.
It was time.
I’d wanted to hide from it, but delaying the inevitable would only make it worse. I had a business to run. That required me to put on my big girl panties and face the facts.
I grabbed my cell phone with a shaking hand, first heading to my e-store to take a look at the damage.
Trey and his cronies could make my life a living hell there, but as I plugged in my information, the page began to load, giving me a thumbs up that at least they hadn’t crashed my site. I didn’t know how or why he could do such a thing, but it was on-par with his dickhead moves, so why the hell not?
My nerves danced as the page took longer to fully load than normal, my fears of a crazy hack lingering as the progress bar slowly ticked higher. If the page showed floppy infected dicks, I wouldn’t be remotely surprised, but it didn’t.
My jaw dropped anyway at what I saw, so I double-checked to be sure. Then triple-checked to be extra sure.
Every time it said the same thing: I was completely sold out. Not just that, but backorders were tracking at least three months out. My daily sales so far had tripled the figure the Akagi brothers dangled over my head like a carrot.
I slumped onto the mattress to stare at the ceiling, a smile spreading from ear to ear that wouldn’t quit despite the pain.
One of the worst nights of my life had potentially become one of the best things to ever happen to me.
Suck on that, Trey.
13
How exactly is one supposed to dress for their best friend of forever’s proposal?
It was a hell of a fashion tightrope — a delicate balance between appearing casual enough to not tip Juni off and cute enough to not look like a lump of steaming ass in pictures.
Since Dash planned an epic outdoor adventure, I settled on a pair of leggings, sneakers, and a pullover hoodie. Sunglasses would have to do the bulk of the leg work with covering the bruises. There was no way in hell that I would attempt makeup again.
As I waited for Dash and Juni, I tackled my emails, a task that might take until the end of time to complete. There were over two-thousand waiting — all of which wer
e from the night before. There was a little bit of everything lurking in there, from well-wishes delivered by other manufacturers to collaboration requests with companies I’d never heard of.
The bulk of them seemed like opportunists, but one name stuck out: PleaseMe. They were the biggest in the business, and they wanted to work with me.
I might have squealed as soon as I saw it, but I wouldn’t make any decisions before meeting with a lawyer. Growing Kinx was expected to be a long-haul project, not an overnight event. I didn’t have the experience to handle such a rapid expansion. I’d seen enough reality television to know what could happen when people were suddenly handed too much of a good thing.
I moved from my email inbox to my contact list, scrolling down to find the first of many people I had to call, all while ignoring notifications galore. It happened to be the one person most likely to rip my head off for sending an I’m okay group text instead of calling — my father.
It rang once, an all-time record in our family.
“Karine, what did I tell you?” Papa’s voice came out in a boom, forcing me to hold the phone out to salvage my poor eardrum.
“I know, I know. You warned me to be careful.”
He also tried to talk me into packing a bullet-proof vest and mace in case of stalkers, too. As it so happened, I improvised and still came out on top.
“And?” he barked.
I cringed. Suddenly, staying in Vegas sounded like a fabulous idea. “And… I wasn’t?”
I was reckless, stupid, and maybe even a little crazy. Definitely not careful.
“No, what did I say, filha?”
Well, fuck.
He only whipped out calling me daughter when I royally screwed up. If we could go back to me being his favorite that would be awesome.
I slunk low in the leather armchair facing the window. He couldn’t see me, obviously, but somehow it made me feel better. “You told me to be careful,” I repeated.
The growl on the other end signaled wrong answer. “No, I said I didn’t want to read about you in the paper, filha.”
“You didn’t!” I defended.
Technically, online wasn’t the paper, right? I was grasping at straws, but hey, Papa was a scary enchilada when he wanted to be. He had a way of pairing guilt trips with the snarls of an attack dog in perfect harmony.
“Oh, you didn’t?” he huffed.
I could picture him sitting at the kitchen table, his cup of coffee getting cold while he demolished my defense. It was his Saturday ritual to read the paper with a mug of dark roast. A ritual I’d interrupted with my call. Dammit.
“The front page of the Honey Hills Gazette has a picture of my bleeding filha wielding something blurred out. Care for me to read the headline, Karine?”
Son of a bitch.
I swallowed hard. “No.”
He chuckled, the warm vibrato peppering my skin with nervous goosebumps. “Oh, no. It’s a good one, Karine Ysabel. ‘Local woman fights off attacking adult star with foot-long phallus in Vegas.’” He delivered it just as a news reporter would, too.
I sank further into my seat. “It’s funny.” To me, maybe, but definitely not to him, a man who visibly recoiled hearing the word sex.
“It’s ridiculous, Karine! What were you doing with a 12-inch penis?”
I wanted to argue it could be way worse. I mean, I wasn’t sitting on it, at least. “It’s my new project, Papa.”
Surprise! His firstborn went from pottery to penis. He and Mama knew all about Kinx, but I wasn’t sure if either had looked into my offerings.
“Oh, God! I almost invested in a monster penis? Jeez, Louise! I’m too old for this crap, Karine!”
I shook with a silent laugh, the pain of holding it in bringing tears to my eyes, but it was worth it. “Don’t worry, Papa. I have the funding.”
I wasn’t sure what the hell he thought he’d be funding with the money. Would anal beads be less repulsive to him? Pocket pussies?
“That’s not the point, Karine. I had to see your bloody face on the front page of the paper. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I’m fine,” I insisted. The black eye and stitches begged to differ, but maybe they’d look a touch better by the time I saw him.
“Karine…”
I sighed. He had every right to be worried, but I was a big girl. I could handle myself. And I had. “Papa, I’m serious; I’m okay.”
There was a knock at the door; Juni’s laughs seeping through its cracks.
It was go-time.
“I have to run, but I’ll be home late tomorrow. How about we grab dinner on Monday? I need your advice on some things.”
He would lose his mind over my face, but there was no one’s wisdom I trusted more than his — an accountant who knew the value of a dollar after raising three daughters.
“Deal. Be careful, favorita.”
“I will, Papa,” I promised.
I meant it this time.
For some reason, I let Juni talk me into eating a late breakfast before we left. Not just any breakfast, either, but berry-stuffed French toast that was so damn good, I had a second plate.
This led to my leggings threatening to dislodge an organ or two and a totally attractive waddle out to the Adventure Wagon, as the tour company called it. It was more like a pedophile van with a helicopter decal, but I’d roll with whatever they called it to make everyone happy. However, if someone offered me candy or a puppy, I was out.
Dash and Juni were attached at the hip in the backseat, the suction sounds of their lips occasionally joining the Ed Sheeran pumping overhead.
While their passion reached new heights by the mile, Sage and I didn’t say two words to one another in the middle row. Our little rendezvous was as dry as the desert we passed on the way to the airstrip.
If anything, Sage was agitated. One would hope it was from an epic case of blue balls, but his refusal to look at me said otherwise.
That door I was talking about? I was pretty sure it had slammed in my face.
Our usual volley of insults died, not that anyone seemed to notice. We went from one extreme to the other before descending into a whole lot of nothing.
I couldn’t get out of the van fast enough once we finally parked. We filed into the tour office to sign all sorts of fun forms promising that we wouldn’t sue if the pilot accidentally chopped off a body part with a blade or flew us into the side of a mesa.
Terms like accidental dismemberment and fatal crash weren’t things I wanted to think about at ten in the morning — let alone right before I climbed into one of their flying deathmobiles.
While I was shitting a brick with nerves, everyone else seemed remarkably calm for staring down the plot of a potential Final Destination flick. Juni and Dash laughed as they snapped selfies with various go at your own risk signs, while Sage studied the mountains through a window.
I’d never felt more alone.
I kept my sunglasses on as I waited in a flimsy plastic chair, the lenses not budging since leaving the privacy of my hotel room. The whole world didn’t need to see my shiner, and I wasn’t sure how to react if someone recognized me from the video again.
Do I laugh? Cry? Run? Cringe?
I had no idea what my eye looked like by then, and honestly, I didn’t want to know. If I had to venture a guess, I likely fell somewhere between Quasimodo and Jack Sparrow. All I knew was that it hurt like hell.
The minutes passed agonizingly slow, with the various warning signs around the room serving as my only source of entertainment, and they were terrifying.
Heights had never, ever, ever been my thing. It was fact number one about Karine Nunes. It was why I was short. Mother Nature knew I couldn’t handle being tall. I belonged with my feet firmly planted on the ground.
When the tour guide finally waved us forward, I suddenly found myself wishing the minutes had been longer. Actually, I wished I was back home in Jersey tucked in bed.
Juni and Dash hurried outside to board the dea
thtrap, but I couldn’t find the will to move. I was paralyzed in my seat, and my eyes unexpectedly welled with tears.
I couldn’t do it. Not even for Juni.
I was a no-good, terrible friend, but I’d be a no-good, terrible living friend if I stayed put.
Sage hovered at the door for a moment before looking back at me. “Come on, Karine.”
I shook my head frantically, doing my best to keep a revealing sniffle at bay.
I needed a way out.
Maybe I could fake food poisoning. No one would want to be strapped next to me in a helicopter if I had the Hershey squirts. Everyone would be more than thrilled for me to sit out in that case.
Sage walked over and extended a hand. “You promised you’d be my cover.”
“You ditched me,” I replied with a shrug.
He took a deep breath, his hand still waiting for mine. “I needed to think.”
I sat back and crossed my arms. “Well, so do I, so I’m keeping my ass in this chair.”
I’d give the goddamn Thinker statue a run for its money with all my thinking. Thinking about living. Thinking about not being in that damn chopper.
“Don’t be like that, Karine.”
My knee bounced rapidly as I sat, my nerves reaching an all-time high. “I can’t do it, okay? I’m chicken shit.”
He dropped to a crouch. “Why are you scared? You just beat a man unconscious with a rubber dick, Rini. You’re unstoppable.”
Any other time, that would have earned a smile, but not when I was so close to death. “Not against a chopper blade or a helicopter crash.”
“You sure about that?” he teased, his hand falling on my knee. “Your foot-long friend could save you. You could land on him and bounce.”
His fingers were huge on my leg, marking the first time he’d touched me since Juni knocked and pulled off the world’s most brutal clam jam.
“Oh, well, he’s in my hotel room, so I guess I’m out of luck. Better stay here.”
