“I’m here for the summer, interning at Manning Solutions,” he smiled.
Kensie toed off her flats, and folded herself onto the couch, tucking her feet underneath her body. “Where’s Parker?”
“I’m starting to feel like you two like Parker more than me.”
“We do—” both girls replied at the same time.
“JINX!” they yelled in unison, again.
“Oh, God,” Chris groaned. “I forgot how annoying you guys are together.
“You love us,” Kensie said, her eyes floating towards the screen. She sighed, the sound light and dreamy. ”That man is gorgeous. I cried like a baby when they killed him.”
Jamie turned to her friend, mouth agape, ”They what?”
“Oops,” Ken squeaked, her hand flying over her mouth.
“They kill Jason Momoa?”
“Yes,” Chris confirmed, “but to be fair, you should have known that. This show is like six years old.”
“I’m done. Fuck this show, forever,” Jamie huffed. She was going to kill her brother for making her watch this bullshit. Whoever thought it was a good idea to kill Khal Drogo should be fired.
“So,” Kensie began. “I’m guessing now isn’t the best time to bring up the biker?”
Wine.
Jamie needed wine.
First Khal Drogo now this. Reaching for the bottle in front of her she refilled her glass. Her father was a pain in her ass. Why couldn’t he just let her live her life? Jared was nice enough, and maybe old-new Jamie would have entertained him just to keep the peace, but new-new Jamie had more self-respect than that.
“My dad said, and I quote, ‘James is throwing her life away, running around with some felon. You’ve got to talk some sense into that girl, maybe introduce her to one of Trey’s friends.”
“He’s not a biker,” Chris chirped up.
Kensington’s eyes widened, “Wait, you know about Jared too?”
“Jared?”
“Jam’s biker… or not biker? I guess.”
“Jared isn’t a biker, and he isn’t Jam’s boyfriend, much to our dad’s displeasure. Which, by the way, is a little weird. Why is he pushing that so hard?”
“I don’t know,” Jamie shrugged.
“Then who’s the biker?”
Kensie and Chris turned to Jamie as she did her best to meld her body into the sofa. This was karma in its purest form.
“Ryder,” she mumbled, then drained her glass.
“And where did you meet this Ryder?” Kensie pressed. Jamie looked from her brother to her friend. The thought of telling her little brother about her threesome made her physically ill so she opted for the safe version of their meet cute. “You remember my first Local Spotlight?”
Guilt flashed in Kensington’s eyes. “I’m a little behind,” she mumbled. There was once a time when Kensie watched everything Jamie did, even her college stuff.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jamie said with a wave of her hand. She was as much to blame as Kensie was for their disconnect, and Jamie was determined to atone for her sins against their friendship. “Anyways, I interviewed him and he asked me out, and then he wouldn’t go away.” She shrugged. “Now, I’m kind of attached, or whatever.”
“Attached,” Kensie said slowly.
“She blushed earlier,” Chris added.
“Fuck you both.”
“When do I get to meet him?” Kensie grinned.
“My birthday. What’s the plan, anyway?”
“Uh,” Kensie’s face turned beet red as she wrung her fingers together. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
“It’s okay if you don’t have anything elaborate planned. I know we’ve been kind of off lately. I’m good with dinner or whatever. Maybe we can go check out that new driving range?”
“Sounds great,” she nodded, biting down on her lip. “I can’t believe you have a boyfriend.”
“It’s so trippy,” Jamie giggled. She giggled a lot lately, a side effect of the pure joy that had spread through her body.
Joy. Another unfamiliar emotion; one she never thought she’d experience again, not after last fall, but there she sat, a joyous bitch.
A few days later, Jamie found herself making the familiar drive to her childhood home. The sight of the stone and stucco mansion, looming eerily under the dark sky, triggered something in her brain. This was going to be a disaster, but Parker’s presence at the end of the long driveway called to her like a beacon. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his dark blue Chino’s, a scowl etched on his handsome face.
Parker was an East Coaster through and through. He had a no-nonsense personality and came out to his family when he was seventeen years old. Parker had always known who he was and he resented Chris for forcing him back into the closet. This dinner was as important to him as it was to her brother.
“Hey stranger,” Jamie said, shutting the door to her Rover.
Parker shot her a pained expression. “Thanks for being here. It means a lot to Chris and to me.”
“Don’t mention it,” she waved off his undue gratitude with a flick of her wrist. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
With arms linked, the two of them walked into the house to find the rest of the Mannings seated in the parlor. It was one of the more pretentious rooms in the house. The walls were painted hunter-green and a large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. A wide bay window spanned the distance of the right wall and cream furniture surrounded a mahogany coffee table. Everything was neatly arranged and perfectly in place, even the Vermeer her father bought at Sotheby’s was hung to precise measurements.
Archer and Chris discussed work—no surprise there—while Caroline sipped on a martini—again, shocker.
“James, dear,” her mother greeted leering at her from the sofa, “you look… fat.”
“Mother!” Chris admonished.
Closing her eyes, Jamie recited her affirmations. It took her a solid minute of deep breathing before she trusted herself to speak. She knew it was coming, but that didn’t lessen the urge to turn around and walk out the door.
“What?” Caroline chirped. “I caught the live broadcast the other afternoon. I assumed it was the camera adding the extra weight, but now I understand why they say what they do about assumptions.”
“I think you look beautiful,” Parker added. “You were too skinny before.”
“There’s no such thing as too skinny,” Caroline scoffed. “James, are you still seeing your trainer?”
“It’s fine, Park,” Jamie gritted, biting the inside of her cheek. “It’s how my mother expresses her love. Hugs and kisses might wrinkle her Balenciaga.” Jamie turned to her mother. “And yes, I am still seeing him, but unlike you, I work for a living. I don’t have the time nor the desire to spend hours in the gym.”
“You wouldn’t have to work if you stopped being so goddamned stubborn,” her father growled, striding over to the bar cart. He lifted one of the crystal decanters and poured himself a finger of scotch. “Jared’s company went public fourth quarter. They cleared ninety million in profit last year alone, and that’s only the beginning. We are working on a deal that could double that, and all he wants in return is you.”
And there it was, bones spilled out of the closet and tumbled onto the floor of the parlor. “Daddy,” she warned, taking the scotch from him and pouring herself a glass.
“James, have the vodka, fewer calories,” her mother advised from her spot on the sofa.
Jamie rolled her eyes and brought the glass to her lips. It burned going down, both the booze and her parents’ words.
“The man seems infatuated with you. Why, I’ll never understand, but he’s willing to forgive the little incident with your biker friend and try again.” Her father’s severe gaze latched onto her. “You’re beautiful, obviously, but your attitude…” Archer sighed, tipping his glass towards her. “We’re lucky he’s willing to overlook that.”
“Jam’s a catch dad. Any g
uy would be lucky to have her, not the other way around,” Chris said, shuffling from one foot to the other. He was nervous, a first. Her brother was usually so sure of himself, a side effect of growing up with parents who worshiped the ground he walked on.
“You called us here for a reason, right baby brother?” Jamie encouraged. Chris was sweet for trying to defuse the atomic bomb her presence caused, but this day wasn’t about Jamie.
“Yes,” Chris said, clearing his throat. “I, well, we wanted—”
Ignoring his son, Archer bit, “James, your little rebellious streak is getting old. Don’t you think?” For the first time in her entire life, it was Jamie, not Chris, who was the center of attention. It was one of those catch twenty-two’s Annette was always going on about. Jamie put herself in the line of fire so her brother would have an ally when he came out to his parents, but her metaphorical execution ended up stealing the spotlight.
“Daddy,” Jamie said, her tone measured, “I have done everything you’ve ever asked of me. I’m almost twenty-five years old. It’s time for me to make my own decisions. Chris, please continue.”
Her brother laughed uncomfortably. “Right, uh, we just wanted—”
“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Archer seethed, turning his back on his son, not a strand of his salt and pepper hair out of place. “Twenty-five means nothing when you behave like the same spoiled little brat you’ve always been.”
Jamie squared her shoulders, thankful for the extra three inches her heels afforded her. “Well, Daddy, twenty-five is old enough to know I don’t want to be your whore anymore, and it’s old enough for me to access my trust, so with all due respect, you can go fuck yourself.” Jamie had to fight to keep the smile off her face. She wished Ryder were there to see. He’d be proud.
“You’re not twenty-five, yet. That money isn’t guaranteed and with the way you’re behaving, I don’t think you’re ready for it.”
Jamie scoffed. Her eyes bore into her father’s. His threats meant nothing to her, the money meant less. She’d grown up with more than most, and it hadn’t saved her from misery. Neither had her parents.
“Jam, Dad,” Chris pleaded stepping between them. His face was broken. He’d spent his life in a bubble, and peeling back the layers of their dysfunction shattered his reality. Chris was the good kid, and as such, he’d been spared the ugliness of his parents.
“Quiet, Christopher,” Archer boomed, pointing the highball glass at his son, but his eyes, dark, menacing, never left Jamie. Gray clouds rolled in the sky, darkening the parlor, casting an ominous shadow over the older man’s face. He looked like Lucifer after the fall. “Everyone has a role to play in the Manning Empire, James, never forget that.”
Taking a step forward, Jamie answered with an equal measure of venom in her words. “I know that better than anyone. It’s a lesson I learned on my back.”
“James, this isn’t a discussion. You will give Jared a chance or you can kiss your trust goodbye.”
A bitter laugh escaped her throat as she chugged the dregs of her scotch. Slamming the glass down on the pretentious mahogany bar, she smirked, “Keep it,” before stalking out of the room and out of the Manning Empire.
They’d have to make do without her.
Thunder boomed in the sky as Jamie steered her Range Rover into the garage of her apartment building. Her phone rang. Sleepy hazel eyes stared back at her from the screen, and a calmness washed over her. She wasn’t sad or angry about what happened at her parents’ house. Oddly enough, she was relieved. Archer could keep his blood money and she would keep her sunshine.
“Hey,” she sighed, shifting the car into park.
“Hey, Kitty Cat,” Ryder breathed, his voice thick with exhaustion.
“You sound tired.”
“I am. We’ve been going nonstop. Today was our first morning off.”
“That’s good, though, right?”
“Yeah, it is. We’ve met a lot of cool people, and hey guess what?” he exclaimed. Excitement cracked through the fatigue. There was a ruffling noise on the other end and Jamie pictured Ryder turning to lay on his side. She imagined his muscles bunching, causing his tattoos to dance, while his unruly blond mane scattered across the pillow behind him. She’d give anything to be lying in bed with him.
“What?”
“We recorded Sex God.”
“That’s amazing,” she said, unable to help the smile quirking on her lips. His excitement was infectious. Ryder had a way of chasing out all the bad in her life and replacing it with good.
“Do you know it’s rained every day since you guys left?” she asked.
Ryder gasped dramatically, “Rain? In Seattle? You’re kidding.”
“Fuck you, Napoleon.”
“Depends. What are you wearing?”
Looking down at the pleated white material flowing over her legs, Jamie groaned, “A dress.”
“Another dress, James?”
“I know, but I was trying to be diplomatic.”
“For the dinner, right?” She’d told him about it in passing one night. It was late, and the band was just getting off stage. She didn’t think he would even remember.
Nodding, even though he couldn’t see her, she recounted the events of the last hour. “The first thing my mother said to me was ‘James, dear, you look fat,’ and it ended with me telling my dad to go fuck himself.” She left the part about her trust fund out. Jamie knew she’d have to tell him eventually, but she didn’t want to burden him with the whole truth, not while he was in California living his dreams.
“Way to go, Kitty Cat.” Pride laced Ryder’s tone. “How does it feel?”
“Odd. Terrifying. Badass,” Jamie offered as she pushed the car door open. In truth, she was on top of the world, so high up that Trey’s car, which was parked next to Kensie’s, almost didn’t annoy her. Almost. “Great,” she muttered, making her way to the elevator bank.
“What’s wrong?”
“My roommate’s boyfriend is here.”
“And why don’t we like him again?”
We.
God, he was so cheesy, and so perfect, and so worth every penny she’d given up. “He’s basically Jared with less money and more ego,” she explained pressing the arrow-up button. The number ten illuminated above, signaling the car’s descent.
“Then why is she with him?”
“Kensie wants the fairytale. She tries to turn every frog that hops her way into Prince Charming. She’s actually a lot like you.”
“Does that make you my frog princess?”
“I’ve been called worse,” she laughed, then sighed, glancing up at the numbers. The nine blinked to life, then the eight. “I should go. I don’t get service in this damn elevator.”
“I miss you, Kitty Cat.”
“I miss you more, baby,” she said without thinking.
“Baby?” he asked. It was the first time she ever heard a smile. Jamie thought that particular euphemism was reserved for bad romance novels, but standing in front of the shiny metal elevator, she heard Ryder’s smile crystal clear.
“Yes, asshole,” she grinned, her cheeks flushed, her heart full.
“There’s my girl.”
They were quiet for a moment. Jamie watched the six, five, and then the four flash above her, counting down to the end of their conversation. She had half a mind to get back in her car just so she could squeeze out a few more minutes.
“I should probably find food and a shower,” Ryder said sadly.
“Probably.”
“Good luck with the douche bag.”
More silence. It was as if her lungs stopped pumping, her heart stopped beating, and the world stopped spinning.
“This is so cheesy.”
“What?” Ryder chuckled.
“You know what.”
“Then hang up.”
Jamie groaned, “I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to this.”
“You love it.”
“I h
ate it. I like my soul like I like my coffee, black and bitter.”
“Then hang up,” he challenged.
The elevator was on the second floor. She’d given up five million dollars for him, she could give up a little of her cynicism too. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Jamie steeled herself before uttering those three little words, “You hang up.”
“On the count of three,” he offered as the doors slid open and she stepped inside. “One.”
“Two,” she exhaled.
The doors closed and the last thing she heard just before the call dropped was Ryder’s sleepy voice telling her he loved her.
Trey was sitting on the barstool when Jamie entered the apartment. Ignoring him, she grabbed an unopened bottle of wine from the rack, then rummaged through the drawer for the opener. She was determined to hold onto the sun Ryder gave her a little while longer.
“How’s the biker?” Trey asked and she froze. Fucking asshole. It was the shit cherry on top of the shit sundae that was her day.
Jamie inhaled, and exhaled.
Be thankful.
Be mindful.
Be kind.
She had already told Archer to fuck off.
Trey didn’t matter.
Trey didn’t matter.
Trey didn’t matter.
It was a new chant. A new affirmation born out of necessity. Jamie could handle him one of two ways; she could go all old Jamie and attack or she could do what new, Zen Jamie would do and continue to ignore him. With a roll of her eyes, she took the path of least resistance and walked over to the cabinet, retrieving a wine glass. New Jamie wasn’t going to feed into Trey’s bullshit.
Nope.
She was rising above.
Popping the cork on the wine, she poured herself a very large glass and sat the bottle on the counter. It was red, she preferred white, but she’d take what she could get.
“I could set you up with one of my friends,” Trey said, taking her silence as permission to continue speaking. He folded the corner of his newspaper back and looked up at her. “You’re pretty, even though you drink like a fish and seem to think you own a pair of balls. Some guys like that. You don’t have to go scraping the bottom of the barrel to get a date.”
Lithium Waves: A Lithium Springs Novel Page 18
