by Amy Brent
They both deserved better than that.
“I have been, yes,” he said.
“You know, it took a lot of trust on my part to open my body up to you, but it took a hell of a lot of risk to open up my past to you.”
“I can only imagine,” he said.
“And you know that, besides my agent and myself, you’re the only one that knows, right?”
“I understand,” he said.
I turned my head to hook my gaze with his and was astonished at the way he was looking at me. His eyes were connected with mine, but there was a glimmer of hesitation behind them. Like maybe he didn’t know who he was looking at, or maybe he wasn’t sure about anything regarding me anymore.
“You know I’m still the same person,” I said. “Just a different name, that’s all.”
“I don’t know if I believe that,” he said.
I felt the heart that slid to the floor shatter into pieces underneath my toes. I turned my gaze before he could see tears rise to my eyes as we pulled into the studio parking lot. It hurt to be around him. A few days ago, he was looking at me as if I were the best spread of dessert he’d ever witnessed, wrapped in the most beautiful packaging. He looked at me as if I had been made only for him, and he shook my body in ways no man had.
And now, he looked at me like I was a stranger to be feared. I was no longer the desirable woman he thought he once had, and I knew at that very moment, I wouldn’t be able to look at him. I wouldn’t be able to watch him in the studio and not have my heart shatter. Instead of screaming, I’d want to be crying, and if I got to crying on set and looked over at him, it would rage out of control.
I couldn’t let him affect my career, so I knew what I had to do.
“You can catch a cab home, Mr. Jeffries,” I said.
“I’m not gonna leave you like that, Bridget,” he said.
“Miss Meyers.”
“What?”
“My name is Miss Meyers, Mr. Jeffries, and you are free to leave.”
I put my hand on the doorknob and slammed the door open. I had no right to be as upset as I was, but I was angry nonetheless. I’d bared everything to him, and instead of talking with me about it and taking it in stride, he was pulling away from me. And maybe that was easy for him to do. Maybe he’d fucked tons of women like me, and I was nothing special to him.
But he was special to me, and I had to make him un-special somehow. And that meant distance.
“Seriously, I’m not leaving you,” he said. “I still have a job to do.”
“If you have been debating on whether or not to stay on my payroll, then you should do it at home with a clear mind.”
“I can do it on set while keeping you safe,” he said.
“Then keep your distance.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because you’re not the only one affected by this, that’s why!”
I turned my hot gaze toward him, and for a split second, I watched him falter. Just like he’d done in the dress shop when we were shopping for a tux, I watched how much he was hurting me finally register in the back of his mind.
“Bridget—”
“Miss Meyers,” I said.
“Miss Meyers, I still have a job to do. I’m debating, I’m not leaving. Your unique situation is one that takes a bit to digest.”
“Join the club,” I said, seething.
I walked into the studio, trying to get away from him as fast as I could. I was due in hair and makeup thirty minutes ago, and I knew the director wouldn’t be happy with me. I got ready as fast as I could and set up for my first scene, but when I looked up at the camera, I saw Thomas standing right there beside the director.
Of course, he would be front and center. Fucking asshole.
We shot the scenes we needed to, and I threw my frustration into my acting. It was the only day in my entire career that the reshoots weren’t a result of something I was doing, and I puffed my chest out in pride because of it. I was done three hours before I thought I would be, which meant I could do whatever I wanted. I could send Thomas home, call up Rachel, and cry over the pathetic state of my existence.
You know, without divulging too many details.
I walked out to the car, and Thomas opened the door for me. I slid in before he ducked in after me, and I took a deep breath to begin my conversation. I was going to tell him he could go home soon. I was going to tell him to take the rest of the evening to think about things and let me know what he wanted to do about his job.
But what came flying out of his mouth was much worse.
“Miss Meyers, would it be all right if I took tomorrow off?”
“Sure, is everything all right with your daughter?” I asked.
“She’s fine. I could just use the time to think, like you said.”
“Set not as soothing as you thought it would be?” I asked.
“Not particularly.”
“Yes, you can have tomorrow off,” I said. “Take the weekend to think about things, and let me know Monday what you would like to do about your position.”
“Thank you.”
We rode the rest of the way in silence back to the house, and I scooted as close to the window as I could. I didn’t want to feel anything that remotely resembled him: not his body heat, not the breath from his words, not his stare. Nothing. I wanted to pretend he wasn’t there. To pretend he didn’t exist. I wanted to act like the past couple of weeks had never happened and that Bernie had never talked me into getting a bodyguard. I wanted to fire him and go back to the way things were, dealing with my nightmares with sleeping medication and hoping for the best.
Because when I was lonely, at least I didn’t have a reminder of it. I woke up alone, I went to bed alone, and I had no one there during the day to reinforce what loneliness felt like. When you’re in the dark, you adjust. When you have no light, you never know what you’re missing. Your eyes adjust, and the room slowly comes into view, and soon, you can dodge the furniture again to get to the bathroom to pee.
But when someone cuts the lights on, even for a few seconds, your eyes sting, and they begin to water. The pain of the light is unbearable until your eyes adjust, and suddenly, you realize how beautiful the room is. You notice the decorative crown molding and see the color of the plush carpet underneath your feet. You take in the sheer curtains that match the bedspread and get a glimpse of the bath tub you don’t use because you can’t see the faucet.
You even catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, a shell of what you used to be before the darkness happened.
And then, like a switch, the light is off again, and you have to cope with the beauty that was just ripped away from you.
That’s what it felt like when Thomas first entered. My loneliness was fine. I was used to it, used to navigating in the dark to the bathroom. I was used to getting just what I needed and nothing else. And then he happened. He walked into my home and flipped on the light switch, and suddenly, he was showing me things I was missing out on. Passion and hilarity and throwing caution to the wind. Laughter that hurt your stomach, and company to ride in the car with. He showed me unabandoned safety, and how someone could make you feel secure in yourself, even in the moments where you felt most vulnerable.
Like when he was plowing his hips into mine while pinning me against the wall.
And as I watched him drive away in his car, preparing himself for a long weekend of thinking, I watched the darkness descend into my vision once again.
Time to figure out how to go to the bathroom in the dark.
Chapter 20
Thomas
I looked at my bank account in the morning and found an obscene amount of money. I’d just gotten the biggest fucking paycheck I’d ever made in my life. I knew working with Bridget Meyers would be lucrative, but this was more than I’d ever imagined. The amount of money that dropped into my account would keep Lacey and me on track for two solid months, so I decided to keep Lacey home from school to celebrate.
&nb
sp; “Daddy, where are we going?” she asked.
“We’re going to spend the day together. That all right?”
“Yeah!” she said. “Can we get ice cream?”
“Of course. You want a new dress?”
“Yay! New dress and ice cream!”
“New dress and ice cream, it is,” I said.
We slipped into a dress store, and Lacey wanted to try on every dress she saw. Green ones, pink ones, and blue ones with sparkles. The smile on her face crinkled her eyes so much, I didn’t think she could see out of them. The happiness in my daughter’s eyes was enough to make me consider keeping my job. If I could spoil her like this every week with the money Bridget was paying me, I’d happily deal with this dumbass secret she was keeping.
Granted, I wasn’t happy that she willingly came around my daughter without my knowing who she was. I’d essentially brought someone around my daughter who wasn’t who she said she was, and I didn’t even get a heads up before I made the decision to bring her around.
And I didn’t like that.
“Daddy, do you like these shoes?”
Lacey wore a green and yellow dress she had settled on, with matching shoes she found rummaging in the back. She looked like an absolute dream, and for a split second, I saw a full-grown woman standing in front of me. I felt my eyes water while she gave me a twirl, and I snatched a little purse off the rack and handed it to her.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“I think it’s perfect,” she said.
“Ready for some ice cream?”
“Yeah!”
I ripped the tags off the clothes and took them to the counter. I figured she would want to wear her new ensemble to get ice cream, which meant I was in for a dry-cleaning trip later on. But it didn’t matter to me. Anything to make my daughter happy was worth a bit of extra effort.
“You know what kind of ice cream you want?” I asked.
“Chocolate and strawberry,” she said. “With gummy bears and sprinkles.”
“That’s a lot of sugar for one little girl. You sure you want all that?”
“I’m not little, and of course!”
“You are, too, little,” I said. “You’ll always be my little girl to me.”
We pulled into the parking lot, and Lacey practically fell out of the van trying to get inside. The entire time, she bounced with excitement while I made her a massive cup of ice cream. She kept pointing at new items and new flavors, and by the time we were done, her ice cream was filled with blue raspberry and watermelon with gummy bears and an oreo.
“Now, if you can’t finish it all, we can take it home, all right?” I asked.
“All right,” she said, her mouth full of ice cream.
“Did you enjoy today?” I asked.
“Yeah. But I think Bridget would’ve liked it, too.”
I stopped eating and looked at my daughter. Had she said what I thought she said?
“What was that, honey?” I asked.
“Is Bridget your girlfriend? Because if she is, she would’ve liked today.”
“No, she’s not my girlfriend,” I said. “She’s my boss.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, I really like Bridget. Is she gonna come back over soon?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You like her, right?”
Her big doe eyes looked up at me, and all I could do was sympathize with her. The truth was, I did like Bridget. Or Kimberly. Or whatever her name was. If Bridget really was the same woman with just a different name, then it meant I really liked her. But she lied to me about who she was. She had fundamentally lied to me about who she was and what she enjoyed and how she lived her life.
Was it possible I had been wrong?
“Please let her come over soon. Okay, Daddy? Promise?”
I looked back over to my daughter, whose eyes were begging me for her new friend. A young, attractive woman that had come into my life that had swept my daughter off her feet.
“I promise,” I said.
Because the truth was, I did like her. And the job was good for both myself and my daughter financially. Bridget was a great person to be around and a hell of a woman in bed. Couldn’t that just be enough for now?
I needed to talk to her.
“Lacey. How would you feel about Nannie watching you tonight?”
“Yeah! Movies and popcorn!”
I got my mom on the phone and explained the situation. I told her I had an important conversation with my boss tonight and that I needed the time off to address some issues before Monday. She completely understood and told me to drop Lacey off around eight, which was perfect because I could pick us up some late dinner, and we could talk over something we both felt comfortable doing.
Eating.
“I’ll be back in the morning to get you, all right?” I asked.
“Are you going to see Bridget?” she asked.
“I am. I gotta talk with her for a little bit before work on Monday. Is that all right?”
“Could you give her a hug for me?”
“Of course.”
My daughter flung her arms around my neck and held me tightly. I knew she was giving me a hug to pass on to Bridget, and tears welled in my eyes when I felt just how tightly she was hanging on. This woman had definitely made an impression on my daughter, and I knew I couldn’t rob her of that if I had a chance to work through things with her.
The rest, we could figure out later.
When I got into my car and started down the road, I felt my phone vibrate at my hip. I pulled into a place that had wonderful salads in the hopes that food would lighten the conversation I was about to have with my boss-slash-whatever the hell this was. I was about to ignore the phone call until my gut told me to pick it up, but as soon as I heard crying on the other end, I pulled out of the drive through lane and started down the road.
“Bridget, where are you?” I asked.
“At-at the club. M-M-Mr. Jeffries, I know you don’t—”
“The club where you and Rachel were at when I went with you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I whipped my car around in the middle of the road and stepped on the gas. I left food behind in the rearview mirror of my car while I tried to get Bridget to calm down long enough to tell me what was going on, but every single bad scenario kept flooding my mind. She had been raped, she had been taken, someone had cornered her in the bathroom, or maybe there was a gunman at the club.
“Bridget. Take a few deep breaths. I’m on my way. What’s going on?”
I heard banging on a door in the background and felt my heart leap into my throat. Bridget’s crying got louder and more hysterical as I whipped myself onto the highway. I was still ten minutes out from the damn club downtown, and then there was the matter of parking and getting in.
I’d never leave this girl alone again so long as I was working for her.
“What is happening?” I asked.
“I… I came out to... to clear my head,” she said. “And someone... a guy… he, um…”
The banging happened again, and Bridget yelped, and I wondered where the fuck the bouncer was. Wasn’t he paid to take care of this kind of shit?
“I’m being stalked, Mr. Jeffries,” she choked out.
“Stay on the phone with me, Bridget. I’m almost there.”
She kept crying into the phone while I kept running red lights. I barreled down the road as the club came into view. The bouncer was standing at the door, gawking at all the beautiful women in line without a care in the world as to what the hell was going on in the club he was protecting.
I’d deal with that fucker later. Right now, I had to get to Bridget.
I had to make sure she was all right.
“I’m coming in,” I told her. “Do you hear me? Stay put.”
I hung up the phone and pulled up to the curb. The bouncer spotted me and gave me a nasty look before he asked me where the hell I had been.
“I saw her walk in wi
thout you, and I almost didn’t let her in,” he said.
“I’ll deal with you later.”
The man looked confused and that was all the more reason to rip his fucking job from him. A club was only as safe as the bouncer in charge of it, and obviously, this one was no longer safe if he had no idea what the hell was going on with a high-profile celebrity within it. I shoved people out of my way as I worked toward the bathrooms, thinking that was the only place she could possibly be with all the sounds I heard on the phone.
“Bridget?” I roared. “Bridget!”
Just then, I saw someone scurry from within the women’s bathroom. I didn’t get a good look at their face before they dipped into the crowd and made their way for the back exit. Part of me wanted to go after them. I wanted to dent their face in with my fist before throwing their body into the bouncer and ruining both of their lives.
But the sobbing I could hear, even from the water fountain outside the bathroom, ripped me from my raging trance.
