Chapter 11

Barrett

Our weekly photoshoot was about to get underway, except for one small problem. Our main model hadn’t arrived yet. Demi was missing in action.

I’d been trying to reach her for an hour, but her phone kept going to voicemail. A quick survey of the assistants told me they were having the same luck I was.

Which was absolutely none.

“Are you trying to tell me that none of you have spoken to her at all today?” I asked, sweeping my eyes over the gathered assistant minions.

Each and every one of them shook their heads. A chorus of blame shifting and denial rang out.

“She isn’t returning our calls either, sir,” a wiry assistant in the back, with black-framed glasses and whose name I didn’t know, told me quietly.

That was it, then. I wondered if it could be something as juvenile as the fact that we’d slept together that was keeping her away, but somehow, I doubted it.

Regardless of my thoughts, I had to do something to ensure that the shoot wasn’t a total waste. “Somebody get Gloria. She’ll have to fill in for now.”

I was seething at the fact that Demi hadn’t showed, and she didn’t so much as bother letting anyone know why. But aside from a few curt orders, I didn’t take it out on anyone else.

By the time I arrived home that night, Nancie had the table set for dinner, and she was hanging around in front of the television as she always did while she waited. She peeked over her shoulder when she heard me approaching, narrowing her eyes at my thunderous expression.

“Who peed on your battery?”

“Demi,” I told her. “She didn’t show for a shoot today.”

Nancie followed me to the dining room table and gave me a long look before taking her seat. “Have you spoken to her?”

“No, but not for a lack of trying,” I admitted. “She hasn’t answered any of our calls.”

“Have you considered the possibility that something might be wrong?” she asked, dishing some of Katy’s regular Monday fish and veggies up for each of us.

I hated that my seventeen-year-old niece was having to be my voice of reason.

“I know you’re used to being in control of everything at work, Barrett, but life gets in the way sometimes, you know?”

I knew that she was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it yet. “Not when it costs thousands of dollars for your life to get in the way.”

Nancie’s eyes grew dark. “There are things that we can’t control, dearest Uncle. You know that just as well as I do. So, have some compassion. Talk to her before you tear up the contract and swear her off.”

She knew me too well, though I’d never be able to tear up Demi’s contract just like that. Nancie might’ve had a point, though. I didn’t know what had happened with Demi, but considering our passionate fucking the other night, I was determined to find out.

“Give it a rest, Nancy Drew,” I teased her, just like I had when she was six years old. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow. In the meantime, tell me how it went with your biology project.”

***

Scowling at my calendar the next day at the office, my temper flared again when I realized just how fucked we were. I was going to have to rearrange shoots left, right, and center to make up for Demi’s little stunt.

The girl herself showed up at my door unexpectedly a few hours later, knocking tentatively. “Can I come in?”

“Well, sure, whenever you can make the time,” I said snarkily. Then, I released all of my pent-up anger in one stream. “What makes you think you can just blow off a shoot like that? Do you have any idea how much money that cost me? How much time you wasted?”

Demi’s face hardened to stone as my questions tapered off.

“I’m sorry,” she said stiffly. “Please give me another chance? I promise I’ll be better this time.”

“What the fuck happened, Demi?” I asked, raking a hand through my hair and pacing the length of my office.

“I had some personal issues to deal with, and I lost track of time,” she said, her fists clenched at her sides.

“We all have personal issues on a daily basis,” I seethed, my anger returning in full force. “What makes yours so special that you get to give yourself a day off, without even calling anyone?”

Her eyes shone with tears and indecision before she finally heaved a deep sigh and broke down. “My father has cancer, okay? He’s in the hospital, and he might be dying.”

All the fight went whooshing from my body as I angled myself toward her. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Demi. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t know until about three weeks or so ago,” she admitted, shoulders dropping. “I had no idea how bad things were until I went to see my dad in the hospital on Sunday.”

“What’s his prognosis?” I asked, rounding my desk and walking toward her.

Demi sniffed, and for the first time, I noticed that while she’d tried to hide it, her eyes were puffy from crying. I snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her in for a hug. She resisted for a second before wrapping her arms around me and burying her face in my chest.

“I don’t know,” she answered, her voice muffled by my jacket. “They’re still running tests. I just feel so awful.”

Pulling slightly back from her, I brought a hand up to stroke her cheek, then tilted her face so that she was looking me in the eyes. There was none of the usual brightness in her gaze. All I could see in her eyes was misery.

“It’s not your fault, Demi.”

“I know. It’s not that. It’s just...” She trailed off, her eyes fluttering closed as she sucked in a deep breath. “I haven’t spoken to them for so long. My mom didn’t even tell me when he was diagnosed.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You’re there for them now, right?”

There were a thousand questions burning my tongue. I held them back, though, wanting her to tell me because she chose to, not because I forced her.

“Yeah, I guess. I was just so angry with them for what they did to Gabbi.” She sighed, breaking eye contact with me to stare out of the window but staying in the circle of my arms.

“Gabbi?” I prodded gently.

“She was my nanny growing up,” Demi started, bringing her eyes back to mine, then letting her forehead drop to my chest before she continued. “She was more like a mom to me than my own mother, actually.”

“Okay,” I said, tightening the arm around her waist. I could see talking about it was hard for her. I could feel the energy seeping from her body. I would hold her up myself if that was what it took.

“My parents were always working,” she said. “They couldn’t care less about me when I was little. Gabbi was always there for me. She was the one who praised me when I did well and scolded me when I did something bad.”

“You were lucky to have her there for you,” I told her.

“I was,” she agreed. “She did everything for us, but when push came to shove, my parents did nothing for her.”

A lock of her hair fell over her eyes. I reached up to tuck it behind her ear, staring intently into her eyes. It was almost like I could see her heart breaking there.

“What happened?” I asked.

Her diaphragm expanded on another deep breath, and her chest rose and fell against mine. “She was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. Sarcoidosis. It’s rarely fatal but she had a severe case. There are treatments but they’re expensive.”

I was starting to see where she was leading with her story. I wiped away a tear rolling down her cheek. “And they didn’t want to pay for it?”

Demi nodded. “You guessed it. She got all the treatment she could afford herself but it wasn’t enough.”

“She passed away?”

“Yes, and I never really forgave them for not helping her. I was so angry with them that I stopped talking to them for the longest time. Now this.” She released a shaky breath, looking up at me with a vulnerability I hadn’t before seen from her.

Something in me stirred, like an animal instinct to protect her. I had no idea how to make it better, though. All I could think of was to return her honesty and tell her the story I never told anyone.

“You know, I was so pissed when my sister died,” I said.

Demi tilted her head up, taking her turn to tighten her arms around my waist in a silent show of support.

“I was furious with everyone. With her, with Nancie, with myself. I knew that it wasn’t rational, but I couldn’t help it. I was living my dream, and suddenly, this ten-year-old girl became my responsibility. I loved her. Don’t get me wrong. I just never wanted to raise her.”

“I can understand that,” she told me. “But you did a great job.”

I managed a small smile before I carried on. “Thanks. It hasn’t been a picnic but we’ve gotten by.”

“I guess you have.”

“The point that I’m trying to make with this is that I understand that uncontrollable anger, the kind that festers in your stomach and makes you want to burn the world to the ground. There’s nothing you can do but wait for it to burn out, batten down the hatches, and hope like hell you survive the blaze.”

“So, you’re saying my reaction was natural?” she asked, the tiniest thread of hope in her voice.

“Exactly. Everyone processes grief in their own way. You and I seem to share the tendency for skipping right to the anger stage of the process and staying there. There’s no changing that. What’s done is done. What matters is what you do now.”

The light was slowly creeping back into her eyes. “No use crying over spilled milk and all?”

“That’s it. Guilt over your anger or not talking to them doesn’t help anyone. You’re coming through for them now.”

“Like you came through for Nancie?” she finished for me.

“It’s like you read my mind.” I smiled down at her, relieved to see that there were no longer tears in her eyes.

She paused, letting my words sink in, then pressed a kiss to my chest, right above my heart. It lurched in response, something it had never done before. “Thank you, Barrett. That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“I always make sense.” I smirked.

That earned me a soft laugh. Her fingers danced up my back and settled at the nape of my neck, stroking the shaved hair they found as she stared up at me. “I’m starting to realize that.”

A shiver of desire ran down my spine from the point of contact, going straight my cock. “You know what else makes sense?”

“Mm?”

“Make up sex,” I told her, drinking in the feel of her body pressed to mine, and the way she was looking up at me like I’d hung the moon.

The corners of her mouth tilted up. “What exactly are we making up for?”

“Lady’s choice,” I said. “You missing the shoot. My being an asshole about it. Whatever you want.”

“Is that your way of saying you don’t care about the make up part of make up sex?” She smiled.

“Only in as much as it leads to sex.”

Demi laughed, but her eyes flicked from mine to my mouth, her lips slightly parted. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” I said, dropping my hands to her ass.

“I have a feeling the pleasure is going to be all mine.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. With one small correction, maybe not all of it.