Walking out of the lobby of Bramston Inc., I turn left and head straight for the café on the corner where Cleo and Isla said they’d meet me. Neither of them work, so they’re always available for an emergency meeting when I need to call one. And my anxiety levels have finally gotten to the point where I need to vent or I’m not going to be held accountable for my actions.
The usual midday percussion of traffic, voices, and seagulls circling overhead from Rayleigh beach hums throughout the city. Opening the door, I walk in to find the girls seated in the back.
“Hey,” Isla says then frowns when she sees my expression, which is probably more glacial than usual.
“What’s up?” Cleo glances from Isla to me before bringing her mug to her pink painted lips.
Sighing theatrically, I plonk myself down on the chair opposite them and order a coffee when the waitress comes by.
“What, you couldn’t order for me?” I raise an irritated brow at them.
Isla smiles sweetly while Cleo just snorts. “Um, the last time we ordered for you was exactly seven months ago,” Cleo says. “I remember it like it was yesterday because you looked like you were about to throw your coffee at our faces after taking one sip.”
Isla nods, her brown hair shifting over her shoulder with the movement. “Yep. What did she call it again?” she asks Cleo.
I drop my purse on the table while Cleo squints one eye as she thinks. “Oh!” she finally says. “A cup of scalding hot shit.”
They both laugh while I roll my eyes. “Why the hell do I put up with you two?” I grumble, but not very quietly for they both laugh again.
But I know why. I’ve known them since we were in kindergarten. My father is close friends with both of their parents, and we’re just lucky we like each other enough to still be friends. Because growing up is never easy, but growing up with rich catty girls? Yeah, try almost impossible. Over the years, we weeded out the worst of them and survived with our friendship intact, thankfully.
“So …” Isla puts her mug down, crossing her legs. “What’s happened?”
“What do you think?”
Cleo frowns down at the table and then gasps, “They’re bringing back fur?”
“Seriously?” I pause. “No, wait, I don’t think so … Ugh, Christ, no. Fur is not the problem.”
Cleo’s blue eyes harden. “Oh, but it so is.”
Isla giggles and turns to me. “Dexter?”
Inhaling a deep breath, I nod. “He dragged me to Bonnets Bay to look at some castle of a house yesterday. No warning, nothing. Completely blindsided me and expected me to be over the moon about it all. We argued on the way back. I’m an ungrateful bitch, etcetera, etcetera.”
They don’t look surprised, not even Cleo. They don’t even bat a mascara-coated lash.
I groan. “Well? Where’s the outrage? The name-calling? Come on, give it to me …”
I mutter a crisp thank you when the waitress places my coffee down in front of me.
“Asshole.”
“Dickhead.” Isla nods.
“Total douchebag,” Cleo declares.
“Waste of time.”
“Smelly bum head,” Cleo says loudly, causing people seated nearby to look over at us. I glare at them, and they quickly turn away.
“Bum head? What are we, in fifth grade?” Isla laughs.
Cleo shrugs, picking up her coffee and swallowing a large mouthful before saying, “Well, he is.”
She has a point there. We sip our drinks quietly for a minute, and I feel the anger start to abate.
“It’s frustrating. I don’t even know if I’m angry with him or me …” I trail off, wrapping my hands around my mug to warm them.
“Him. Definitely be mad at him. Total dick move.” Cleo nods firmly.
Smiling thinly, I continue, “I think I’m mad at me. This whole stupid charade was doomed from the start.”
“Yeah, but looking at it objectively, he’s quite a catch. And nobody wants to be broke.” Isla winks, trying to lighten the moment.
“Right?” Cleo agrees. “Dexter definitely isn’t hard to look at, honey.”
He’s not. He’s tall, lean, dark-haired, and handsome in a way that resembles a Greek Adonis.
“So it’s over?” Isla asks quietly.
“I haven’t answered his calls, but yes, I think I’m finally done.”
They’re both quiet for a moment. “What?” I snap.
Isla looks up at me. “You deserve better; he can be a total sleaze ball. But you know your dad won’t be impressed if you two end things. He’s one of your father’s most prized employees.”
I deserve better. The words hit me straight in the gut. Better than everything I already have? I don’t know how that’s possible. My head shakes. “What’s he going to do? It’s my life.”
They both stay quiet, drinking more of their coffee.
“Anyway, what happened? You totally carved him a new asshole, right?” Cleo leans forward, placing her elbows on the table.
Isla’s face screws up in disgust, and she rears her head away from Cleo. “Eww, what the fuck, Cleo?”
Cleo merely shrugs and waves her hand at me. “Details.”
I sit back in my chair and mull over how much I should tell them before deciding to just tell them everything.
They gasp and scowl at me as if I’m the one who drove away and left me stranded.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Isla asks. “You could’ve been run over.”
Cleo’s eyes bug out. “What a dick. He just left you there?”
I wait for them to get over their outrage, which takes a minute, and finish my coffee before checking the time. I need to get back to work in ten minutes. I might only work part time, and even though I have enough money that I don’t need to work at all, I’m still no flake.
My father’s a real estate tycoon, and I’m just one of his many minions. Going to college and studying literature wasn’t enough, nor was it okay. No, I had to make sure I majored in something that would help the family business. So to be the bitch that people say I am, I became an accountant. I know, totally boring. But my father sucked it up, and I now work part time as one of the accounting assistants for his company. Not very glamorous, but having lots of money is, so I do what I must to keep it that way.
“How’d you get home?” Isla finally asks.
I chew on my lip for a moment then scold myself when I remember I put on my favorite shade of Chanel earlier. I quickly dig out my compact mirror to check it while saying, “Some guy on a Harley pulled over and demanded I get on his bike. He didn’t kill me, thankfully, just drove me home.”
Satisfied with my lips, I snap the compact closed and tuck it away then look up to find their wide eyes fixed on me. “Yeah, I know. I could’ve been one of those stupid victims you see in a horror movie, but I kind of had no other choice. My phone had no reception, which, oh my, God, how is that even possible these days?”
“Wow,” Cleo breathes. “Was he hot? Some grizzly looking biker dude?”
Isla’s brown eyes narrow at her. “Not important.” She then twists her lips to the side and changes her mind. “No wait, was he?”
I smirk at them, tapping my nails against the table as nameless guy flashes through my mind. His scent remains imbedded in my nose, and despite not being my type at all, I will admit to being curious. “He was. Well, from what I could see. He didn’t take his sunglasses off, and he wasn’t old.” Not at all, I think to myself, remembering the feel of his firm body that I’d wrapped my arms and hands around.
“Did you get his name? Number?” Cleo asks.
“Nothing. He’s not my type anyway.” I run my finger over a crack in the wood of the table.
Isla lowers her voice. “Who cares? It’d be so much fun.”
Cleo nods frantically. “You’re an idiot for not getting more info.”
I decide to steer the conversation away from my nameless hero. “Halloween ball this weekend—you ladies ready?”
Isla’s brows pull in at the subject change, but she lets it slide. “Yeah, I just need to book my hair and makeup appointment.”
We finish talking about our dresses and what time we’ll meet before I realize I’m about to be late. “Gotta run. I’m due back in a few minutes,” I say as I get up, adjusting my black pencil skirt and grabbing my purse.
I blow a kiss and wave goodbye before walking out onto the street. Weaving and dodging busy lunch goers, I walk as fast as I can back to work in my four-inch black pumps.
The smell of garlic and rosemary drifts down the long hallway from the kitchen. I clutch my book tighter to my chest. Rapunzel is what I’ve picked to have Gloria read to me this afternoon. I wonder if she’ll braid my hair just like Rapunzel’s after she’s done. Of course, she will. Gloria always does exactly what I ask her to.
“What’s got you in such a bad mood?” our cook, Paul, asks from the kitchen. My sock-covered feet stop moving on the marble floor so fast that I almost slip. “What else? That child,” comes Gloria’s answer. I lean back against the wall just outside the kitchen entry. That child? Only one child lives in this big house. I might only be seven years old, but I know instantly that that child is me.
“What’s she done now?” he asks her. The tap turns on, but Gloria’s honeyed voice rises above the noise of the water splashing against the metal sink. “What hasn’t she done is the question. Lord, if my Tabitha were anywhere near as demanding as Vera, I’d likely have put her up for adoption.”
Paul laughs, and my stomach clenches at the same time my fingers grasp the thick binding of my book held tightly against my chest.
“Oh, stop it. You know I’m joking. But I swear, sometimes I wonder if her mother knew exactly what kind of child her daughter would grow up to be before she decided to skip town with her lover.”
Paul hums. “Maybe. Though Vera is very different from her mother.” The tap turns off.
“How so?” Gloria asks.
“Well.” Paul pauses. “Erica was always bursting with energy and couldn’t sit still for a minute. Always looking for her next adventure. I think becoming a mother just wasn’t the adventure she thought it might be.”
My eyes squeeze closed. My heart slams shut. I don’t want to hear this. But I do. Daddy never talks about my mother. My hungry heart and curious brain keep my feet planted firmly outside the kitchen.
“No kidding. Though it doesn’t take a genius to see she’s exactly like her father.”
Paul simply hums again in response.
Gloria continues, “The way he spoils that child makes me sick. I can’t blame him for not wanting to spend a lot of time with her.” She laughs lightly. “I’d have quit a long time ago if he didn’t pay me so damn well. But shit, he’s just creating a monster, you know? She’s always asking, demanding, and expecting the world to be handed to her when she wants it and how she wants it. And don’t even get me started on those stupid stories she loves so much.”
My eyes open wide. A tear leaks out and runs down my cheek, landing on my bottom lip.
“What about them?” Paul replies distractedly. Something clangs, one of his wooden spoons against a pot maybe.
Gloria snorts. “You’re joking, aren’t you? Her fascination with those princesses, those fairy-tale worlds is so ironic that I have to bite my tongue in an effort not to laugh every time I read them to her. She’s nothing like the girls in those stories. If anything, she’s like the nasty stepsisters or the wicked queens.”
The sound of their laughter chases me down the hall as I run, run as I’ve never run before around the corner, up the winding staircase, and into my room. Tears spill onto my cheeks and into my hair while I lock the door then throw myself face down onto my white, four-poster bed. Silently, I let the tears run free while those hurtful words squirm around in my head.
After a while, I sit up, wipe underneath my eyes, and stare out the window. A knock sounds on my bedroom door. “Vera?” Gloria asks. The door knob turns. “Vera, what are you doing? Let me in, please.”
Swiping my hair back off my face and tucking it behind my ears, I rise from the bed, checking my blotchy face in the mirror on my way to the door.
I don’t see a monster, a nasty stepsister, or a wicked queen. But perhaps I am spoiled rotten. Besides a pony, I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever asked for.
But I still don’t understand. If I’m so rotten, why doesn’t it feel that way to me? Except that I must be, I think to myself as I study my blue eyes in the mirror. Because if I wasn’t, then maybe she’d still be here. Maybe my father would play with me. And maybe Gloria would only have nice things to say about me after caring for me for all these years.
“Vera?” Gloria bangs on the wood of the door. “This isn’t funny, dear. Let me in. I’m starting to get worried.”
Worried. A lie.
Taking a deep breath, I move to the door and open it to let her in.
Her brown eyes narrow when she looks down at my face. “What on earth is the matter? Are you feeling unwell?” She takes a step closer, and I tell myself to stand still. I tell myself that letting her know what I heard earlier might only result in her leaving or being fired and then Father will get me a new nanny. And then would she barely tolerate me, too?
No. What’s that saying I’ve heard my father use? Better to stick with the devil you know.
“Nothing. I was just waiting for you to read to me and fell asleep. Will you read to me now?”
She smiles, and I see it. The way her eyes don’t light up the way they should if she were truly happy about something.
“Of course, dear. Come on.” She takes my hand, and I let her lead me over to the bench seat by the window in my room.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of me, snatching me from my head. I pick it up and stare at her name on the screen. God, I wish I could just ignore her calls, but she’d keep at it or, instead, try to make my father’s life hell until she gets what she wants. She’s relentless.
I put the phone down beside me, yawn and sit up. She can wait five minutes because I need coffee for this shit.
After yesterday’s episode of “Dexter makes me do insane things: part three” and explaining everything to the girls today, followed by a shitty afternoon at work, I’m more than ready to just go to bed. But visions of two kids chasing me through red painted halls and a nameless stranger with a crooked grin plagued my thoughts last night until I finally passed out, and I don’t want a repeat.
To be honest, I don’t even know why I reacted the way I did when I know exactly what Dexter is like. He does whatever he wants. I’m more pissed off at myself. I’m usually able to brush off the predictability of my future, but yesterday, those revelations about why he insisted I go look at that giant home with him have rattled me. They’ve made me creep out from this perfect fog of ignorance I’d placed myself in long ago. Realizing that I have no desire to be trapped with a man like him has left me feeling oddly lost.
I grab a mug and flick the coffee machine on, getting the milk from the fridge as the godly aroma of coffee fills my kitchen. It’s my one true love, I’ve decided. Who needs a good man when you have good coffee? And good wine. Can’t forget about that.
I froth the milk and traipse back to my leather couch, curling my legs under me and picking up my phone again. I pull up her number and hit dial then place the phone between my ear and shoulder while it rings so I can blow on the hot liquid. She picks up after only the second ring as predicted. When she wants something, she doesn’t try to hide her desperation.
“Darling!” she hollers into my ear.
“Mother, what can I do for you on this fine day?” I take a small sip of my coffee, wishing I hadn’t as it burns its way down my throat.
“Oh, good Lord, lighten up, would you? I just called to say hi and to see how my baby girl is doing.”
“I’m fine. What do you want?” Patience and I aren’t really friends. But talking with her? It’s virtually laughable to think patience will ever exist. I don’t need useless chitchat with the woman who took off to be with a younger man when I was barely out of diapers. She never once looked back or bothered to check in. I’ve grown up with a nanny my whole life. But these past twelve months, she’s made it a habit to call and “check in.” Which means she knows I’m receiving my inheritance on my twenty-fifth birthday in a few months’ time.
My grandmother was a crafty woman who knew exactly what her son was like. Needless to say, when she died years ago and my father discovered she left most of her remaining fortune to me, he wasn’t very happy.
Which also means that instead of getting a measly few thousand of my father’s money from me, Mother dearest can hit me up for more. Good luck with that, sweetheart.
I don’t know why I bother with this stupid dance. I blame it on that traitorous piece of my heart that still cares about my ruthless businessman of a father. Because if she didn’t call me, she’d call him. And though he may appear an asshole to the rest of the world—and let’s face it, he totally is—Erica has always been his weakness. He’d turn quiet for days after she’d call when I was a child. I know I’m trying to protect him in some way. Even though he doesn’t deserve it, I just can’t help it. Knowing his weakness is a painful reminder that you can have everything you’ve ever wished for, but nothing your heart really desires.
You simply can’t have both.
She sighs dramatically before finally getting to the point. “Well, I just need a small bit of help, you see. My car is having issues, and Eduardo forgot to pay our rent last month and this month, so …” She trails off on a giggle. “Stop, Eduardo, I’m on the phone. Wait until I’m done.”
Jesus fucking Christ. I think this is boyfriend number three since she started calling me.
“Okay, let’s wrap up this lovely little chat now, shall we? How much? And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t beat around the fucking bush.”
“Vera! What does your father say about that mouth of yours? So crass.” She tsks into my ear.
I set a cackle free. “He says that in a world swimming with sharks, it pays to sharpen your teeth. Give me a number or I’m hanging up.”
“Okay, okay, yeeesh. Two thousand,” she says quickly.
Huh. That’s actually kind of small. I’m not about to argue or point that out, though.
“Done. Bye.”
“Thank you, wait—” I hang up, set a reminder to wire the money through later tonight, and toss my phone down beside me on the couch.
I spend a few moments just staring out of my floor-to-ceiling living room window while I drink my coffee.
The city of Rayleigh isn’t a huge one, but it’s weirdly alluring. A mixture of old charming brick buildings competing against new steel and glass architecture and an occasional skyscraper here and there. There are rough parts of it, which I try to avoid. But this manmade jungle by the beach has been home since I left my father’s fortress after high school, even if most days I feel like it might trap me in this constant spin of repetition.
My phone rings again, and I drag my gaze back to it, finding Dexter’s name lighting up the screen. He’s been calling since yesterday but has yet to make an appearance. After I’d long gotten home, he sent me a text asking me to at least tell him I was okay; otherwise, he’d be coming over to check for himself.
That was the last thing I wanted, so I grudgingly replied and told him I was fine before turning my phone off. I might not be an expert, but I’m pretty sure if your boyfriend has fucked up in a colossal way, then they should probably be at your door, banging it down and asking for forgiveness. Not Dexter apparently. He has better things to do. Like maybe trying to wedge his dick between Lisa’s double Ds. Yes, I caught him fucking another woman on his kitchen counter once. That woman would be Lisa. The fact I didn’t care should’ve made me get my head examined. I cared more about him having never fucked me from behind than the fact he betrayed me. I simply told him if he does it again, I’ll be gone. And that he’s never to fuck me without a condom. Ever.
I hit ignore and take my phone to my room to charge it. This weird funk doesn’t seem to want to go away anytime soon, so I turn the water on in the tub and walk into my spare room, also known as my library, to grab one of my favorites.
I may have a wee bit of an addiction to my vintage book collection or just an addiction to books in general. Reading always seems to calm me as only getting lost in a good book can do. And what’s better than going back to a guaranteed favorite? It’s trustworthy.
Dependable.
A promise that can’t be broken.
Something you know will leave you satisfied once you turn that last page.
Over and over again.