Isabella
Dim fluorescents light the cracked white paint on the water-stained walls. Dirt and flat wads of old gum dot the linoleum. Dressed in salvation army chic, I fit right in.
And then there’s Paul, Gray’s impeccably suited lawyer. He shoots me a look that I haven’t seen since Mom let the Feds take me off to juvie.
“Thanks for doing this.” I manage a tight smile to which his mouth turns down.
Fuzzy gray brows rise below his short spiky cut. “If it were me, I’d lock you up and throw away the key.”
What a prick.
I wish I could tell him that the charges are all bullshit but Xavier’s damn necklace is still transmitting. “You think I deserve this?”
“Indeed, I do but Grayson doesn’t and he’s the one paying the bills.” He shakes his head and stares over his reading glasses, in a kind of a cat-staring contest but I don’t blink.
Fuck him.
I didn’t steal a damn thing. However, I did hack into a local bank just for a lark as a teen. The high was better than any drug until some money showed up missing. The stupid FBI agent asked me to return the cash which of course I couldn’t because I didn’t take any. When I explained all this and asked for a computer to prove it, they refused and locked me up.
Suddenly, I get this epiphany as it dawns on me that Xavier must’ve known about my past all along. I always wondered why he hired me. Most of his protégés are geeky young men or brainless women with huge boobs. He must’ve been planning to embezzle those funds for ages.
Shit.
While I chew on this, Grayson’s lawyer argues for my release with the assistant district attorney who wants to keep me away from computers. Paul says I’m innocent until proven guilty and that my confession in the other room was coerced.
Damn. He’s a lot closer to the truth than he knows.
For over an hour, I sit in this dingy room, biting my nails, and wishing for a cigarette which I gave up years ago.
“Don’t leave town, Ms. Harte.” The district attorney enters with brows creased, mouth tight, and underarms wet.
“No sir, I won’t.” It’s a lie because I have to get out of town, warn my family, and figure out how to get rid of Xavier Cross… all without getting caught.
When we’re done, the door opens, and Grayson walks across the hall to take my hand. “C’mon Isabella, let’s get out of here.”
I try to read him but when he wants, his poker face can be unreadable. Then me, him, and the lawyer all walk past an area full of cubes, plastic chairs, and cursing gang members. Once outside, I take a deep breath of cold, free air, squinting in the bright sunlight. The March wind cuts through my light coat like it’s January and I shiver as I wait for Slate to drive up with the limo.
Grayson’s jaw is tight when he opens his mouth to talk which is not a good sign. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a history of illegal hacking?”
“Because it was supposed to be erased. I was a minor. And how does that matter, anyhow?”
“Dammit Isabella. Is it ever going to change between us? Are you ever going to open up to me?” With his neck pulsing and his face so skewed, I hardly recognize him.
I raise my necklace to remind him that Xavier can hear every word but he slaps it away.
So, I get a little pissed off, too, and my voice goes up a notch. “What? I bet you got things you haven’t said shit about, either.”
“You know what? You’re right. We don’t know each other. You can keep the ring.”
With those four words my whole life falls apart and my chest gets so tight that I can’t even breathe. “Y-you’re breaking up with me?”
Suddenly, the back seat of the limo is way too small and I pull on the door handle. “Stop the car, Slate. Let me out.”
From the front seat, the driver’s brows raise in a question mark and Grayson answers. “Pull over at the next subway stop.”
He pulls three crisp one-hundred dollar bills out of his wallet and clamps my hand around them. “This should see you through. I’ll see to it your last paycheck is deposited immediately. Don’t bother to come back into the office.”
Slate stops on Fourteenth, I get out, and stand and stare at the disappearing taillights.
What the hell just happened? Just this morning, didn’t he make the sweetest love to me in the shower?
I knew he’d get sick of me one day even with all his bullshit about love at first sight. I was right. There’s no such thing, only lust and chemical attraction. Love is nothing more than a petri dish.
Ah shit, I can’t deal with my screwed-up love life, not with Xavier after my family. Dammit, if Gray doesn’t want to be with me, to hell with him.
I swallow hard and dig my knuckles into my eyes. I am not going to cry about losing the best damn thing that ever happened to me. I should be used to this. I ruin everything, always have.
I step down the long stairs, swipe my metro card, and enter into the dark subway station. Staring down at the power rails, I swallow back tears. The train roars into the station, I step back, and the cars swirl by until coming to a full stop. It isn’t until I find a seat that I put my face to my knees and sob.
It’s time to give up on my dreams of living in New York City and go back to Minnesota. My mom will be ecstatic to see me and maybe I can get a job as a remote consultant and work online. If not, I was a pretty good waitress in college. No doubt, those skills will return as fast as the feelings of humiliation and defeat.
I should call Mel. I know she’ll understand but she is so successful. Hell, she’s married to an NFL star, has a baby, and a great job. Next to her life, mine is a complete and total wreck. Not that I’m jealous or maybe I am.
Tears well again. What kind of friend does that make me?
A loser, that’s what kind.
Is it my fault that neither Gray nor I can talk about our personal shit? Every time we get together, we end up in bed and we don’t do pillow-talk well. In truth, neither one of us likes to talk much at all. Two people like that could never make it as a couple.
I was always afraid it would come to this. Isn’t that why I put off the wedding? Somehow, though, I hoped we’d learn to chit-chat. I always wanted to talk about movies, the beach, meteor showers, and stuff like that. Other than knowing that his father died and his parents got divorced when he was a kid, I’m pretty clueless about his past.
I never shared mine, either, but that’s different. Sooner or later, he’d ask about my fucked-up cousin. No doubt, he’d want to know why I never told anybody. How can I explain that it would’ve killed my poor Mom? Shit like that breaks families apart, forever.
Man. My life totally sucks but there isn’t time to wallow in the past. I need to get on a plane, put on my big-girl panties, and warn my brother that Stacey is in danger.
I know that the DA said I needed to stay close and I will, right after I fix this.
The first thing I need is the latest in Patten technologies. I grab a cab and head to the warehouse. There, I sign out everything I need. All I have to say is I’m testing out this government thing I’m working on, give a special code, and no one bats an eyelash.
I’m hoping, if I do this real quick, Xavier won’t notice. He can’t possibly keep an eye on me twenty-four-seven. He must’ve hired some lackeys that only sit and stare at monitors. Usually, guys like that aren’t too bright. By the time Xavier knows I was at the warehouse, I’ll have checked my home for bugs.
Once I get back, I use the wand to sweep every room. There’s one in my overhead kitchen light, two in my bedroom, and worst of all, one in my bathroom.
Tapping into his cameras, I make a short recording from each perspective. When Xavier doesn’t ping me, my confidence grows and quickly I get out my computer. I still need a loop of me sleeping in the bedroom. Carefully, I place the necklace on my bed and play sounds of a woman sleeping that I found on YouTube.
Soon, I have all the videos in place and switch the application on. Xavier and whoever else is watching will think I’m sound asleep in my apartment.
Filling the tea kettle with water, I call my mom.
“Isabella? I hardly recognized your voice.” That’s mom-speak for ‘you haven’t called for ages.’
I teeter on a step-stool to reach for the teabags on the top shelf. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been a couple weeks.”
“A month, more like it.” Her voice sounds hurt-for-real and suddenly I feel like the worst daughter, ever.
“I really am sorry. I’ve been working fifty, maybe sixty hours a week… ”
and I did have a new boyfriend but that’s over, now.
I climb down, fold the stool, and stash it next to the refrigerator. Then, I sniff the box of calming teas, choose the one that smells least like freshly cut grass, and place it in a large mug.
“Ah honey, I’m just teasing. What’s up? Do you need money?”
I laugh. In Mom’s eyes I never got past the stage of impoverished college student. “I’m fine. I’m coming home for a few days. Is that okay?”
“Of course, it is. I’d love that, sweetie.” She pauses for a moment before asking, “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”
Everything is wrong.
My voice cracks. “I just really need to come home, Mommy. Would you do me a big favor?”
“Sure.”
“Can you tell Ronnie to keep Stacey home? Tell Uncle Josh that someone threatened to take her. I promise to explain everything when I get home. Someone may be listening to this call. I can’t say more.”
“My Goodness. Oh my. I’ll meet you at the airport. When does your flight arrive?”
“Tomorrow around ten. Is that okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I got to go. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Can’t wait to see you.”
That done, I try to catch a catnap but my thoughts whirl. Even with the calming tea, my eyes refuse to close. How am I going to live without Grayson?
When my cell phone rings, I jump, and turn on my new code that switches my fake loop to live content.
Did I miss a bug? Did he overhear me warn my mom?
“What do you want, Cross?” My heart thumps wildly.
“No need to be like that. I called to tell you how sorry I am that Grayson dumped you and that I want you to come to a party with me, tonight. I want to start over with you, Isabella.”
“Sure.” I sound enthused but actually, it’s a relief that my code worked.
“Awesome. I’m sending a woman over with a few outfits. You can choose the one you like best. She’ll be doing your makeup and hair as well. I expect you to look top-notch.”
“Fine.”
As soon as I hang up, someone knocks and I peer through the eye in the door. A forty-ish woman is dressed in a plain blue suit, green pumps and carrying a green vinyl bag with a hairdryer cord hanging out. I let her in and she eyes me in the same way as Gray’s lawyer did in the police station.
I am pretty damn tired of that look.
After hanging up clothes in dry-cleaner plastic on my bedroom door, she drops her stuff on my bed. “Let’s get started, shall we? There’s not much time and we have a lot of work to do. Take off your clothes.”
I step into my bathroom, strip down to my undies, and peek out.
“Are you some virginal princess? Come out. I can’t very well help you like that.”
I do and she frowns at my plain, white underwear.
After pulling a black bra and matching thong out of her bag, she says, “Put these on.”
Back in the bathroom, I do but need to tug at the underwire that digs into my chest and pull where the thong sinks between my butt cheeks.
Who the hell wears this shit?
When this thing is over, I swear I’m going to make Xavier’s life a living hell. I’ll hack into every one of his accounts, steal his very last dime, and then send him a thank you card from whatever charity I give it to.
I check myself in the mirror, open the door, and back to bad Fairy Godmother.
“Hurry on now.” She slaps my hands away from my bra straps and adjusts them until my D’s are about ready to pop.
“Now for these.” Two silky black stockings are held in front of my face.
“Sorry. Uh-uh. I’m not wearing those.”
She tsk-tsks and wraps a garter belt around me. “Don’t make me call Mr. Cross. He’ll be very cross.” Bad Fairy giggles. “Now sit down.”
The nylons scrunch up accordion-like in her grip. “Point your toe.”
She pulls the thin fabric up my leg and attaches the top of the stockings to the belt with little hooks.
Bad Cinderella, I twirl in front of the mirror and all I can do is imagine Grayson finding this under my clothes.
“It’s good, ya?”
She smiles at my antics but when I remember that Xavier is no Prince Charming, my mood swings. “Let’s get this over with.”
The first black dress I try on seems good to me but she says it’s too big. The second one is at least one size too small and showing so much cleavage, I could get arrested.
She tugs the black stretchy material down around my hips and I wonder if the globes of my ass will show when I walk.
“Perfect.”
“Wait, no. I can’t wear this in public.”
“You want for me to call Xavier, missy? Tell him you no cooperate with me?”
“Bitch.”
“Trash.”
After that, me and my fairy godmother don’t talk as she takes an iron to my straight blond hair, expecting it to bend to her will.
That would take real magic.
She tweezes, waxes, and moisturizes and I’ve never seen so much makeup in my life. I sit while she complains about my nails and puts a coat of red on them.
Finally, she pulls out a couple pairs of high heels from the bottom of her giant bag. Both hurt like hell so I choose the lesser of the two evils.
I wonder if Cinderella had to practice walking to get out her door?
Then, she takes a camera shot of me, sends it, and walks with me down to the lobby. My coachman is no gentle mouse. He’s a dark man in a livery uniform who appraises me with a wolf-like smile. His eyes rest on my breasts that are about to explode out of the stretchy fabric.
He turns to the woman and claps three times. “This is your best work yet, Maria. Xavier is going to be thrilled.”
Fucking awesome. Just what I wanted to hear. I don’t want Xavier to be anything but out my life for good.
He takes my arm and walks me out the door where I’m half-expecting to see a rotting pumpkin carriage.
“Looking fine, girl.” That comes from one of the guys who hang out on my stoop.
His buddies whistle as I wobble down the brownstone, across the cracked sidewalk, and into the limo.
Behind me, one says, “I’ll be waiting for you if your daddy can’t get it up.”
“Hey momma, want to fu–”
The driver slams the door shut as I sit, trying to keep my short dress from riding high.
When Xavier places his hand on my thigh, I slap it away. “Don’t. I agreed to this shit show but if you try anything, I swear I will kill you.”
“Aren’t you worried about little Stacey?”
I am so done being threatened by this asshole. “If you want to keep your dick and your millions, you’ll keep your fucking hands to yourself, understand?”
Apparently, I finally found a language he can understand because his face pales, his brows furrow, and his mouth stretches into an ugly sneer. “You do as I say tonight or people you love will start to die.”
I nod and smile because the wind is shifting. All I need to do is put a knife into his vulnerabilities and turn slowly.