Never The Best (Savannah's Best #5)

2. Pearl

CHAPTER 2

Pearl

" I t was virgin pussy, wasn't it? Bet she was tight," Larry the Creep said.

"She was a bet, and yeah, she was tight, so it made up for…you know, how she looks," Rhett claimed. "Now, pony up, assholes. Hundred bucks from each of you."

I stood by the pool listening to Rhett crush my faith in humanity, my hands clutching a copy of The Grapes of Wrath , a book I was going to give him as a gift because we'd bonded over our love of Steinbeck.

After this point, the nightmare always changed, transforming from reality into dream-like surrealism. Sometimes, he'd see me and laugh. Other times, I'd struggle to move. There were times I'd run and run and run until I collapsed. Sometimes, I'd wake up and cry.

So, seeing the man who took my virginity sitting across from me in a meeting room was nothing short of a waking nightmare. What made this worse than any nightmare was that Rhett hadn’t just been my first love—he was the one who had taken my innocence, shattered my trust, and destroyed my belief in people.

I was humiliated—as anyone would be—to find out that my first time had been the result of a bet. Rhett had won three hundred dollars from his friends—and then the whole school and everyone who was anyone in our age group in Savannah found out he’d won the title of “Cool Playboy.” Ultimately, to Rhett, that was what a sixteen-year-old’s innocence was worth—three hundred measly dollars and a bump to his already soaring reputation.

Now, you may say, that happened fifteen years ago, Pearl, get over yourself. But how do you get over what derailed your life? Because after he announced to his friends that he’d had the chubby girl—and had probably rolled her over in flour to find the wet spot—my life in Savannah became miserable. I went from fat to foolish in seconds. It got so bad that, after high school, I ran from my city and home. Rhett went from jock and straight-A student to Harvard, to fame as a finance guru.

It was in that capacity that I had to meet with him in a professional setting. I left Savannah to study at Stanford. I mean, what else was a girl with no friends going to do in high school but study all the time? My GPA and SAT scores had been outstanding, and I got into several Ivy League schools. I chose Stanford because a lot of the Savannah set went to schools on the East Coast.

After I graduated, I worked in LA for several years. When my Aunt Hattie's friend Nina Davenport wanted to hire a Director of Finance for her architecture and design firm, Savannah Lace, I decided to return home because Savannah was still where I felt I belonged. Right now, I wasn't sure if I had made a big, fat mistake—almost as fat as I used to be.

I'd been back for two weeks, and it had been a shitshow.

It started with hearing everything about Rhett Vanderbilt's upcoming engagement party to Josie Vance: high school mean girl, blonde Barbie—you get the picture?

Now, Aunt Hattie was confident that the marriage wouldn't last; Josie was on her second fiancé, but this was Rhett's first walk down the proverbial aisle. I'd seen the engagement photos. They looked so cute together—an ideal couple. When narcissism meets assholery, you know their children were going to be fucked up.

Hattie was my mother's third cousin by marriage. As was the norm in the South, she was also Rhett's actual aunt, his mother's sister. After what happened with Rhett, she sort of adopted me. She was the one who told me to get the hell out of Dodge and go to college far, far away. She'd been there for me more than my mother or brother ever had. She became my guardian angel, my source of strength after what Rhett did.

My father had passed away when I was nine years old, so he, thankfully, hadn't had to deal with the rumors and innuendos of when Fat Pearl, fondly called Bumblebee (there was once a Halloween costume that Mama insisted I wear), had foolishly set her sights on Rhett Vanderbilt. He'd done what he was supposed to; taken advantage of my stupid ass and discarded me in public. As these things always went, it was the girl's fault. She was the fool, the slut, the whore. The boy? Well, he was just doing his duty, sticking his dick into whomever let him.

"If you grind your teeth any harder, there will be none left for you to chew your food," whispered Layla Warren, my boss and Savannah Lace's Chief Financial Officer.

I grinned.

Layla knew my history with Rhett; in fact, she and our CEO, Nina Davenport, had checked with me to see if I was okay working with Rhett's financial consulting firm. As Savannah Lace grew, we had to navigate new financial regulations and overhaul our systems and policies to stay compliant. This was where Vanderbilt Finance stepped in. Rhett had built a company that specialized not only in wealth management but also in helping businesses streamline their processes, policies, and systems to ensure they conformed to ever-evolving regulations.

"I'm just listening to all the fabulous things Vanderbilt Finance is going to do for us," I remarked.

Rhett, who had been talking, paused. "Do you have a question?"

I smiled broadly, even though seeing him hurt in places I'd thought had healed.

I'd never let him know that seeing him now was devastating, that it made the hole inside me—the one he'd helped create—bigger and deeper. I had been so young, so na?ve, and he'd destroyed all of that, and then continued to do so.

Five years after he won the bet, he tried to apologize— though calling it an apology would be generous. It wasn’t your typical “ I’m sorry .” It was more like, “ I’m sorry, and you should be grateful I’m even bothering to say it .” When I didn’t immediately fall at his feet to forgive him, he had the audacity to accuse me of being rude, as if I should've been honored by his half-assed attempt to excuse the mess he’d made of my life.

Because of Rhett, my trust issues were as vast and impassable as the Grand Canyon. I dated, but always cautiously—so cautiously, in fact, that the possibility of a real relationship never even existed. I had sex, but it was always casual, deliberately so. I mainly chose men I didn’t know, who I met through apps like Tinder, where anonymity felt safer. And even now, after losing so much weight, I still insisted on keeping the lights off during sex. It wasn’t about how I looked anymore, it was about the fear that someone might judge my body, the same way I still silently did myself, because no matter what the scale said, my mirror told me I was fat and ugly.

My weight loss, however, had not been intentional, and came at a significant cost. My eating disorder was born from the humiliation I suffered as a child and teenager because of my weight. The fear of being seen as obese took root so deeply that I starved myself to have some semblance of control. For years, food was the enemy, every bite a battleground between guilt and survival. It took countless therapy sessions to unlearn those thoughts, to see food as nourishment instead of punishment, and to remind myself that my worth had nothing to do with a number on a scale. The journey I was on was long, painful, and never-ending. I fought hard, sometimes every day, to reclaim my life.

But I had triggers, and when I got depressed or anxious, my first response was to stop eating.

My life was a constant balancing act—and even though I played the part of the confident, size-six, tough bitch, the truth was that, when I looked at my body, all I ever saw was Fat Pearl. Body dysmorphia was a relentless, insidious voice in my head, always whispering that I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t thin enough—wasn’t enough , period.

Some days, I could silence the self-loathing by drowning it out with logic and self-compassion. Other days, it consumed me. Even after all the progress I’d made, old wounds still lingered beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to remind me they were never truly gone.

So, let no one tell you that all wounds heal over time, because some deep ones never do. Mine hadn't. But I was adept at masking; I wouldn't let people see me as weak, not ever again. I wouldn't allow it. My entire life had become about wearing armor to protect myself, to never be vulnerable again.

"I was just telling Layla how excited I am about working with your team," I lied. He wouldn't know I was lying because he, like everyone else, only saw in me what I allowed them to.

It was also not my first lie to Rhett that day.

He had come into my office before the meeting to ask me how I felt about Savannah Lace hiring his company. My response and demeanor were SoCal breezy .

"According to Layla, your team does excellent work. I’m looking forward to working with y'all," I deliberately misunderstood what he was asking.

He cleared his throat. "I meant," he paused and took a deep breath, "I want to talk about what happened."

"When?" I asked, my affected confusion evident.

"Come on, Pearl, you know ? —"

"Are we talking about high school here?" I cracked my face to look amused.

He flushed. "Yes, Pearl, we are. What I did was…I regret it so much and ? —"

"Good God, you're still on about that?" I laughed with what he'd assume was humor. I waved a hand. "Let it go, Rhett. We're here to work together, yeah? So, that's what we'll do. I don't have a problem with it. Do you?"

"No. I just…I wanted to be considerate of your feelings."

Now , you want to be considerate, you piece of shit!

"It's been fifteen years, Rhett; I can assure you that my feelings are not stuck in the sixteenth year of my life." Only if that were true!

He looked at me in disbelief.

"Is there anything else?" I asked sweetly, then looked at my phone, which beeped and saved me from telling him I wanted to rip him a new one. "Layla needs me for a minute before we meet."

Rhett shook his head, looking shocked. I loved seeing that look on his face because he didn't know what was up or down.

I walked out of my office and called out for Rachel, Nina's EA, and Savannah Lace's receptionist. "Rachel, can you take Mr. Vanderbilt to the Jasmine Conference Room?" I smiled at Rhett. "See you in fifteen."

Now, Rhett looked at me speculatively, still unsure about what to make of me. I was an enigma to him. Aunt Hattie had said that I had surprised everyone in Savannah with my arrival. Since returning, I know I was seen with curiosity. I'd heard all the snarky remarks.

"She's the one who used to be overweight."

"Rhett Vanderbilt slept with her ?"

"It was a bet, and she gave it away to him. She was a virgin."

"She's gorgeous, so why wouldn't Rhett want to go with her?"

"She used to be fat."

I hated how people felt that I was now acceptable, including my mother, because I'd lost a few pounds at the expense of my health, mental and physical. The truth was that I hadn't been obese, not even in the least. I had been a size fourteen, which was the average size for women in the United States of America—but in Savannah society, where all the Belles worked hard to fit into designer sample sizes their Mama picked up during Paris and Milan fashion weeks, I stuck out like a big sore thumb.

I cringed when people said, " You're so lucky to be so thin ."

That wasn't why I was lucky; I was lucky because I was alive.

When I was twenty, I nearly died. I didn’t like to think about it, much less talk about it, but the memory had a way of creeping up on me when I least expected it—like now, while I watched Rhett.

I lost so much that day by his pool—but the most insidious thing his words and actions had done was change my identity from being a chubby girl to being…well, someone who fed herself the bare minimum while running on caffeine and self-hate.

I’d gotten so good at hiding it, so good at smiling and insisting I was just “ too busy to eat .”

I believed I was fine, even as my clothes hung loose on my shrinking frame, even though my reflection continued to look the same to me—fat, ugly, hideous.

Then, one day, my body finally gave out.

"What do you think, Pearl?" Nina asked me, making me snap out of the past and into the present.

I had been listening with one ear, a skill I’d picked up as a kid who didn’t want to hear what people were saying about her but couldn’t help herself, and listened to them all the same, breaking her tender heart.

"I think that we need a strategy that combines new hardware with the implementation of new policies—if we do one without the other, we're going to be playing catch-up."

Rhett nodded and took a document from his colleague, whose name I didn't catch. "That's exactly our recommendation as well.” He smiled at me. “We've done quite a few such projects, and trying to implement new regulations without the right IT systems will create more issues and lead to policy violations. Here is a list of companies we’ve worked with in the past who have agreed to speak with you, if you want more insight.”

He slid the document in front of Layla and me. I picked it up and scanned it.

He was good at what he did, I had to give him that. I had worked with several consultants in my years as a finance professional, and he was one of the best—as was his team. They were en pointe and weren't trying to fleece the client or push projects to increase their billable hours. Well, even though, as a teenager, he had the morals of a worm, in business, he seemed to have integrity.

After the meeting was over, Rhett walked with me to my office. I wish he hadn't. I needed to tighten the chain links on my armor as they had come loose at the impact of seeing him again, up close and personal.

"Aunt Hattie is very grateful that you're staying close to her," he said casually as I stepped into my office and glanced back at him, my gaze making it clear I was wondering: What the fuck do you want ?

"I'm the one who's grateful."

"Cash said you didn't want to live on the Beaumont Estate."

"Are we making small talk, Rhett?" I went around my desk and sat down on my leather office chair. I swiveled, my ponytail swishing on my back as I did. At work, I tied my shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. When I was younger, I used to leave it loose as a way to hide my face. I forced myself not to do that anymore .

"I just wanted to say thank you for being there with Aunt Hattie."

"I don't need you to thank me."

He tucked his hands in his slacks and looked at me with keen eyes.

He was a handsome man, no denying that. We were about the same age—just past thirty, still navigating who we were. I’d seen him around town enough to know he wore a suit well, but today, he was dressed more casually: slacks and a crisp blue-and-white striped dress shirt that made his eyes look like brilliant azure. His hair was freshly cut and styled with just enough precision to look polished without feeling rigid. And, of course, his shoes had red soles—because Rhett Vanderbilt couldn’t help but be a walking fashion statement.

But it was his hands that I'd watched the most. They were big and strong.

I remembered those hands, even though I didn't want to. I remembered them touching my untrained body—coaxing an orgasm out of me, which surprised both of us.

"It doesn't always happen," he told me in awe. "I'm so glad it happened for you. And, fuck, Pearl, you look so beautiful flushed like this."

"Can we do it again?" I asked breathlessly.

"Let me try something."

"What?"

"I'm going to eat your pussy. I…I've never done that before."

"Before I forget, congratulations on your engagement," I trilled. "You and Josie make a lovely couple. "

He arched an eyebrow. "Do we?"

"Absolutely. I always thought you'd end up together. She was so keen on you."

He looked confused. "Really?"

"Oh, yes, she was one of your floozies who often told me that…." I shut the fuck up. What was I doing? Why was I talking about the past? Why was I letting Rhett bait me into exposing old scars and scratching them open?

"Told you what?" he coaxed.

I shrugged lazily. "Doesn't matter, and I honestly can't even remember; it's been so many years. Is there anything else I can do for you? I have a meeting shortly."

Rhett nodded. "Yeah, me too. Ah, it's good to see you, Pearl. You…look nice."

"Well, I’m a size six now, so I fit right into Savannah society." Bitterness edged my voice, sharp and unrelenting. I was nice-looking now—acceptable—because I’d lost weight. But no one cared who I was on the inside. No one cared that, once upon a time, my heart had stopped beating. That I had technically died because I’d been starving myself, unable to stand the sight of my reflection. And even now, even after everything, I still struggled to look in the mirror.

He looked hurt, and I wanted to throw something at him.

"I didn't mean it like that, Pearl. It’s good to see you thriving in a professional setting."

"Of course, you did. Now, if you'll excuse me." I tried to keep my voice light, but I knew it wasn't working. My therapist had warned me that going to Savannah would trigger me— that old struggles would resurface, and I'd known that seeing Rhett would be a test to see how far I'd come, if at all.