Chapter Twenty-One
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Stella
I sit on Zane’s right at a table that seats twenty. Zarah and Ash are here, and this is the first time I meet Clayton Black and his wife, Willow. She’s tall, and her hair is black as tar, like Ash’s. She rarely speaks, though every once in a while she touches Zarah’s shoulder and whispers something into her ear. She doesn’t engage with the others at the table—she’s used to being in her husband’s shadow. She drinks more than she eats, and I can’t say I blame her, though her reasons are probably not the same as mine.
The amount of power sitting at this table shocks me, and I want to guzzle champagne to calm my nerves, but I can’t. I need to make a good impression...I don’t want to give Ash another reason to dislike me. His dark gaze pins me to my seat, but I try to find comfort in Zane’s hand resting on my leg under the table and the pretty ring on my finger.
I want to contribute, somehow. Help him run his company, but there’s no way for me to do that. I have no means to do anything, and I feel like a fraud sitting here among these people whose combined wealth could support several third world countries for decades.
It churns my stomach, and while I want to lay claim to it, my other, stronger, impulse is to run from it as fast and as far as my heels can carry me.
Ash’s slimy smile at my discomfort tells me he wishes I’d do the latter.
Zane holds court at the head of the table, the lights sparkling along the walls in one of the most expensive restaurants in the city. It wouldn’t surprise me if someone said the Maddoxes own this restaurant, too. Between Black Enterprises and Maddox Industries, I wonder just how much of King’s Crossing is accounted for.
I know enough table etiquette I’m able to sit and eat without embarrassing myself, though I render one woman speechless when she asks me who my people are and I tell her I don’t know.
After dessert and coffee, I stand uneasily behind my chair alone. Zarah’s glued to Ash’s side and doesn’t speak to me. Zane shakes hands and accepts congratulations and condolences in equal measure and I get a glimpse of how hard tomorrow is going to be on him.
His parents are gone, and he would trade everything to have them back. I’m not sure if I’m included in that, or if I want to be. If Lark and Kagan Maddox were still alive, I’d still be a small-time clerk in payroll, safe in my corner cubby listening to Connie bitch, and I don’t know if it’s a position I would have given up freely if the choice had been mine to make and knowing what I would be given in return.
On the way back to the penthouse, Zane sits in the limo, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He may have been born for this, but it doesn’t change the emotional toll it takes.
I tuck myself into his side as the city slides by.
Zarah went home with Ash, of course.
She was quiet and didn’t speak one word. That’s not an exaggeration. Ash, always in control, would interrupt anyone who tried to speak to her or ask about her ring, cutting them off, glaring and saying the official announcement would be made soon. Willow seems to like her, offering her sympathy and support, smiling faintly or lightly touching her shoulder, and I hope Zarah found an ally. Because as much as I hate to think it, Zarah is going to need someone.
Douglas drops us off, and we stand outside Zane’s building. I breathe in the chilly air. Winter is coming, maybe sooner than in previous years.
I pull my coat closer around myself, and Zane watches, gauging my reaction to the dinner. He’s always afraid I’ll be exposed to something that will change my mind about us, about the kind of life he’s asking me to share with him. I see the fear in his eyes reflected in the moon’s hazy light.
I cannot fathom why this beautiful man needs me, but I’m thankful for it every day.
Holding his hand, I urge him inside. He was waiting for me to say I wanted to go home, but I can’t leave him alone. Not on a night like this.
“Thank you,” he whispers as the lift carries us up to the penthouse.
“For what?” I ask, though not as quietly.
“For tonight. For tomorrow. For always.”
The elevator doors open to the penthouse and he’s on me, ripping my coat off my body and sinking his teeth into my shoulder, his fingers clawing at my dress. Violently, he yanks his tuxedo jacket off and tosses it onto the marble floor.
“You need to go on the pill so I don’t have to fuck with these,” he says, tearing into a condom packet that materialized out of thin air. I teeter on my heels, blood rushing through my veins.
His cock is already dripping, and before he can sheathe himself, a drop hits the floor.
I prepare for him to be rough, and my muscles clench in anticipation. I’m his relief and he’ll take his tension out on me, but I love him for it. He needs me, and this is one way I can give to him.
His dress pants are hanging low on his hips, and my dress is twisted around my waist, my panties in shreds near his discarded jacket. I’m wearing my heels, and he lifts me up to settle me onto his erection. I hook my ankles together against his ass and lock us in place.
He pushes inside me, and my breath slams out of my lungs. I’ve never been screwed against a wall and the texture hurts my spine, but he thrusts, panting my name against my lips, and every thought leaves my brain in bursts of pleasure.
I grip his arms—they’re bands of steel holding me in place— and I cry out when he repeatedly hits my center.
He comes so powerfully I’m afraid he’s going to have a heart attack, but he gradually calms and rests his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry. Tonight...”
I smear a kiss from his cheek down to his jaw. “It’s okay, Zane. I love you. I don’t have much I can give you, but you’re welcome to what I have.”
He pulls out and lowers me to the floor. My legs tremble, and I totter precariously in my heels. He steadies me against his chest, his starched dress shirt rubbing against my cheek. “You’re too good for me.”
I wrap my arms around his waist, pushing my hands inside his shirt and brushing my fingertips along his back. “You know that’s not true. Let’s change out of our clothes, okay?”
“Yeah.”
Zane kisses me and steps into a small bathroom down the hallway to clean up.
I hang my coat in the closet and struggle to undo the buckles of my stilettos. I straighten my dress and brush at the sequins looking for damage, but it looks like it survived Zane’s passionate lovemaking. I brought pajamas and everything I’m going to need tomorrow. I want to spend as much time with Zane before the party as possible, and I didn’t want to waste time running back to my apartment.
In his room, I change into a tank top and pair of shorts. I could wear fancier lingerie—Zarah encouraged me to buy some at Boutique 1961—but I’m not used to wearing nightgowns and negligees, and there’s no reason to when I’m alone. Zane would love it if I spent every night at the penthouse, but I want to keep my apartment for a while yet. I feel like there’s still so much of him to get to know, and I need a place to hide if I find something that scares me. Even if that’s my own feelings.
Zane’s ready for bed faster than I am, and he skims social media on his phone as I finish washing the makeup off my face and brush my teeth.
Zarah texts and says she booked us spa appointments, but before that, we’ll visit the hotel and confirm with the banquet manager everything is going well and there are no snags that need our attention. After the spa where we’ll have our hair and makeup done, we’ll dress, but in something appropriate for the press conference. Then Lucille will help us change into our dresses. Ash will pick her up and they’ll walk into the venue together, and I’ll ride with Zane and arrive at the hotel on his arm.
The entire day is accounted for, and I’m exhausted just thinking about it. I’ll be playing four roles tomorrow: Party planner, Zarah’s friend, Zane’s executive assistant, and his girlfriend. I’m afraid I won’t be able to manage all the people I’ll have to pretend to know how to be.
I text her back, a quick note saying I’ll be waiting and to have a good night, and I turn off my phone and the light in the bathroom. Zane’s lying in bed, a pillow bunched under his head, his phone on the nightstand. I lie next to him, propping my head on my hand. “It’s going to be okay, you know?” I don’t feel qualified to give out such grave advice, and Zane’s expression mirrors my doubt.
His face clears, and he forces a smile. “Whenever I get scared, I think about you. The little girl who was hoping a mom and dad would love her. Who was looking for a family she never found. You managed to grow into a mature young woman who’s making something out of what little she has, and I think, ‘If Stella can do it, so can I,’ and then I’m not scared anymore.”
I lean over and kiss him. His desperation is gone and his lips are soft under mine. “That’s sweet of you to say.”
“And it’s true.”
We lie in the dark, but Zane didn’t close the blinds and lights shining from the city’s tallest buildings dance across his face. He’s so handsome, and for some strange, inexplicable reason, he wants me.
“Stella, make love to me.”
I do, slow and easy. My tender to his rough, and when he comes, it’s with a sigh and a sob.
He’ll be all right, my Zane, and if there’s ever a time he needs to fall apart, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces and make him whole.
The way his love has done for me.
The sun streams through the window, but that’s not what wakes me up.
Zarah bounces into the room, places a coffee tray on Zane’s desk, and falls hard onto the bed, laughing.
Zane groans and yanks a pillow over his head.
“Come on, sleepyheads! Rise and shine!”
Covering my boobs with the sheet, I sit up. Strangely, I’m not embarrassed Zarah barged in on us, and Zane doesn’t seem to care, either, mumbling good-naturedly something about shutting the fuck up.
I brush the hair out of my eyes. Zane and I talked late into the night, and we didn’t fall asleep until—I look at the clock on his nightstand—four hours ago. Nerves had kept him wide awake, and in soft whispers, we talked through all his worries. Half of what he said confused me, but the core of what he’s worried about I can understand. He’s scared he can’t handle the responsibilities.
If that much depended on me, I would be scared, too.
Eventually, he’d fallen asleep, clinging to me so tightly I could barely breathe.
Squinting, I stare out the window, the buttery sun shining through the glass. Zarah fixes us coffee and fills us in on what needs to be done, and I try not to let my sluggish brain fall behind. She sounds like she’s been awake for hours, and I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. She asks if I still want to go with her to the Lyndhurst before we head to our spa appointments, and of course I mumble an agreement. She looks fresh in dress pants and a blouse, delicate gold hoops hanging from her ears.
Desperately, I gulp the coffee she poured me and try not to feel like a sweater in the giveaway bin at the thrift store.
Zane doesn’t need to do anything or be anywhere until the press conference later that afternoon, and he falls back to sleep.
I shoo Zarah away and shower. Even showering in Zane’s bathroom is an extravagance. The water pressure is unlike any I have ever experienced, and even though I don’t have much time, I shave and let the hot water beat some of the tension out of my shoulders and neck.
This is a big day.
Zane’s life will change today.
No, that’s not exactly true. His life changed the day his parents’ plane crashed into the ocean.
Today, Zane Maddox is embracing that change, promising he’ll do his best by it.
Following her cue, I dress in similar clothes to what Zarah’s wearing and twist my hair into a damp bun. It’s stupid I have to admit I’ve never been to a spa before and didn’t know what to wear. It was probably dumb of me to shave, too, but there’s no way I’m letting someone wax me up in there. I can do that kind of maintenance myself.
Stealing a moment of quiet—the last one I’ll have to myself since there will be something going on every second until bedtime tonight—I brush my fingers over Zane’s forehead. He looks peaceful in his sleep, but even I’m not na?ve enough to think it will last. I’ve never met Kagan Maddox, but I know how Clayton Black lives and the kind of stress he’s constantly under. It will catch up with Zane, too. One day.
I murmur, “I love you,” against his lips and leave the room.
Zarah’s waiting in the kitchen, munching on eggs and bacon. Lucille made breakfast, and I sit at the island next to Zarah needing more coffee.
Lucille sets a plate full of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of me. I kiss her cheek and she swats at my shoulder, blushing, but I never take thoughtfulness for granted. Never push it aside when someone does something nice for me. Lucille served me because I’m Zarah’s friend, but in the system, the rare days we had a hot breakfast before school was a gift. A foster mother who would get up and fix eggs and toast, her eyes clear and a smile on her lips.
Biting into a crispy piece of bacon, I wiggle on the barstool and rest my feet on one of the rungs to get comfortable. Lucille putters around the kitchen, and an air of contentment settles over us.
A morning program is playing on the small TV sitting on the counter, and all the hosts can talk about is how Zane will do taking over Maddox Industries. There’s speculation he’s not ready, speculation he is, talk that he won’t last more than a year. That’s business.
The gossipier segments shove me into the mix, guessing when we’ll get married. They dug up dirt on me, and a timeline of my life growing up in foster care ends with a shot of Maryanne’s house and the high school graduation picture of me standing next to her. I hope this doesn’t cause her any trouble. I should have reached out and told her what was happening, but now it’s too late.
Two women discuss if my background will help or hurt Zane and the company, and I purse my lips. One woman says my empathy for the underdog will keep Zane human. The other says my lack of maturity and experience will get him killed.
“That’s a bit extreme,” Zarah says, slamming her coffee mug onto the counter.
“There’s still the possibility your parents were murdered,” I say, knowing full well what the show’s hostess was implying, but when stakes are that high, what I know or don’t know won’t make much of a difference. Lark was killed alongside her husband—that she was experienced in this way of life meant nothing in the end.
If someone wanted me out of the picture, it wouldn’t be difficult.
Zarah looks away and swallows, and using a little black remote control laying on the counter, turns the TV off. Lucille starts cleaning in a different room, leaving us alone to eat in silence and finish our coffee. The program left me unsettled, but Zarah’s next words lift my spirits.
“I’m so glad Zane found you,” she says on our way to the elevator. “He used to have horrible nightmares, but when I walked into his room this morning, I’ve never seen him so peaceful.”
Come to think of it, Zane’s only had a nightmare once sleeping with me, and that was the first night I stayed over. The other times we’ve shared a bed, he’s been quiet. At least I could give him something. Usually, I feel so helpless and worthless.
“Technically, you did,” I say, and she laughs, knowing her company tour changed our lives.
Douglas drops us off in front of the Lyndhurst and waits to drive us to the spa. The banquet manager is doing quite nicely without us, and in an enormous freezer, she shows us a huge ice sculpture of the Maddoxes’ skyscraper. It looks magnificent, towering close to twenty feet high. The sculpture is hollowed out, she explains, and will be lit up with blue lights from the inside. The only hitch in our planning is that a shipment of champagne was delayed, and Zarah chooses a different label just in case the other doesn’t come in time. I’m glad she’s with me—I wouldn’t know what kind is acceptable and what kind isn’t.
She doesn’t care anyway, flicking her finger at a name in French I can’t say.
Hector, of course, skulks behind us, watching Zarah’s every move. She isn’t as moody as she was when we went clothes shopping, and her spirits are brighter than the day she told me Ash proposed. I relax a little in that regard. Everyone keeps telling me Ash will treat Zarah well, and so far, I’m the only one who doesn’t believe it.
I’m happy to see evidence to the contrary.
The feeling doesn’t last long. We’re changing into our robes at the spa and I catch a glimpse of another bruise. The deep purple covers one of her breasts, like someone grabbed her and wouldn’t let go. I know how painful that can be—Zane can get aggressive in bed, especially if he’s stressed out, which is most of the time—but he’s never left a mark on me.
Her big brown eyes are sad and liquid. “Please don’t.”
Against my better judgment, I keep my mouth shut and focus on enjoying the morning. I’ve never been to a spa before, and I try to relax in the calm atmosphere. Lavender and other spices scent the air, plants are everywhere, and sunlight sparkles through the skylights in the ceiling.
I want to have a pleasant experience, and I wish I hadn’t seen Zarah’s bruise. She doesn’t want me to interfere, and I’ve exhausted the people I can tell. Namely, Zane. If he won’t believe me, how am I supposed to convince him?
A massage loosens my muscles tight with tension and soaking in a mud bath finishes the job. Someone keeps shoving mimosas into my hand, and after two, I’m buzzing on sugar and alcohol.
It comes time to have my hair styled, and on a whim, I ask for something new. A slim Asian woman wearing super high heels holding a bright pink comb and a pair of gleaming scissors grins. After she’s done, my hair is five inches shorter, cut into shaggy layers, and silver highlights brighten my blonde color. It immediately adds a few years to my features, and I love it.
Zarah gasps and squeals when she sees me. “You look amazing! Zane’s going to flip!”
A makeup artist expertly applies my makeup, and three hours later, stepping out of the spa and onto the city sidewalk, I look like a woman worthy of Zane and his position and wealth.
“Thank you,” I say, hugging her cautiously. I don’t want to hurt her.
She rubs my back. “You’re welcome. You look fabulous.”
I wanted to be primped and painted to the max, but Zarah had minimal work done. Her hair falls down her back like a black sheet shining in the afternoon sun. Her complexion glistens, and black eyeliner emphasizes her large eyes and the shadows in them. Her lips are stained a blood red.
“Thank you for not saying anything,” she murmurs.
I look over her shoulder. Hector’s leaning against the building, suave and menacing in a black suit and mirrored sunglasses. I can’t see his eyes, but I know he’s watching us. The slither of unease down my back is enough proof.
Clutching her shoulders, I say, “You know you can tell me anything, right? I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
“There’s nothing you can do, Stella. The sooner you realize that, the better things will be—for everyone. Including Zane. Be smart. He’s going to need you if things go sideways. Don’t fight in a war you can’t win, you’ll only get yourself killed. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Through my trench coat, her fingers dig into my arm, and it hurts.
“Yes.” I don’t agree with her, but I say what she wants to hear. She doesn’t know me. As long as Ash is abusing her, I’ll never leave this alone. I don’t care how powerful the Blacks are. I have never let the bad people win.
“Good. Let’s change for the press conference. They’re going to pay as much attention to you as they will be to Zane. Maybe even more, so you need to look your best and be prepared.”
We dress, and Zarah coaches me on what to say, or rather, what not to say, if a reporter corners me at the press conference or questions me at the party. I have only three or four acceptable phrases I can repeat. Yes, Zane and I are a couple. No, we have no plans to marry at this time. Yes, I am his executive assistant. No, I will not be taking a leadership role at Maddox Industries.
“It doesn’t matter what you and Zane decide behind closed doors.” She picks out a black lace pencil skirt and a demure white blouse for me to wear and loans me a strand of black pearls. “What we tell the papers and what we do in private are two different things, okay? If you read something Zane said and it’s not in line with what you think, talk to him about it before freaking out. If a reporter asks you something and you don’t know the answer, or you don’t want to answer, a simple, ‘I would rather not comment on that right now’ is polite and gets the job done.”
I nod. I don’t want to deal with the press and paparazzi at all. I know I’ll have to at some point, even if it’s about the fundraising for the nonprofit I’m creating with Mina.
Zarah continues the lesson. “Yes, you’re looking to move into charity work to complement your position as Zane’s assistant. No, you don’t feel your tough childhood will hinder you in any way. On the contrary, you think it will give you the perfect perspective to be of service.” She pauses. “Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just a lot.”
“I know, but you’re gorgeous and no one knows much about you. They’re going to be curious and you need to be brave enough to set boundaries or they’ll stomp all over you.”
“I understand.”
We stand outside on the steps of Maddox Industries, the answers to made up questions ringing in my ears. A podium equipped with a single microphone sits on the top step waiting for Zane to take command. News crews are milling about, some doing pre-press conference coverage, rehashing the history of Maddox Industries, Zane’s parents’ plane crash, and Zarah and Ash’s relationship.
Zane hasn’t come down yet, and I wish I could have given him a kiss and a pep talk before the press conference, but there wasn’t time. While Zarah and I were changing, Zane had also been dressing, and a handler who works at a public relations firm was coaching him as Zarah had been coaching me.
I suck in a deep breath. A cameraman trains his camera on me, and I try not to stiffen. I’ll be in the public eye now...as Zane’s girlfriend. A role he’s only too eager for me to play. At least he isn’t hiding me. Ashamed of me. That would be worse than doing what he’s asking me to do—pretend to fit in.
Suddenly, the reporters stare past us to the front of the building, and Zarah looks over her shoulder. Zane stepping through the revolving glass doors jerks everyone’s attention away from us. He walks confidently across the stone and stands behind the podium wearing a black suit and a black and silver striped tie. We match, and I don’t know if Zarah planned it. There’s no indication on her face she did. He hasn’t shaved, and his scruff makes him look older. More competent. I wonder if that’s calculated. If it is, it worked. In spades.
Zane Maddox can do more than step into his father’s shoes. He can rule the world.
Everyone is quiet as he surveys the crowd. Even the wind dies down, and you could hear a pin drop, everything is so still.
He rests his hands on the sides of the podium and begins to speak. “Thank you for being here. I took more time than was allotted me to grieve, and this is grossly overdue. As all of you know, my parents, Kagan and Lark Maddox, were killed in a plane crash on April second of this year. Investigation is ongoing, but after so many months, finding the cause of this horrific accident doesn’t look promising.”
He stops and looks over the crowd.
Zarah and I stand along the outskirts of the group of reporters, and his gaze lands on me. His features soften. The eagle eyes of the press and paparazzi don’t miss his expression. Zarah squeezes my hand, her massive engagement ring digging into my skin.
“Having said that, it’s time to assume responsibility of what my father worked all his life to build. Younger than I am now, he founded Maddox Industries and put his blood, sweat, and tears into the company. I must now carry on. Carry on the mission. Carry on the goals and dreams my father had for this company. Carry on the family name.”
Zane’s stare pins me to the step, and Zarah gasps. “Did he ask you to marry him?”
I rub the ring he slid onto my finger. “No. Not exactly. He said he wanted to...someday.”
“God. Look at him. He loves you so much. The press is eating it up.”
“I may not feel ready,” Zane continues, gazing out into the sea of reporters who are recording his every move and waiting impatiently to bombard him with questions. “But no one does anything waiting until they’re ready. How many chances, how many opportunities, are missed if we’re not willing to gamble? Roll the dice? If we cannot step outside our comfort zones? I need to step outside mine and make my parents proud.” He pauses and finishes, saying, “Thank you.”
The reporters erupt in a deluge of questions, and Zane’s handler steps out of the shadows to rein them in. They shout questions one by one. Asking him to disclose details of the plane crash and the investigation, asking him about his plans for the future of Maddox Industries. Asking him about me.
“Let’s head up and change,” Zarah says. “No one will miss us now.”
She doesn’t want the reporters to film us leaving, and we stay outside of the cameras’ range. Zane’s still answering questions, and one question drifts to me.
“Who is Stella Mayfair?”
Zarah and I push through the revolving doors and step into the lobby. I don’t hear Zane’s answer.
I never get the chance to find out what he says.