2. Lily
Lily
A week and a half later
“ L ily Schuyler!” As I head to the hotel’s elevators, someone calls out my name.
I halt my step, forcing the bellboy walking alongside me to do the same.
I turn around.
A smiling woman impeccably dressed in a stunning fuchsia dress, with hair as jet black as mine, comes rushing my way, balancing beautifully on killer white high heels.
“Yes?”
“I’m Michaela Konig. Phoenix’s wife.”
Phoenix, the CEO, and Gage Hollingsworth’s friend. Got it.
Wait a minute.
I frown. “How did you know who I was?”
“I asked the driver of the chauffeured car I put at your disposal to text me when you were approaching the hotel. He told me you were the woman wearing a light purple sweatshirt, white jeans, and white high-top Converse.” She looks around the lobby.
“Lucky for me, you’re the only one who matches that description. ”
The service here is out of this world. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise. Welcome to the Pompadour Hotel.” She extends a hand.
“Thank you.” I shake it.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to greet you when you arrived earlier, but I was stuck on a call with our Paris hotel.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re the hotel’s queen bee. I’m just another guest.”
She shakes her head. “No, you’re not. Gage asked me to look after you.”
“I’m sure he had more important things to deal with than pick me up at the airport.”
“He planned on picking you up, but he’s dealing with a DEFCON crisis.”
“I hope he’s okay.”
“He is. He’s… having a rough day.”
“Sounds like his day is shittier than mine.”
Her eyes shift to my luggage cart. “Not that shitty.”
“As much as I like this outfit, the airline’s mistake forced me to go shopping for a new wardrobe before I was able to do any sightseeing,” I say. “When life throws you lemons?—”
“Make French lemon tart.”
“Good one.”
She winks.
Michaela turns her attention to the bellboy. “Can you please wait for Miss Schuyler near the elevators? We’re going to have a little chat.”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Konig.” With a bow, bellboy moves away, rolling my new wardrobe with him.
Michaela’s phone rings. She checks her screen and ignores the call. Her eyes are on me again. “Did you check your luggage tracker app?”
“I did. My luggage is in Hawaii.”
“Crap.”
“My arrival in LA was epic. Not only did I lose my luggage, but while I was looking for it, I lost my phone somewhere in LAX.”
Her lips pull down in a frown. “LA hasn’t been welcoming to you.”
“Not at all.”
“Did you buy a new phone?”
“Yes. That was my first stop.”
“I’m glad that’s settled. Let me input my phone number.”
We exchange phones.
“I’ll also put Gage’s in,” she says. “I’ll add Phoenix’s. You’re only here for a few days, but this way, you’ll have a solid list of emergency contacts. You never know.”
“Thanks, Michaela.”
“Now that we’re friends, you have to call me Mikki.”
Friends?
I’ve always had a hard time making friends—never quite fitting in. I’ve never known this sort of unwavering welcome from anyone before.
“Thanks, Mikki.”
“You and Gage aren’t together, but since you’ll be hanging out with him for the rest of your stay in the City of Angels, and he’s asked me to take you under my wing, you’ll get a chance to meet the sisterhood.”
I frown my confusion.
“Phoenix’s brothers are still holding on to their bachelorhood VIP cards with no intentions of ever settling down. However, most of Phoenix’s inner circle of close guy friends all have girlfriends, fiancées, or wives. Most of us gals don’t have siblings. Over time, we’ve formed a sisterhood.”
I don’t dare tell her this arrangement with Gage is only for one night. I doubt he’ll be hanging out with me after tonight.
“That would be lovely.”
“You’ll love the girls,” she says. “Rhys—my best friend Keira’s man, also an only child—is celebrating his birthday tomorrow night.”
Lucky Rhys, he has someone in life who gives a damn about his birthday.
“You have to come as Gage’s plus one.”
I flinch at her suggestion. “Shouldn’t we discuss that with Gage first?”
“If you insist on being difficult, you’ll come as my friend.”
I laugh. “I can handle that.”
“It’s much easier to agree with me.”
“Noted.”
“Speaking of events, did you find the perfect dress for tonight?”
“I did,” I say. “I asked the chauffeur to stop at a secondhand shop in Beverly Hills with great reviews. As I was approaching the entrance, a woman with arms weighed down with clothing was fighting her way inside. I helped her with the door. Fast forward, she was bringing in tons of designer clothing, including a Dior Haute Couture dress––with certification of authentication. It has an old Hollywood design to it, complete with a fit-and-flare cut that’s plucked straight from the 1950s. It might be a bit too much?—”
“Honey, this is LA. You can be as too much as you want.”
I smile. “As luck would have it, the woman had a Dior off-the-shoulder pale pink dress altered from a ballgown length to a midi-length to fit her. The perils of being short…”
“I hear you.”
“In any case, she insisted I try it on. I couldn’t refuse. It fit me like a glove.”
“I’m sure Dior Haute Couture isn’t cheap, but you’ll make a statement tonight.”
“My father forgot my twenty-first birthday a week and a half ago, the dress is retribution.”
Michaela’s jaw drops, her eyes widening in shock.
Shit.
That overshare slipped my lips without my permission.
She frowns. “How is that even possible?”
“That conversation requires half a dozen martinis, and I won’t have time. It’s five o’clock now, and Gage will be here in an hour.”
“Please tell me your father made up for it.”
I hesitate for a moment, and decide to trust this woman with my humiliating secret.
“He’s giving me the silent treatment.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
“We haven’t spoken to each other or exchanged texts in a week and a half.
I sent him a quick text at five a.m. this morning before I left my place. No response.”
Myriad emotions flash in Michaela’s eyes.
The last one being the most heart-wrenching one. Few people know the story of my life because I don’t want to be pitied.
And now, I regret opening up.
“I’ll survive.” I’m lying to myself.
Since it was two-thirty in the morning in Paris by the time I returned to my place after I left my father sitting at the restaurant, I couldn’t call my best friend to lament. I had to suck it up.
One of the best things about New York is that it’s the city that never sleeps. I asked the taxi driver to drop me off at one of my favorite spots. Sorrow curled my stomach when I walked through the doors of the bakery, but it dissipated when I inhaled the sweet sugary aroma floating around me.
I bought a pink champagne cake with pink champagne frosting before swinging by a liquor store to purchase a bottle of Dom Pérignon rosé. In the multi-million-dollar brownstone my father bought me to atone for his sins, I licked my wounds.
I celebrated the big 2-1. Alone.
As I numbed my pain with too much champagne, only the poignant vocals of my favorite blue-eyed soul songstress kept me company.
I didn’t choose how I came into this world.
How long will I have to pay the price for being Fisher Edgington’s illegitimate child?
Drunk on Dom Pérignon and high on sugar with my expertly applied makeup a mess because of the river of tears streaming down my face, I cried myself to sleep.
Yeah, Happy Twenty-First Birthday to me ? —
Michaela is still staring, dumbfounded.
Blink.
Blink.
Blink.
I grow more and more uncomfortable each time she bats her long, dark eyelashes.
She reaches out and runs a hand up and down my arm. “Twenty-one is a big deal,” she says in a soft voice. “A big fucking deal, if you ask me.” The expression on her face transforms into something menacing. “I don’t know your father––and I might be out of line––but his behavior is appalling.”
A wave of sadness washes over me. “I’m nothing but a footnote in his manuscript.”