Chapter 11
ELEVEN
V ile woman.
She knew about me the entire time. Purposely dropped her voice to a volume too low for me to pick up and angled herself to make lip reading impossible.
But I saw the kiss.
She made sure of it.
Every press of her body to his, every minuscule movement and glide of her mouth. I saw them. My spine goes rigid, and something between anxiety and anger prickles my skin like drops of acid.
Body language is something you can fake, for sure, but I don’t think she’s faking a thing. I think she wants him, and she came here tonight to take advantage of a moment of weakness and show me, prove to me, how tight the noose is really pressed to my skin.
She wants the film produced and out in the world, but her professional goals and her personal goals…
Black and gold spots dance in front of my eyes.
She meant to strike a blow with the kiss and damn her, but it landed right where she wanted it to. Straight through my cracked and bleeding heart. I press my hand against its uneven beats, like I’ll somehow be able to make it work right again, even as she gloats her way out the door.
My knees go a little weak, and I snap them together to stay where I am rather than dropping straight down to the floor.
I’ve seen enough.
Today can go straight to hell and not come back. There’s no hope of salvaging any minute of it. And dinner?
My gut constricts into a series of knots and blockages. If I try to eat, I’ll puke. Hunger is a distant memory.
Tears burning against the corners of my eyes, I turn, fumbling for the knob. I close the bedroom door behind me as quietly as possible. There’s no way I’m sticking around to see if there’s another performance. Or, fucking forbid, Marcus decides to take her up on her offer and work out a little rage between her thighs.
More than likely, he’s following her to the door, grabbing her by all that perfect bleached hair, and going in for another kiss. How could he resist her?
She’s gorgeous.
And the few words I caught of her exit speech? She’s right. We’re nothing but wrong for each other, an older man who has lived life and has so many experiences under his belt and…a child.
Celeste called me a child.
Of course he’d want a woman like her. Not a girl.
Marcus is in his forties. He’ll want a woman with poise and class and experience.
How many times has he branded me a spoiled brat?
If I see them head to his room, I won’t recover. And the chances of seeing exactly that are high enough for me not to take the risk. In the bedroom, I can pretend; I can make the world whatever I want it to be.
I flop down face-first on the bed, set up for guests and obviously not meant to be comfortable or personal. Exhaustion turns my arms and legs into stone. Head buried in the pillow, I focus on every inhale.
When are things going to feel easier?
It seems like the last year or so has been one kick in the ass after another, and honestly, I don’t know what it says about me as a person, but I’m not sure how much more I can take. Without an end in sight, these are the circumstances where people take up drinking or drugs. Or sex.
I reach out to grab the pillow and turn on my side, clutching it to my chest, breathing in deeply.
“Are we going to talk about it?”
Marcus doesn’t startle me. Even though my heart lurches when I glance up and see him looming in the doorway. Alone.
Lipstick is smeared on his lips and his cheek. Bright and bold and a glaring neon sign pointing out what they did. What he allowed her to do to him.
And enjoyed, a vile voice in my head whispers, “ He enjoyed kissing her more than he’s ever enjoyed kissing you. Why else do you think he always says no ?”
I’m not going to take it anymore. And I don’t have to.
The driver is probably still downstairs, and if not, I’ve got money. I’ve got the means.
“No, we’re not going to fucking talk about it, Marcus.” Even his name hurts, but I force myself to say it anyway. “There’s nothing to say. I think it’s best for me to get out of here and take some time on my own.” Away from him and away from these feelings.
He makes a grab for me as I duck underneath his arm. My bag is right where I left it in the hallway, and I scoop it up in a single motion.
“You’re not leaving the apartment.” He thunders after me, but I’ve already got my hand on the doorknob. “Empire. Stop.”
His groan ghosts me out into the hallway.
“Jesus fucking Christ. When are you going to stop acting like a spoiled—”
I whip around and hold out a hand, my throat scalded and everything else raw. “Don’t say it. Don’t say another word.”
“Get back in the apartment. Running off isn’t going to do shit, and you know it.”
Maybe not, but it will make me feel a little bit better, and right now, I’ve got to take what I can get.
He’s not fast enough to catch me before I’m inside the elevator, the doors slamming shut on his glowering face.
That’s the expression I associate with him these days, more than anything else. He’s always angry about something. Always egotistical and acting like he knows better than everyone else, even though it feels like he’s fucking it all up.
It’s hard to catch my breath, and I slam a hand against the cool wall as the elevator glides to the bottom floor.
I’ve got my purse and nothing else. My feet are sore from the heels I’ve had to wear all day, my leg muscles cramping and my head spinning in useless circles.
No, things aren’t going to get any easier for me or lighter to handle unless I get away from Marcus. I might want to be underneath him, but not his thumb or his heel. Not when he’s slowly pressing down, and every day is harder to get through.
Whatever deal he has going on with these awful people, I don’t want to be a part of it. And Celeste showing up at his apartment proves it to me. He’s playing around with things that can hurt people, and for all his protests to the contrary, I’m the casualty.
The doors open, and I catch sight of the driver in deep conversation with the doorman. So he hasn’t left yet. It couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes since he dropped me off, but it feels like a lifetime.
Both of them snap to attention at my approach.
“Take me to 825 Glanville Drive.” I rattle out the address without stopping, heading for the doors.
Knowing him, Marcus is probably already on his way down the stairs, trying to intercept me. Or on his phone, telling the driver to stay here under threat of death.
There are plenty of cabs either way.
Luckily for me, the wheels are in motion faster than my ragged mind is able to follow. Only once I’m sprawled across the leather with the driver taking me to River’s place do I relax. My tight chest begins to loosen, but every part of me is constricted from the interaction with Marcus and Greg, and then just now with Celeste.
At the center of it is the one man I’m doomed to love.
“I am so stupid,” I mutter out loud.
The partition between the back and the driver is lowered, and he asks me softly, “Do you need something, Miss Stone?”
I wave a hand in the air. Whether he sees it or not doesn’t matter. “I’m fine. Please hurry.”
River’s place isn’t swanky or big by any stretch of the imagination. She puts everything she makes from her influencer career back into the business. Still, it’s a cute little setup at the base of the hills with a postage-stamp front yard filled with tropical flowers.
My best friend in the world opens her arms to me the second we pull up in front of her house.
“I’m sorry,” I say into her hair. “I should have called ahead. I didn’t even think about it. It’s so late.”
“Girl, you know it doesn’t matter what time it is.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you…”
“You? Never.” She waves the driver away and ushers me off the front stoop. “I was up doing an Instagram live anyway. And you know I can’t fall asleep until like three. I heard the car, and when I looked out the window, I just knew.”
My stomach sinks. It doesn’t matter how many times she protests. I shouldn’t have come here. It was the only place I knew to go.
“Come inside, Em.”
She’s got a bevy of scented candles burning, so the house feels like autumn in the middle of summer. Their glow illuminates the blank wall with the single painting done by a local artist and her ring light, still shining brightly on her chair.
It’s the throne where River rules over her followers with grace and kindness. The place where she’s the most confident and her genuine energy is the reason why people love her. Not to mention her weird ability to sniff out new and upcoming places to eat, drink, and enjoy.
Rather than heading back to her station to turn off the light, she pushes me into the small living room of the bungalow house in the hills.
“Sit,” she demands.
The back of my knees hit the cushion, and I drop. Holy crap, I’m not going to be able to get back up. She’ll have to pry me off the couch with a crowbar.
“You want anything to eat?” she asks. “Drink? I think I’ve got some milk around here if you want me to make some coffee. Uh, I might have some oat milk—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I cut her off. “A glass of water will be great, thanks.”
I shouldn’t be here bothering her. River has her own life to lead. I’m not going to bring anything good to her by running here, and what if the Mafia guys find out about my connection to her?
What if it puts her in danger?
It’s all become too much.
“You know what? I should go.” I force my exhausted legs to hold my weight when I stand again. “It was wrong for me to come here.”
River pops her head around the corner and glares at me. “You aren’t going anywhere. Looking the way you do? I don’t care what kind of fancy driver you’ve got to chauffeur you around. You’re going to sit here and talk to me. Then you’re going to spend the night and get some rest. You’re ready to drop.”
“Talk.” My lips are too numb to talk. My tongue is almost knotted, and there are deadly things in my head ready to erupt.
Do I really want River to be the one who bears the brunt of it all?
I must have zoned out because the next thing I know, River presses a hot mug of what smells like jasmine tea into my open hands and sets me with a look. “You’re not going anywhere,” she repeats. “Okay? I’m here for you no matter the time and no matter the circumstances.” She rests a hand on one hip. “Got it?”
Some people in life have your back no matter what. Those are the people who matter. Not the hot and cold, wishy-washy, overbearing types.
I flash her a grateful smile, letting the hot mug burn into my palm. “Got it.”