Chapter One #4
‘My grandfather wants me to settle down. Publicly. Formally. He’s threatening to withhold something important that I need until I do.’
I blink. Recalibrating too because this…wasn’t what I expected. ‘And this concerns me why?’ I bite out eventually.
His chin rises, as if he needs to rise above his own words. ‘I need a fake wife.’
‘You need a fake wife,’ I echo flatly.
‘Hmm. A temporary one. Just for a year, maybe two. Long enough to satisfy the board, the media and the old man.’
‘And you thought of me?’ My voice is still flat. Because he’s still making zero sense.
‘Eventually.’
That too stings more than it should.
‘Oh right. Your A-list friends and minions are too busy polishing their imaginary academy awards so you’re scraping the barrel now.
FYI, Mr Hotshot Producer Director, I’m not some pawn for you to use when you’ve run out of respectable options.
’ I point to the door, hating that my fingers shake and that my insides wrench as if they have been tossed into a tumble dryer.
‘No,’ he agrees. ‘But you’re the one who fled my bed and my house with some flimsy excuse about impropriety. Or am I misquoting that napkin resignation?’
‘Because I had dignity.’
He turns then, fully. Slowly. And the temperature in the room shifts.
The man standing in my apartment isn’t the same one I used to work for. He’s harder now. Meaner. Hungrier. A predator long-starved shown the feast he intends to devour. Come hell or high water.
‘Cilla,’ he says softly, dangerously, ‘you made a choice that night. Don’t pretend you didn’t know what it would cost you.’
‘I didn’t expect you to burn down the rest of my chances because we had sex and you never got your chance to throw me out before I exited.
Or are you going to stand there and tell me you wanted something…
more.’ I emphasise the word, throw in a thick slice of sarcasm. And completely ignore my clenched gut.
His jaw flexes. Several beats pass in silence.
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought. And, God, even if I did make a choice,’ I finish, ‘here you are. Asking me to crawl back into your world like nothing happened. Is your ego that obscenely huge or are you just heartless?’
‘Neither,’ he says, then shrugs. ‘Both. What I think or feel shouldn’t feature in this.
I’m asking you to walk in with your head held high.
By my side for a finite time. I’ll pay you well, fatten that bank account you so obviously need fattening.
We’ll set clear rules. A timeline of one year.
If you’re that attached to cleaning other people’s dirty floors, I’ll ensure you get your name cleared.
Hell, I’ll write you a personal recommendation if you want.
Or,’ he stops, purely for dramatic effect I’m sure, then shrugs, ‘if you do a good enough job, I might even put in a word to put you back on track for your true, honest calling.’
My honest calling. Film. Documentary-creating. A career I’ve missed more than I thought I would. But then I’m reminded who I’m dealing with. A ruthless predator born of a pride of predators.
My laugh is shaky, bitter. ‘What could be this important to you that you would lower yourself to this. To me?’
His jaw works for several seconds. ‘It’s a family trust’s release for my studio.’
Of course it is. Only a few key people knew of Ashon’s plans.
But I’d been his housekeeper once upon a time.
Heard the phone calls, the excitement. Knew how important this was to him.
Important enough to ignore the small matter of the family he’s wronged on the short road to achieving yet another celestial dream, uncaring of the anguish and heartache left in his wake.
‘And all I have to do is smile at your side and pretend I’m the lucky one. ’ My tone is mocking.
His voice is equally low and mocking. ‘You’d rather stay here, eating ramen and despair?’
The silence that follows is deafening. With every atom of my being I want to shout that yes, I want to stay here. Yes, I want to keep my pride.
But also no.
Because I’m tired. And broke. And bleeding behind the smile I wear when I go interview for jobs that never call me back. Because of him.
I meet his eyes. A quiver of…something slides through me.
I might have burned my opportunity once by making the worst decision of my life.
But maybe this was my second chance to right wrongs that still churn my insides.
A chance to come at this from another angle?
Surely being inside the Biney circle again will be the perfect opportunity to thread my way to the proof no lawyer has unearthed, the key to reclaiming everything they stripped from my family.