23. Hailee
Chapter twenty-three
Hailee
“W hat the hell are you wearing?” Dameon’s deep voice startles me.
“What?” I’m wearing the same bikini that I wore on the yacht a few weeks ago on that epic sex-capade sea adventure. I’ve never been fucked so hard in my life; I left the yacht sore.
It’s late afternoon, and I’ve just walked in the door after a refreshing dip in the cool blue waters of the beach.
“You wore that around Bondi?” He looks around, searching for my beach bag, I suppose. But he won’t find it as I didn’t bring it with me.
“I was at the beach. What’s wrong with it?” I say, looking down at my bikini. Okay, so it’s a little skimpy. I could have worn a cover-up… at least until I reached the beach.
“You’ve got other bikinis, haven’t you?”
I don’t bother responding; he knows I have a wardrobe full of options.
“Wear them. This one is for my eyes only, you got it?” he demands. “Don’t act like your job, Hailee.”
I suck in a breath and hold it.
Ouch .
“We’re going out. There’s a dress for you on the bed. Get ready; we leave in an hour.”
He storms off, pulling out his phone from his pocket. “What?” he snaps into the phone. After a brief pause, he adds, “I’m going to fucking bury them when I find out who it is.” He slams the door shut to his office without sparing me another glance.
I swallow hard, guilt churning in my stomach. I’ve fucked up, and I feel awful. I can’t shake the feeling that call was about what I did, and I’d wager all the tea in China on it. I’m torn. If I confess and come clean, I risk shattering everything that’s growing between us—plus, Beth still hasn’t had her surgery.
With a heavy heart, I retreat upstairs to our bedroom. There, laid out on the bed, is an exquisite blood-red ball gown. The fabric is soft as silk, and I run my fingers over it absentmindedly, lost in thought. Raising the gown to my chin, I hold it against my body and gaze at my reflection in the mirror. The gown’s strapless sweetheart neckline and mermaid silhouette is beautiful. But all I see reflected back at me is a woman consumed by remorse.
An hour later, I’m dressed and ready to go with ten minutes to spare. Given his current mood, I’m erring on the side of caution.
“You are a vision in that dress. Like Aphrodite herself.” Dameon pulls me close, planting a gentle kiss to my temple. “Stunning.”
My eyes flutter closed, and I try to conceal the sparks that work through my body at the touch of his soft lips. His scent, the warmth of his breath and his protective aura are intoxicating. Despite being pissed at him for his words earlier, I’m overcome with the need to capture this moment, to imprint it on my brain, so I’ll never forget what it feels like to have the devotion and care of a man like Dameon. The realization that I won’t always have his lips at my disposal makes my heart ache. I can no longer lie to myself that I don’t want his soft, intimate kisses for the rest of my life.
We arrive at a charity ball, not too dissimilar to the one we attended in New York—the night my entire life changed when he placed that small black card in my hand. The ballroom is dripping with ostentatious opulence as Sydney’s elite arrive to dispense with a small fraction of their fortunes for the underprivileged, all in the name of good appearances.
“Let’s get this over with. That dress is coming off the moment we get out of here. And I’m going to smack that ass the same shade of red for making me walk around half-mast.” Dameon discreetly adjusts himself, making me smirk.
He threads his fingers with mine, leading me around the ballroom until we spot James and Cora.
“I didn’t know you would be here,” I remark, kissing Cora’s cheek and embracing James.
“I hate these things. I’m here under duress,” she complains, shooting James a pointed look. He responds with a raised eyebrow, a silent warning that causes her face to flush pink.
“Hello, gentlemen. Don’t you both look dashing.” An older woman joins our group, extending her hand to Dameon and James. Her gown is elegant, understated yet beautiful, and her white hair is pulled back into a sophisticated chignon.
“Evelyn, this is Cora, my wife,” James says, a tender expression playing on his face. “She’s also Hayes I’ll get us some drinks.” He taps me on the ass, heading toward the bar with one hand in his pocket, looking very debonair.
I take a moment to freshen up in the bathroom, twisting the end of my lipstick and coating my pout in a deep shade of red. As I refine the edges with a touch of my finger, the door swings open, revealing a tall, curvy brunette in a sublime off-the-shoulder black ball gown. Our eyes meet in the reflection, and a sense of recognition claws at my consciousness.
I know her.
She settles beside me, placing her clutch on the counter and fussing with her hair, though not a strand seems out of place. It’s an act, something to occupy her hands, much like brushing off an invisible piece of lint. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and she offers a cool smile. Suddenly, it clicks, like the few remaining pieces of a jigsaw puzzle sliding into place to form the whole picture.
“Do I know you from somewhere?” I ask politely, but what I really want to ask is, Why the hell are you following me?
“I’m Rachael.” She extends her hand with a subtle air of superiority. The back of her hand faces upward, and I hesitate before grasping it in a weird, dainty handshake. If she expects me to kiss it, she can fuck right off. “I’m Dameon’s fiancée.” I drop her hand like a lead weight, my eyes widening.
“Oh, I take it he didn’t tell you?” she taunts, a cruel smile playing at her lips as a wave of dread washes over me.
What. The. Fuck.
With practiced ease, she retrieves her lipstick from her clutch and applies it, her gaze never leaving mine in the mirror.
“I know who you are, Hailee. And I know what you’re doing with my fiancée.” I stand, frozen, as she dabs gloss over her lips with her finger.
“And once your contract is through, he’ll be done with you, and we can move on with our lives. You’re just a temporary distraction. He promised me a future, and I can wait while he has his fun.”
There’s something off about this woman. The more she talks, the more her words feel hollow. Coming out of my stupor, my eyes narrow at her in the mirror.
“I don’t believe you. Dameon would have told me.”
Finished with her preening, Rachael turns to face me, her clutch tucked under her arm.
“We dated eighteen months ago, and there were no contracts and no NDAs. He trusts me. Can you say the same?”
Ouch.
Her words sting and I swallow hard, the magnitude of her implications hitting home just as she intended.
“You don’t belong with him. If you think you can sink your claws into him, you’re severely mistaken. You’re nothing but a two-bit whore who sucks like a Hoover,” she says, eyeing me up and down.
My spine stiffens. “More like a Dyson,” I quip, the corners of my lips tugging up. She flushes red, and I swear steam almost comes out of her ears. But beneath the surface of her anger, I sense a simmering instability. My shock and dread have quickly morphed into amusement. For a moment, I thought Dameon had lied to me. But it’s becoming obvious this woman is delusional.
“When he’s done with you”—her voice drips with malice—“and mark my words, he will be done with you, I’ll be there waiting. And if you try to interfere, you’ll regret it.” She pushes past me, making me stumble in my heels and leaving me shaking my head in disbelief.
Did she just threaten me?
I wade through the crowd and spot Cora looking rather bored, while James appears to give a seminar to the group of men surrounding him. When we make eye contact, I tilt my head toward the balcony. She excuses herself, kissing James on the cheek, and meets me halfway.
“Oh my God, did you see Evelyn’s face? That was absolutely hilarious!” Cora exclaims, and we burst out laughing. I can’t believe I did that. I just hope she wasn’t anyone important to Dameon.
We step out onto the balcony, where I’m hoping we’ll find a reprieve from the humidity, but the stifling night air doesn’t bring the expected relief.
“Gosh. I’m sweating my tits off.” Cora grabs a tissue from her clutch and dabs between her cleavage.
I look out over the manicured gardens lit up by spotlights. It’s unbelievably beautiful here, a reminder of the kind of life people like Dameon and my mother take for granted.
“You wouldn’t believe who I ran into in the bathroom just now.”
“Who?”
“That woman from the restaurant who was staring at me. I’ve just remembered, I saw her with Dameon in New York as well. She claims to be his fiancée.”
“Are you serious? He’s not engaged,” Cora snorts.
“That’s what I thought,” I say, fanning my face with my hand in an attempt to cool down.
I need a drink.
Glancing at the bar, I spot Dameon conversing with a leggy blonde. Her back is turned toward me, so I can’t get a glimpse of her face, but I can see that her bright pink dress has thigh-high slits on both sides, revealing long, toned legs. She throws her head back in laughter and playfully swats his chest, flicking her hair around as if she’s got a bee stuck in it. Dameon doesn’t seem to be laughing along with her, but he also doesn’t remove her hand from his chest.
First, Rachael, now this woman. Move it, bitch.
The woman slithers up close to his chest, her body pressing against his, and I’m done watching.
“I’ll be back in a sec,” I tell Cora, and storm toward them. What am I going to say? I’ve already caused one scene tonight; I really don’t want to cause another. Just as I approach them, the woman turns around, and it stops me in my tracks.
“Oh, hello, darling, have you met Dameon Hayward?” my mother says with a charming smile that only I can tell is pure cunning.
Her face is meticulously made up, like a doll. Despite her mature years, she looks unnaturally young, her features enhanced by surgery and fillers. Her tight dress rivals the white gown I wore to the New York charity function for indecency, and her massive fake tits spill out of the plunging neckline.
“Mother,” I say tersely. “What are you doing here?” Dameon’s eyebrows rise slightly, indicating he didn’t know who this woman was. I mean, why would she introduce herself as my mother? It’s not like she’s earned the title.
“I’ve missed you, darling. Thought I would drop by to see how you’re doing,” she says sweetly.
What a load of crap.
She hasn’t reached out to me or Beth once in the ten years since we left her crazy ass behind. She doesn’t care how we’re doing, and she certainly didn’t miss us. She’s here to fuck things up for me.
“Would you please excuse us for a moment? It’s been so long, I’d love to chat with my mother alone,” I say to Dameon. His expression remains blank, revealing nothing, as he nods and departs.
When he’s out of hearing range, I drop all pretenses. “Cut the shit. What are you doing here?”
“I was invited to this event. The charity is doing such good work, and it’s a cause I’m immensely passionate about,” she responds innocently.
“For fuck’s sake, Liz. I mean here in Sydney. Why are you even here? What do you want?” I press.
“Well, I thought I would stop by to make certain you follow through on your promise to Mark.” There’s no covering her sinister smile with charm this time.
Ah, there we go.
“I gave him what he wanted. And I told him, I’m done. I’m not sending him anything else.”
“Oh, dear daughter, you really need to learn a thing or two when you make a deal with the devil,” she says, tsking. “Mark won’t let you off the hook that easily. He will make you pay. And I will gladly watch him destroy your life and everything you care about, piece by piece.”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you hate me so much?!” I whisper-shout, my voice cracking with emotion. The question slips out without thought, and I regret it immediately. It makes me appear weak, as if I still care what she thinks of me. I loathe that she can get under my skin so easily. She’s like a tick, burrowing deep, and no matter how much I scratch, I can’t get rid of her.
Her painted pink lips curl into a vicious smile. “You act so high and mighty, as if taking Beth from me earns you some kind of Mother Theresa award, but it doesn’t. You’re no different to me. You can call yourself a high-class escort or companion or whatever the hell you want to dress it up as, but at the end of the day, you’re just a dirty whore. And when you get older, and your pussy becomes loose, and you can no longer rely on that beautiful face of yours, all you’ll be is a dried-up, dirty whore. You despise me because I use men for their money and power. Well, darling, you are no different. You are not better than me.” She jabs her long fingernail into my shoulder, punctuating her words.
“I will never be like you,” I hiss. “I see through the vile poison that you spew; your words no longer affect me. I’m not so easily manipulated anymore. I’m done with you, and I’m done with Mark. I gave him what he wanted; I’ve honored the deal we made. I’m not doing it again. Stay away from me and Beth. Another ten years is too soon, so let’s make it twenty this time… Or how about never?”
She narrows her eyes, her lips thinning in annoyance as she realizes she hasn’t gotten the reaction she wanted.
“Take care, Mother .” I turn on my heel and leave her and her toxic energy behind. I’m proud that I didn’t stoop to her level. I could have, and I wanted to. Desperately. But all that therapy would have been for nothing. I can’t change who she is, nor her behavior, resentment, or hatred toward me. But what I can change is my response to her and how I let it affect me. I choose my own reactions, and, in this moment, I choose not to react. I search for Dameon in the crowd, eager to get the hell out of here. I’m done with this night.