Chapter 13 #2
I said with complete honesty, "You look fantastic. Just amazing."
Cynthia smiled at me, scanning me from head to toe. "You don't look so bad yourself. I love that scarf. It's perfect with that shade of blue."
"It is, isn't it? I bought it the last time I was out in California with you. It's just the thing to liven up the dress."
"I am so excited for this, Summer. You've done a wonderful job. I know I'm demanding. You're the only one who can put up with me. You're a miracle worker."
"I love putting up with you," I said, and despite how crazy the party had made me, I meant it. Cynthia could be a pain in the ass, but I loved the challenge. I'd get bored if I didn't have to scramble every once in a while.
Nothing is quite like the sense of triumph I get from knowing I'd faced the impossible and pulled it off with flair.
"Guests should be arriving any moment," Cynthia said, her words punctuated by the sound of voices coming from below.
"It sounds like the first are already here."
"Not exactly the first," Cynthia said, eyeing me curiously. "Why didn't you tell me you're related to the Winters?"
I shook my head. "Because. It's complicated. I'll fill you in after the party. Seriously, we do not have time right now."
"As long as you promise. I don't like missing out on gossip. Give me the TLDR."
The TLDR. Too Long Didn't Read. I smiled at the term coming from Cynthia, who looked so much like an old-school silver screen goddess it was hard to imagine she'd ever seen an Internet forum, much less knew what TLDR meant.
"Okay, and then we have to focus. Short story, my father is their father's cousin. Which makes them my second cousins. I think. My grandfather was estranged from the family and my dad made me promise never to talk to them. But he's not around right now, and it was time. That's it."
Cynthia's eyes narrowed. "I don't think that's it.
I think there's a lot more to the story, but you're right, now is not the time.
So," she said, shifting gears, "obviously, I want to make an entrance.
I was thinking, if you can let me know when most of the guests have arrived, we'll signal the band to play something fun.
Lively. Then I'll come down the stairs and the party can really get started. "
"What about Shut Up and Dance? When the band auditioned they played it—instrumental and a little slower than the radio version. It was fantastic. High energy and fun."
"That sounds perfect. Exactly what I want."
"I'll go let the band know. They should start playing any minute now. I don't think we should wait too long to—"
There was a brief knock on the door before it swung open to reveal Evers, his brow knitted, lips pressed in a firm line.
"What is it?" I asked. "What's wrong?"
"Clint is at the gate," he said, biting off the words in irritation.
"My guys aren't letting him in, but they can't exactly conceal his presence, considering they're checking in other guests.
I don't think he knew about the party in advance, but it's bad timing.
With so many people coming through the gates, we're limited in how we deal with him.
He's insisting he wants to talk to you," he said to Cynthia.
All her joy drained away, leaving her eyes strained, her smile flat. I wanted to march down the driveway and smack Clint Perry in the face. Or worse. Maybe Evers would let me borrow his gun.
It had been a hard year for Cynthia. She was excited about the party, and now he was trying to ruin this, too.
Cynthia stared at the ceiling, apparently lost in thought. Evers and I waited. After what seemed like a year, she sucked in a sharp breath, blinked hard and said, "Get him on the phone. He is not ruining my night."
"Cynthia," Evers said, "I don't think that's a good idea. He—"
"Get. Him. On. The. Phone."
"Okay," Evers said, pulling his phone from his pocket. He called the guard at the gate who was keeping Clint off the property. "Put him on the phone. She wants to talk to him."
He brought the phone down from his ear, covering it with his hand as he said, "You talk to him on speaker, understood? I need to hear what he says."
Cynthia nodded. "Is he there?"
Evers took his hand off the phone and said, "Perry, you're on speaker. Cynthia's here. She wants to talk to you."
"Baby?" Clint's familiar low husky voice sounded through the speaker. "Baby? I'm sorry, but I need to see you. I didn't know what else to do."
"Clint, I could call the police," Cynthia said, and I would have thought she was simply exasperated except for the pain hiding beneath her words.
"You're not going to call the police, baby. I know you hate me. I know you have a right to feel that way. I promise, if you just agree to talk to me one time, I'll go away and leave you alone. I'll give you the divorce. I'll give you anything you want. If you just see me one last time. I promise."
"Why?" Cynthia asked blinking rapidly to fight back tears. "What's the point? All we do is hurt each other. We can't go back, Clint. We can't save what was never there."
"Don't say that. Don't say that. I messed up. I messed up so badly. I ruined everything, and I know it. But I love you, and I know you loved me. Maybe you don't anymore, but you did, once."
"That was a long time ago," Cynthia said, her voice thin and sad. I wished he would just get to the point so we could hang up and she could go back to being excited and happy.
Cynthia had spent a lot of this past year lonely and miserable. I hated seeing her slide back. Once upon a time, I'd liked Clint Perry, thought they were great together. Now? I wished she would call the police so we could have the satisfaction of seeing his ass thrown in jail.
"Just meet with me," he said. "One time. Let me explain and then I'll leave you alone, I promise."
"Fine," Cynthia snapped out, her sharp tone drowning out Evers' groan and my sharp intake of breath.
What was she doing?
She’d gone to all the trouble of getting a restraining order, and now not only wouldn't she use it, she was breaking the terms herself. I couldn't see how meeting with Clint was a good idea, but I was just the assistant. Cynthia was in the driver's seat.
Evers tried to talk sense into her. "Cynthia, this is not a good idea. I can't recommend—"
"Evers, set it up. I have a party to get to. You know my schedule. Find a time, and make the arrangements. Not here. Your offices. And Clint, after the arrangements are made, you leave. Immediately."
"Understood, baby. Thank you."
Evers took the phone off speaker and put it to his ear, sending Cynthia a dark look as he stalked from the room, barking at Clint over the phone. I gave Cynthia's face a quick look, relieved to see that she'd managed to hold back her brimming tears. Her makeup was still perfect.
I wanted to hug her, but Cynthia needed to shore up her defenses. A hug wouldn't help. Later, after the party when there was no one else to see, she might let me offer comfort. Not now.
Right now she had to get into character, and there was no character she liked playing more than the fabulous, glamorous, and unbelievably talented Cynthia Stevens.
Unable to help myself, I reached out and gave her arm a brief squeeze. In a low voice, I asked, "You good?"
"Fan-fucking-tastic," she answered, determination filling her voice. That determination had propelled her from waiting tables and doing toothpaste commercials to the Oscars. It would get her through tonight.
"I knew you would be," I murmured. "I'm off to check in with the band. I'll send a text when we're ready for you. I don't think it'll be too long. Based on the sound of voices downstairs, I think everyone was eager to be here on time."
Another quick squeeze of her arm and I left to confer with the band. Less than twenty minutes later, Cynthia swept in, serenaded by a lively beat as assembled guests clapped in appreciation.
Normally, I might give a discrete internal eye roll at her need for drama and attention. Tonight, after what Clint had pulled, I just hoped all that adoration filled the hole he'd left in her heart.