7. Megan
MEGAN
Paint, paint, paint, paint! That’s what I’ve been telling myself all morning ever since Orson dropped that bomb on me yesterday.
A gallery show for Julie Spencer? I still can’t believe it.
Then again, I can’t believe anything that’s happened to me over the last few days.
This incredible man blew into my life like a tornado, swept me off my feet, and changed everything forever.
My heart sparks whenever I look at him. My body heats up whenever he’s near me.
I want to scream into the ether about just how wonderful he is.
I want to tell everyone! But Trish hasn’t been answering her phone all morning.
I look at the mix of paints on my wooden palette beside me. That’s how I feel inside. All mixed up.
I go back to my landscape, dabbing a bit of my nice, new, expensive paint on my amazing brush…
Just as I’m about to go to work on the ridge of a mountain, a clap behind me nearly causes me to jump out of my pants. I whirl around, and who do I find standing in the doorway?
“Hey, bitch.” Trish grins at me, clearly pleased with herself for scaring me.
“Where have you been?” I bark angrily, rushing over to her for a hug. “And how did you know where to find me?”
“Sorry, I was caught up with a date.” She winks and puts on her Wicked Witch of the West voice. “And I have my ways of finding you, missy! Don’t think you’ll ever be able to get away from me.”
I leap back as she waves an imaginary wand at me, pick up my brush, and wave it back at her. After a short witch’s duel, we both slump down on some stools at one of the tables.
“So,” she says, looking around. “A bit of a step up from your old place, huh?”
“Honestly, it doesn’t even feel real. Orson keeps saying this is our house, but it hasn’t sunk in yet.”
She stands and walks around the studio, examining all my new supplies and unfinished paintings.
“You sure are milking him for all he’s worth.”
“Don’t you say that!” I snap, rising to my feet. “I am not with Orson for his money.”
She raises a catty eyebrow. “Oh, you’re not? Because those look like four hundred dollar sweatpants you’re wearing right now.”
I glance down and frown, then look back at her. “Look, do I mind the gifts? Of course not. But that’s not why I’m with him.”
Trish makes a sound like she doesn’t believe me. I bite the inside of my cheek and narrow my eyes at her.
“Trish. I’m with him because for the first time ever, I’ve felt that spark. That feeling I’ve been waiting for. He gave that to me.”
She looks back at me, and for a moment, I expect a sassy retort. But she must see the look in my eyes because she slowly nods.
“Okay. But I can take credit for setting you two up, right?”
I burst out laughing. “Yes. But let’s not tell the exact story of how at the wedding, okay?”
“Definitely not.” She walks over to the painting I’m working on and examines it. “So you’re going to have a gallery show.”
Instantly, I’m sweating. “Please, don’t remind me.”
“Why? Aren’t you excited?”
My hands are clammy. I wipe them on one of my rags. “More like mortified. I’m still trying to tell myself my work is good enough. You’ll be there, right?”
Trish smiles and shrugs. “So long as I’m not out with my own billionaire boyfriend!” Her phone buzzes. She checks it and sighs. “Speaking of which, I have to go.”
“But you just got here!” I protest. It’s only been a few days, but I feel like I haven’t seen Trish for ages.
“Sorry. But some of us still gotta make that bank.”
“I’ll walk you out.” On the way downstairs, I realize I haven’t seen my king all morning. “By the way, did you see Orson when you came in?”
Trish shakes her head. “Nope. Why? Is he missing?”
I laugh. “Let’s hope not.”
Walking Trish out actually sort of helps me feel like this is my house. Before, I’ve been the one being led in and out. Now I’m doing that job myself.
My stomach warms. I’m getting used to the place. My place.
We reach the front door, and I stop dead in my tracks. There, lounging on one of the benches, is Chuck.
God, what is he doing here?
“Hey there, Megs.” He grins. “How you doing today?”
Trish glances at me like any good friend would do, basically asking if she wants me to stay. But I shake my head and give her a hug.
“It’s okay. You can go,” I whisper.
“Call me if you need me to beat him up,” she whispers.
I laugh, and she goes out to her car, leaving me alone with Chuck. He’s wearing lime-green pants today with a tucked-in pink plaid shirt and a bow tie. And I’m pretty sure he’s wearing Jordans too. Not sure what look he’s going for, but it is not working.
“Orson!” I call out, walking down the hall to his office. Chuck follows me without invitation. “Orson, are you here?”
“He’s not. I checked.”
“Orson!” I repeat, ignoring him. I reach for my phone but realize I left it upstairs in the studio. I turn to Chuck. “I’ll have him call you—”
“Actually, I didn’t come to see Orson. I came to see you.”
My fingers start tingling with that odd sensation you get when you’re feeling uncomfortable. Why would he be here to see me?
Everything Orson has told me about Chuck, combined with the way he acted toward me at the restaurant, makes me not too happy about being around him.
There should be a security guard at the gate, though. I walk past Chuck and head for the door, but he grabs me by the arm and stops me. My heart leaps, and I cry out, but he just smiles.
“No one can hear you, gorgeous.” The stench of his cologne invades my nostrils as I struggle. “But relax, I’m not here to hurt you.”
“Then let go of me!”
“I will, okay? Just don’t run. I have something important to tell you.”
I scoff. “To tell me? What could you possibly have to tell me, Chuck?”
I should have asked Trish to stay. But how was I supposed to know this guy would physically assault me? Orson never warned me to be actually fearful of him.
Chuck sighs and hangs his head. “This is going to be hard to hear, Megan. But your friend Trish? She’s been sleeping with Orson.”
“Ha!” I burst out laughing. “Get real. She would never!”
“You sure about that? I mean, she asked me on a date, Megan.” Reaching into his pocket, Chuck pulls out his phone and scrolls through a series of texts from Trish, including a selfie that looks like it was taken outside my apartment.
“What…?”
“She said she’d sleep with me if I paid her monthly rent and took her out for an expensive dinner.”
I shake my head. I don’t want to believe it.
But then again, Trish has openly admitted to me that she does stuff like this with men. I mean, she was supposed to go out with Orson. The only reason I did was because she double-booked herself. Is it really that unbelievable that these are real texts to Chuck?
“Fine, let’s just say I believe you. Those are texts to you. Not Orson.”
Chuck nods, releasing his hold on me. This is my chance to run, but something keeps me where I am.
I don’t want to believe it. No way Orson would have sex with my best friend! And Trish wouldn’t do that to me!
That’s what I keep telling myself. But for the last few days I’ve also been telling myself that this new life of mine isn’t real. It’s impossible. A man like Orson would never want a girl like me.
“How do you think Trish got in here, Megan?” Chuck asks. My blood turns to ice. I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. He has a point. I even asked her that when she showed up, but she didn’t answer…
“How’d she even know where this house was? And who let her in?”
Oh God…
“Maybe Orson told her before…” I mutter. “When they had a date scheduled…”
“Or maybe she’s been seeing him behind your back and the guard knows her so he let her in?”
The look on Chuck’s face makes my stomach turn. His suggestion hits me in the chest like a boulder.
My lungs burn as I gasp for breath.
“No.” I shake my head. “They would never—”
“And where is he right now?” Chuck continues. “Come on, Megs. No offense, but do you really think a man like Orson, a man who can have any and every girl he could ever want, would settle down with you?”
Tears spill from my eyes. My legs start to tremble.
“Get out!” I scream, the words tearing out of my throat. “Get out of here now!”
Chuck shrugs and gives me a look that could only be described as pity.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, Megan. But some men are just used to having everything.”
It takes all of my strength to remain standing as I watch him go. As soon as the door shuts behind him, I collapse. I fall to my knees, tears pouring from my eyes. My reflection stares up at me from the perfectly polished marble floor.
What do I do now?
I don’t want to believe it. I can’t believe it.
Chuck is lying. Orson would never betray me.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the last half hour as I repeatedly call Orson’s phone. But every single time it goes to voicemail.
“Pick up, damn it!” I scream, kicking a can of primer across the studio. Pain floods through my big toe, and I tumble over. Yeah, that’s broken.
My eyes sweep the plethora of gifts—all the paints, the brushes, the canvases.
I should have known it was all too good to be true.
He probably just did all this for me so he could keep have a girl around to fuck whenever he wanted while he went out with other girls on the side.
Not like it would put a dent in his bank account.
Why would he want me?
I know nothing about his world. I’m a broke waitress who has dreams of being an artist—
“Oh no...”
I was a waitress, but I haven’t been to work in three days. I check my missed calls and see a bunch from the diner.
Yeah, I’m definitely fired.
As hard as it is to believe, as much as it pains my soul, I can see how Orson could have played me. But what I can’t understand is why Trish would go behind my back and be with him.
We made a promise years ago to never go after a guy the other one of us liked. Of course, she never had to worry about that with me, seeing as how I basically had the sex life of a nun until I met Orson.
Trish could never do this to me…
…could she?
Seeing as how Orson isn’t answering, I pick up my phone and FaceTime her. But she doesn’t answer either.
“Great,” I grumble. I almost hurl my phone at the wall, but somehow, I manage not to. Once I leave here—which will be soon—I’m going to need everything I own. I can’t afford to be throwing several hundred dollars of electronics away.
And I sure won’t be taking any of the things he bought for me.
I’m just about to go to my room to start packing when my phone buzzes. It’s Trish FaceTiming me back.
My face is tingling. I’m on the verge of tears again, but I have to talk to her. I have to find out what’s going on.
So even though I feel like I’m about to break, I answer.
“Hey, girl!” Trish waves. I open my mouth to speak, but what I see makes me freeze.
Expensive leather, tinted windows, a reclining seat.
Trish is in Orson’s Rolls Royce.
“Look who I ran into downtown!” She turns the phone, and I gasp. There he is, sitting right next to her. He waves casually like everything’s just dandy.
Something inside me splinters.
“Hey, angel. Sorry I didn’t answer your calls. I was in a meeting with—”
I hang up. Tears stream down my face.
My phone buzzes again. It’s Trish calling me back. This time, I do throw my phone across the room. It smashes against the wall, sending glass everywhere. I don’t care if I have to buy an old dumb-phone or a pay-as-you-go plan. Right now, I just have to get out of here.
Where will I go? I don’t know.
How will I make money? No clue.
The one thing I do know is that my heart is broken. The two people who meant most to me in my life betrayed me.
How could I have been so stupid?