17. Mia
Chapter 17
Mia
W hat the hell is that buzzing sound? It won’t stop.
Shit! I’m late for work!
I sit up in bed and scramble for my phone to turn off my alarm. That’s when my surroundings remind me I don’t have a job to be late for anymore.
Plopping back down on the softest bed and pillow combination I’ve ever experienced, I let my heart slow down to a more normal rhythm.
Last night after I finished the dishes, I took a bath in that bathtub that is so deep, nothing but my head was above water. There were some citrus smelling salts I found that were sitting on the bathroom counter, so I threw them in for good measure. By the time I climbed out of the tub, my entire body was loose, relaxed, and pruned. I practically fell asleep in there.
Thinking I might need the sound of the television to help me sleep in a strange place, like I did in the hotel, I found a remote on the end table in the living room. The remote had so many buttons, I could probably control the space station from here. But I found a button that had a picture of a window, so I pushed it thinking it was a picture of a television.
I was wrong.
This button controls the curtains in the entire suite and when I pushed it, all of them closed automatically. What little light that was coming in from the moon was gone. The entire place was pitch black and, in my book, that is perfect for sleeping. I never did find the remote for the television.
The room remains very dark, so I grab the NASA remote from the nightstand and press the curtain button again, instantly bathing the room in bright sunlight. It’s almost blinding, going from pitch black to sunlight so quickly.
As I lay here enjoying this bed, my life and all its quandaries come flooding in and it feels so surreal. “Maybe it’s not real, Mia.” I say out loud to myself as I grab my phone and start surfing the net.
Oh, it’s real all right. Very real.
There are dozens of articles about how I’m a gold digger and only after Ian for his money. That I’m some kind of slut. Then there’s one where it says I’m trying to break up the happy couple of Mackenzie Laughlin and Ian Gallo and how traumatized she is right now. If they were a happy couple, then why didn’t he take her to the gala? My favorite story so far is one that says I’m pregnant and that I’ve trapped him in this situation.
Then I see it. The article with James’ interview where he basically tears me apart. He tells the reporter he talked to that I broke up with him because he couldn’t make enough money to sustain the lifestyle I demanded and that I constantly berated him for not working hard enough even though he worked night and day for me, and that I kept sleeping around on him trying to find my ‘sugar daddy’ and that’s how I probably met Ian.
What a load of pure grade-A bullshit!
At no point in the entire article did James mention he was the one cheating on me or that I was the one working day and night. He barely got forty hours in delivering pizzas ‘full time’. Full-time, my ass.
But the kicker is when I see James has spilled my childhood issues for the entire world to read. His version, anyway. He talks about my many foster parents, the homes I ended up living in, and even hints that I was into drugs, which is an absolute lie.
My parents may not have wanted me, but I learned early on, from one of my teachers in grade school, that if I don’t love and respect myself, then I will never amount to anything in this world. Mrs. Olsen was my fourth-grade teacher and knew at that time that I was living in a group home. I think she felt bad for me and in turn she spent extra time with me. And I ate up the extra attention because I wasn’t getting much at home.
I’ve always repeated what she told me whenever I feel sorry for myself. ‘No one in this life is just going to give you something for free… you must either work for it or you must give up something for it. It will be up to you on which path you choose.’ With those wise words, I knew I needed to put myself first in everything I did, and that included whether or not I wanted to get myself into drugs.
Drugs were available to me everywhere I went, but I never took the opportunity. And now, at almost thirty years old, I’m glad I didn’t. I know some kids I was in the group homes with never made it to my age because they took a different path. I paid attention from the sidelines and have never regretted it.
Later in the article, the reporter had also talked to some of my former roommates, who also told some tall tales about me and my living habits, but nothing as rage-inducing as James’ interview. Then, as a kick in the gut, there is a picture of my car parked outside of my apartment. Great. Now the world knows how to find me. I couldn’t be more grateful to be here with Ian as I am right now. I suppose I’m not on the sidelines anymore. I’ve managed to get myself right in the middle of all this shit.
I close the app and throw my phone across the bed and watch it bounce off the mattress and onto the floor with a thud. As soon as my phone thuds, there’s a knock on my door.
“Miss McIntosh? I’m Paula, Mr. Gallo’s house manager. I’ve brought you some coffee.”
Ian has a house manager? Who cares? She’s got coffee!
“Coming.” I climb out of bed, under protest because it’s a pretty great bed, and open the door. “Good morning.”
The older lady, maybe in her early fifties with the blackest hair I’ve ever seen, is standing in the hallway holding a tray with a coffee carafe, cream, sugar, and a blueberry muffin. “I hope you like blueberries. I haven’t had a chance to make any chocolate chip or banana muffins this morning, but I can have them tomorrow.”
“Blueberry is perfect. Actually, all of it is perfect. Thank you.” I move out of her way as she brings in the tray and places it on the table by the French doors to the balcony.
“My pleasure. Mr. Gallo asked me to tell you he’s working in his office and if you need him for anything, don’t hesitate to ask him. Or me, for that matter.” She smiles and her teeth are perfect. Like a Hollywood smile.
“Thank you. I will.”
Paula walks out the bedroom door and closes it behind her and I look over at my breakfast and it smells and looks delicious. Tweaking my coffee so that it’s perfectly too sweet for most people, I open the doors to the balcony and am completely mesmerized by the wave action happening on the beach down below. I could get used to this.
I’ve spent the morning avoiding my phone and sitting on the balcony watching the blue ocean waves. At one point, I saw a pod of dolphins swimming and jumping in the ocean. Being from Knoxville, where there are no oceans or dolphins, it was pretty special to see. I may have to root for the Dolphins football team just because of what I saw this morning. Not that I know a thing about football.
But this morning wasn’t all about killing time and staring at the water. It was about making a decision that will affect the rest of my life. Sounds dramatic, but it really will.
If I decide to play the fake fiancé, then all my dreams for my bridal shop will come true. Plus, I will have access to one of the world’s most successful business CEOs to help guide me in all things business related. It will be hard work, long hours, and there will be people out there that will say I dated Ian for the money, and they wouldn’t be technically wrong. But so what? What business would it be of theirs, right?
If I decide not to play the fake fiancé, I’ll go back to my normal life, although I’ll probably want to find a new town to start over in. Privacy will be all mine again and people will stop taking my picture or telling lies about me online. I can find a new job as something more than a receptionist. Ian's praise for my business plan has increased my self-confidence and belief in my business acumen. I’ve always known I could do more at work, but I always thought people wanted a college degree in order to hire me for the higher paying jobs out there. Maybe I could get a job in a bridal shop and start learning the trade from the inside.
With my decision made, I clean up my room and make my bed, which is something I’ve always done, even at home. This may not be my house, but this is my space for the moment, and I want to respect it as such. Getting dressed in my clothes from Saturday’s flight to Washington because I’ve got nothing else to wear, I put on some light makeup, grab my breakfast tray, and go in search of Ian.