Chapter 30 Reed
REED
“This is so cool!” Georgie says, shoving her nose into a framed gold record on the wall. For the past ten minutes, I’ve been showing her various items of memorabilia in my home office, figuring it’ll go into her article. And, as expected, she’s been geeking out over all of it.
“That one was for RCR’s debut,” I explain, chuckling at Georgina’s enthusiasm.
“It was my first gold record, so I keep it here, rather than with the others at the office. When I got that first one, I didn’t even have a full-time staff yet.
River Records was just me, hustling my ass off. So I feel like it belongs here.”
“You must be so damned proud of everything you’ve accomplished. Hell, I’m so damned proud of you.”
I try not to smirk like an asshole at how adorable she is right now. So fresh-faced and excited. But, truly, in this moment, Georgie being “proud” of me is like a cute little house kitten congratulating the king of the jungle on a kill.
“Have I said something that amuses you?” she asks, resting her hand on her hip.
I pause. Shit. Apparently, this girl can read me like a book. “Only in the sense that I find your enthusiasm and adorableness slightly amusing.”
“See, the thing is, though, when you look at me like I’m a silly little girl when I’m simply talking, it comes off as condescending—like you think I’m stupid or you’re somehow better than me.
I mean, yes, I realize you’re wildly successful.
But that doesn’t make you an inherently better or smarter person than me. ”
Oh, for the love of fuck. “Georgie, I don’t think you’re silly or stupid whatsoever.
On the contrary, I think you’re wickedly smart.
And I don’t think I’m better than you, or anyone else.
I mean, yes, of course, I think I’m better than ninety-nine percent of the world’s population in terms of my business acumen, at least in my industry.
And, yes, I know I’m better in bed than any man you’ll ever sleep with in your entire life.
But, other than those two areas, I’m fully aware I’m just a humble, ordinary guy making his way through life, as best he can. ”
She rolls her eyes. “There are many adjectives to describe you, Reed Rivers. But humble and ordinary aren’t two of them.”
I cross my arms over my chest, beaming a huge smile at her. “You know, Georgie, when you roll your eyes at me like that, when I’m simply trying to have a conversation with you, it comes off condescending. Like you think I’m silly and stupid and you’re better than me.”
“Good. I’m glad you’ve understood my body language to a tee.”
I chuckle.
“But, don’t worry, I only think I’m better than you when it comes to a few distinct things: brains, beauty, and emotional intelligence.
Other than those three areas, I’m fully aware I’m just a girl—a silly, adorable girl, who’s play-acting confidence in her mommy’s heels and doing the best she can to make her way through life. ”
I shake my head. “You’re never going to forget that ‘mommy’s heels’ comment, are you?”
“Never. Brace yourself. You’re going to hear it a lot this week.”
“Lovely.” I perch an ass cheek on the edge of my desk. “Look, if I come off as condescending or arrogant at times, it’s only because... I am.”
She chuckles. “Well, points for honesty.”
“I couldn’t do what I do for a living, and have the success I’ve had, without sincerely believing I’m the best. But that doesn’t mean I think I’m an inherently more valuable human than anyone else.
In a lot of ways, I still feel like that same college kid who couldn’t afford to fix the slipping transmission and busted window on his shitty-ass Honda. ”
“Well, that explains your six fancy sports cars.”
“Seven, actually. My beloved Ferrari is in the shop.”
“Oh, no. So sorry to hear that. Whatever will you do until your seventh sports car is returned safely to you?”
“Barely survive? Cry into my pillow every night? It’ll be tough, but I’ll soldier on.”
“I’m sure the Bugatti will help get you through.”
“Barely.”
“So, what’s wrong with your beloved Ferrari?”
“The front right fender got bashed in a couple weeks ago. It broke my damned heart.”
“What happened?”
“It was the craziest thing. I was driving on Mulholland, taking a curve a bit too fast, when a tree jumped out into the middle of the road, right in front of me. Too quick to swerve.”
I’m thinking she’ll return my joking demeanor, but she looks concerned. “Were you hurt?”
I shift slightly on the edge of my desk. “No. But I can’t say the same for the front right fender of my Ferrari. It was smashed up pretty badly.”
Without warning, Georgina beelines to me at the edge of my desk, nudges her way between my thighs, and kisses me.
I don’t know what’s prompted this sudden, urgent display of affection from her, but I don’t question it.
Without hesitation, I wrap my arms around her back and return her kiss with passion, every cell in my body exploding with desire for her.
Finally, when we break free from our passionate kiss, Georgie nuzzles her nose along my jawline and whispers, “I’m so glad you weren’t hurt in that crash. The world would really miss having Reed Rivers in it.”
Goosebumps erupt on my arms and neck. Where did this come from? “Hey, are you okay? I’m fine. Really.”
She nods. “It just scares me to think everything can change in the blink of an eye. That someone as young and fit as you could have been gone, just like that.” She snaps her fingers. “Sorry. Was that too dark?”
I smile sympathetically. I’m sure Georgina’s thought a lot about mortality these last few years, with her father fighting for his life.
Far more than most people her age would think about it.
“No, it’s a good reminder. I was cocky driving around that corner.
Going way too fast. It was a good wake-up call for me that I’m not actually invincible. ”
She nods her approval and then resumes looking around the room.
She looks at a framed magazine article—a Forbes “30 Under 30” piece featuring me.
She runs her fingertips across the spines of the books on my shelf.
Self-help, motivational, business, and fitness titles, mostly.
And then she notices a small framed photo on my desk.
“Is this you?” she asks, picking up the frame.
It’s my favorite photo from when I was a kid.
The one shot from my childhood where my smile, and my mother’s, too, seemed genuine and not put on for the camera.
It’s also the one shot I’ve got that includes both my mother and Amalia.
Also, a shot from my one and only childhood birthday party—the one time in my life when my mother, still grieving Oliver, somehow pulled her shit together enough to do that thing all the other kindergartners’ mothers had done that year for my classmates: she threw me a big birthday party with balloons and a cake and paper plates bearing images of my favorite cartoon.
It never happened again. But, to this day, I remember how much fun I had at that once-in-a-lifetime party.
How much fun Mom had, too. Truly, I felt like I’d died and gone to heaven that unique, carefree day with my mother and Amalia and the kids from school—the mysterious place my mother had always told me my big brother Oliver had gone to live.
“Yeah, that’s me with my mother and Amalia. That shot was taken on my fifth birthday.”
“Amalia, as in, your housekeeper, Amalia?” Georgina says in surprise. “I didn’t realize you’ve known Amalia your entire life.”
I gaze at the photo in Georgina’s hand. “Amalia was already working for my family when I was born. She only stopped when my father went to prison, when I was thirteen.”
For a split-second, the chaos of that time flickers through my mind.
I remember the shock of it all. The early morning raid by the FBI that took my father away from me forever.
The shock I felt at being ripped away from Amalia and sent to live with some distant relative I’d never met before, since Mom was already living in a facility by then, thanks to the stress of the custody battle a few years earlier.
“And when did Amalia come back into your life?” Georgina asks, still looking at the photo.
I clear my throat. “About ten years later. The minute I could afford to pay Amalia a salary, she was my first ‘purchase.’ Long before my first sports car. I think I hired Amalia right after I’d turned twenty-four?”
“Aw, that’s so sweet, Reed. That makes my heart go pitter-pat.” She returns the photo to its spot on my desk, her face aglow. “What a lucky little boy you were to have not one, but two, mothers growing up.”
I try to return Georgina’s easy smile, but I can’t.
The little boy in that photo wasn’t lucky.
Far from it. And he didn’t have two mothers.
He barely had one. But only because two halves make a whole.
In truth, my mother has never been fully functional.
Not like other kids’ mothers. And nothing like the kickass, nurturing mothers I’ve observed as an adult, like Henn’s mother and my sister’s mother-in-law.
Hence, the reason my father hired Amalia in the first place: to help my woefully ill-equipped mother with Oliver when he was born.
And, as much as I love and appreciate Amalia, and can’t imagine life without her, I can’t honestly say she’s a “whole” mother to me, either, simply because she’s my employee.
In reality, I pay her to mother me. I pay her to love me.
I’m literally the woman’s job. What would it be like to have a mother like Amalia who’s not on my payroll? I can’t even imagine it.
“You and your mother aren’t close?” Georgina asks tentatively, apparently reacting to something she’s seeing on my face.