Part 5 (2/2)
”I don't care. I know that makes me an awful person, but I just don't.”
She sighs. ”Vanity Fair wants to do an article on Taylor.”
”Yep, don't care.”
She keeps going. ”The article is about Was.h.i.+ngton as the new New York for young adults of privilege, some bulls.h.i.+t like that, and Taylor's lawyer thinks it would be good if we all cooperate.”
Because my straight A's baby sister, nose-to-the-grindstone brother, and my own track record of actually working for a living would make our oldest sister look like something less than the horrid s.l.u.t she actually is.
How I hate that word. Hate myself for using it. But she wears it like a badge of honor, bra.s.sing out the media coverage of her indiscrete b.l.o.w. .j.o.b as if it were any other party girl oops. Would have been less of a big deal if the pants she'd snaked her tongue into hadn't belonged to the Vice-President of the United States.
”You guys can do it without me. Tell the reporter I'm a ma.s.sive b.i.t.c.h.”
”You're not...” Her voice drops to a quiet plead. ”Come on, Hailey. There's no downside to it for us, just an interview. And if it helps show Taylor as a normal girl who was taken advantage of...”
”Alison, you're barely old enough to even know about what Taylor did, but we both know she wasn't the victim. I mean, there wasn't a victim. She had an affair with a married man. A famous married man. Let her wear that.”
My baby sister doesn't answer, and for a second, I think maybe she's hung up on me. She's quiet, in general, but she has a decent bite when she wants to dole it out. ”Go have lunch,” she finally says. ”We can talk about this later.”
”Except I'm busy later, rememb-” I huff out a breath as she disconnects the call on me. This isn't over, I know that, but I shake it off. Crispy spicy salmon rolls are calling my name.
One giggly hour later, I'm back at work and Ellen has left a note on my desk to come in and see her. Taryn gives me a thumbs up as I swipe on fresh lip gloss and brush my hair. Ellen doesn't care, but I do. It's about being professional.
She waves me in before I even knock. ”How was lunch?”
”Delicious.” I smile. ”You wanted to see me?”
”Have a seat.” She launches into some nice things, then pauses and crosses her hands. ”I hope you'll apply for the job in the summer.”
”I will.” I press my thumbs into the palms of my hands, two sharp anchors in reality. Be cool, Hailey.
”And hopefully there won't be any more drama between now and then, right?” She smiles, but all of a sudden, I'm less enthusiastic. It could be nothing. People say things with smiles on their faces, right? And don't mean anything by it? I'm talking about normal people.
Because my people don't. Not my people by choice, but the ones I'm genetically connected to-and fatally attracted to. Those people lie through their teeth as often as they order martinis and put on suits. All with a smile and a trust me glint in their eye.
I smile again, more weakly now. ”Would it help if I change my name?”
She laughs, then stops and stares at me. Then laughs again, tipping her head back. ”Oh, Hailey.”
I don't know how to take that. ”I would. If it would help.”
”Hailey, your last name is as common as apple pie at a Fourth of July picnic. Don't worry about it.”
But I do, all afternoon. I worry about it so much that I forget about the stupid family meeting, because I'm so focused on separating myself permanently from said family that it drops from my mind completely that they're trying to suck me back into their drama.
It all slams back into me as I step outside at the end of the day and find Cole waiting for me, leaning back against his giant black SUV like he owns the street. He's big and scary looking, tall and tough and dressed to impress, but no amount of silk suiting can contain his bada.s.s self.
I stomp up to him and prop my hands on my hips. ”Oh for f.u.c.k's sake.”
”Excuse me?” He smirks and leans in close. ”Nice to see you again, beautiful.”
”No, it's not nice. It's awful. Why are you here?”
”Would you believe me if I said I want to take you for dinner?”
”Not even a little bit, unless dinner is at my parents' estate.”
He shrugged. ”I hear they're serving salmon.”
”I'm not going.”
He makes a regretful face. ”Ah, but you are.”
Blood rushes through my ears like the Pacific surf slamming against the beach at dawn. ”You did not just threaten to kidnap me against my will.”
He laughs. ”All the magic words there. Got it. No, I didn't threaten you.”
”Good. I'm going home.”
I've barely turned before he loops his hand around my upper arm and spins me against the truck as people walk by. He leans over me, looking every bit the part of the adoring boyfriend I'm sure-I know he's just doing it to hide my face, a weird protective reaction that doesn't mean anything. He nuzzles my neck and I concentrate on how much I hate the game playing. And him.
I need to keep reminding myself of that fact.
”I hate you,” I whisper, because saying it might make it true.
”No you don't,” he mutters against my ear. ”Because I'm going to take you to this family meeting, but I'll also get you out of there as quick as I can. Promise.”
”I don't want to go.”
”We don't always get what we want.” He says it so authentically, for a second I think he's on the same page as me, wis.h.i.+ng this was a real embrace, but he glances around-we're alone on the street again-then shoves away from the car and slides his hands into his pockets. He gives me a cold, dismissive look. ”Now get your a.s.s in the car.”
”This isn't going to go well, I'm warning you.” I'm ramping up fast now, and I'm not sure if it's the rejection I'm feeling or my general frustration about the situation. ”This is beyond the pale, Mr. Parker. Seriously, f.u.c.king off-side move.”
His eyes glitter like smoky quartz set in chiseled granite. ”Just doing my job, Ms. Reid.”
”Don't say my name like that.”
”You're the one who brought back the formal address.”
”You're the one who's acting like a p.r.i.c.k.”
”You have a potty mouth.”
”Excuse me? A potty mouth?”
”It's true.”
<script>