Xavier leads us to a secluded room where we can put our things down. After that, he sends us off to wander the event, snapping photos of people socializing, and even encourages us to have a drink before he calls us for the group video shoot. For a mafia boss, he is rather chill. Much like his son.
Thomas and I spend the night doing just that, capturing what looks like real moments but are only business people posing for the shot. They play the part when we’re here, acting engaged with the recovering addicts’ stories, but as soon as we leave, the conversation runs dry. That’s what these people do. I’ve seen itmy entire life, but it still makes my blood boil that they hired me to showcase it like it’s a good thing.
Thomas notices the way my hands squeeze around the camera. “Are you good?”
“No,” I seethe as I snap another picture. “This is disgusting. These survivors are giving up their time to raise money for others who were in their position, and these selfish jerks don’t care. They’re probably stealing from them.”
He scoffs. “As if you aren’t the biggest thief and liar around.”
I shoot him a pointed glare. “I would never steal from a charity.”
Having grown up with parents who were addicts and then being taken away from them, I wouldn’t touch a dime of any charity’s money. There are too many other organizations to take from than the ones that need all the help they can get.
He’s frowning, but his eyes are saying, “Do your job.” We’re already walking a thin line here. Let’s not make it worse.
I spin around, acting busy like I was before, but scan the room for Kingsley. But the world comes to a halt when I catch a glimpse of someone in the corner of my eye.
In the corner, mingling with Xavier Beaumont, is a woman. She’s shorter than me by a few feet, with a pixie cut that’s as blonde as mine and eyes as blue as the ocean.
I rub my eyes. I must be hallucinating. There is no way that woman is who I think she is.
I’m recalling this from the unreliable, cloudy memory of my eight-year-old self. It’s kinda hard to picture my mom clearly since the last time I saw her, she and my dad were high as a kite while they forced a tattoo on my arm, but she looks similar to the woman in the photo, despite the difference in hair.
Teeth nice, eyes glistening, and wearing a clean dress. Tattoos still decorate some of her body, but they bring out her smile as she laughs at a joke Xavier and Mya made.
Her ankle. Look at her ankle.
I look at her ankle. Nothing is tattooed on either of them. Could she have covered it up? Did she get it removed?
Is it not the woman in the picture?
Fuck, I truly am stupid. How could I believe that was her? That would be one hell of a coincidence, and I don’t fully believe in those.
The pixie-cut woman and Xavier part ways, and then his eyes lock onto me. Before I can follow her and confirm my own foolishness, Xavier walks toward me. I look over his shoulder, but the woman gets lost in the sea of people.
Now Xavier is in front of me, telling me everyone is ready to film the entire reason we were invited to this snooze fest: the segment. Ignoring what he’s saying, I’m scanning the crowd, wishing that blonde woman in the yellow dress would show up again.
My throat is dry as a desert, and suddenly I’m ten years old, wondering when Mummy is going to come back. And yet, I can’t do anything about it. Not now, anyway.
Calm down, Rip. If she’s here now, she’ll be here later. A smooth exit from this mission comes first.
Everyone’s here when we gather into the empty room, and I’m immediately drawn to him. Kingsley.
I was considering the possibility that he wasn’t coming, but what is he doing back here? The segment is exclusively for the higher-ups, not their sons.
He avoids my eyes, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he presses into the wall, his jaw set firmly. Is he here to ensure we hold our end and resign after this?
It takes thirty different takes for us to get a somewhat decent video of the old men. Jesus, I don’t know how people do this as their full-time job when people can’t follow simple instructions.At least Kingsley was eventually nice to be around, so I could put up with him not being so smooth with the camera.
I’ve tried getting his attention with witty remarks, lame jokes, and even staring dead at him for minutes on end, and it goes unnoticed. He must have come into the room just to taunt me, because he’s not doing anything but observing. Congrats to him, it’s working.
Kingsley is ignoring me. I fucking loathe it when he ignores me.
“You’re right, Xavier. These boys know what they’re doing,” says the man with the gray, balding head of hair.
“You know I never lie,” Xavier says proudly. “Enjoy the rest of the night, boys. You deserve it.”
He’s out the door before I could even begin to say I was quitting. How could I when he just praised me?
