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Mom and I had always been in sync, and I couldn’t help but think of the irony that I’d questioned so many things last night, then she dropped this in my lap. Maybe I was unfulfilled and went through the motions because it was easier than effort. Or perhaps this was complete bullshit, and she was taking away my chance at running the firm.
“Come here.” She strode out the door and down the hallway to her corner office, where the sun had risen over the river, sparkling like a thousand geodes.
This was supposed to be my office,I selfishly thought, wondering if it was too early to make myself a martini. Mom picked up a newspaper from her desk and passed it over, crossing her arms with a frown. I opened it and stared at the half-page color photo, my stomach sinking, more unsettled than ever as I felt another vibration from my pocket.
My skin was too tight, and the sun was too bright. Every passing second was a second too long of standing here feeling like my mother’s disappointment was a tangible third person in the room. Scolding me. Judging me.
Real Estate Mongrel and Kelly Bad Boy:
Sex and Partying, the Perfect Storm
I didn’t bother reading the article, not caring in the least what drivel Stacy Fucking Carter had dredged up. The woman carried a personal vendetta for as long as I could remember. From the day she started working at Charleston’s most prestigious newspaper, to the day she moved to some two-bit gossip rag, she was out to smear my name. Not that I could blame her.
I deserved everything she threw at me, but dragging someone else through the mud was unacceptable.
I used to get pissed and once tried to sue her for slander after a horrendous piece she wrote, but it wasn’t worth it anymore. She wasn’t worth it, and I was pissed my mother believed whatever had been printed.
“You can’t seriously believe this, can you?” I asked, staring at the picture of Mr. Mystery Man and me. He had me pressed against the wall with his leg between my thighs and his hand around my throat. We were so close I had to squint to see the millimeters between us. The photo was sexy as hell, and I couldn’t help but scan the article for his name.
Simon Kelly.
I knew the last name, but not his face. He was like one of those campfire stories you told at night, or whispered about with your friends.
Playboy. Asshole.His father’s a prominent to-do lawyer, and he’d been coasting along on his coattails, never bothering with a career, just using his family name to get what he wanted.
“No. I don’t believe the nonsense Stacy Carter wrote, but I believe the picture. It’s time for your father and me to retire, and we both hoped you’d have left the partying behind by this point in your life. Next month, we’re taking your place at the conference to put feelers out about selling. We need someone to fill our shoes and continue building upon what we started.”
“And you don’t think I can do that.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a resignation that everything I thought I’d been working for was slipping through my fingers. I sat down on the white suede couch and stared out the windows, focusing on a cardinal perched on the branch of a crepe myrtle. His red feathers stood out against the white blooms of the trees, and I watched him flit about until cold sparkling water was pushed into my hands. The liquid did nothing to quench my disappointment, and I sat the bottle on the corner table, moving my eyes to the river and a small sailboat drifting across the water.
“It’s not that we don’t think you can. We know you can. But do you honestly think taking over the company is right for you? That it will make you happy? Is this what you want or what you think you deserve? This conversation shouldn’t be why you decide anything. You have to want this for yourself, for your life.”
“But this could be my catalyst, couldn’t it?” I looked back to the white blossoms, but the cardinal was gone, so I angled my body and exhaled, chewing on my cuticle.
“I suppose it could, Addison, but actions speak louder than words. A week of change, a month of change, won’t make a difference in the long run. I trust you know that.”
“Yes, I do. But you had to know how much I want this. I’ve been looking forward to taking over for you and Dad my entire career. There’s so much I want to do, to accomplish,” I said, focusing on her, hoping she could see the sincerity in my face.
It was the truth. However much I slacked off, partied, and complained about staging houses, the end game stayed the same—taking over the business and bringing it into the future. The phone vibrations were constant now, not loud enough to draw my mother’s attention, but enough to divert my mind from the raging in my stomach.
“If that’s the case, truly the case, then show us. Give up all your listings and start earning them honestly. Take the property on Seabee Island. I’m not going to hold your hand on this. You’re thirty years old.”
“But my commissions—” I hissed, clenching my fists and closing my eyes. Losing those listings would cost me tens of thousands of dollars, and for what? To prove a point? This bullshit wasn’t fair, but if it would show them I had what it took, fine. “Right. I can do that,” I said, nodding my head and turning away from the window. “By the way, that article was trash, but Simon’s my boyfriend.”
See, Mom. Two can play your game.
Wait. Shit. Boyfriend?
The words were out of my mouth before my brain had time to scream imminent danger.
“Boyfriend?”
Was that hopefulness I detected in her voice? Could the start of fixing this cluster be with something as simple as dating? Was I the kind of person who would fake an entire relationship to get what I wanted? And more than that, was this me taking the easy way out, again?
I had to get out of here. The office was stifling, and my temples were throbbing. I had to think. I had to figure out what the hell I was going to do.
“Yes, but I need some air. I’m going to clear my head.”
