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No, there isn’t. If I suddenly begin doing charity work it would look as though I’m guilty of being a drug abuser and ordered to be there versus being seen with Bex. If she takes a chance on being seen with me, then the press may spin it into a story of her saving my wretched soul. “It’s complicated.”
Holly nods as if I’m making perfect sense, but I can see the slight wrinkle in her nose telling me she thinks I’m full of shit.
Suddenly the door behind her opens and I steel myself, waiting for Jessica to rampage back inside, but it’s King and Aillard. King’s dark hair is styled in his typical messy look, while Aillard’s blond locks are combed to perfection. Both of them have solemn looks on their faces, confirming what I already knew was going to happen.
My heart sinks into my stomach.
Up until this moment, I allowed myself a brief hint of hope to think Bex would willingly enter into a contract to help me. I don’t know why I let part of myself believe it when I knew the truth from the beginning. “Holly, if you’ll excuse us.”
“Of course, sir.” She quietly closes the door this time.
King rubs at his jaw, his blue eyes narrowing as he looks at me. “This is going to be brutal.”
Fuck. She really did say no.
“She’s a lot mouthier than she used to be,” Aillard comments, strolling further into my office and taking a seat in one of the leather chairs across from the couch.
King snorts. “Oh, did you pick up on that as well? I thought she was going to punch me.”
My brows draw together in confusion. “I’m sorry, who are you talking about?” Surely there’s no way the little scrap of a girl I met in Las Vegas has rendered both of these ruthless men speechless.
“Bex.”
And apparently I am wrong. I clear my throat at King’s voice, since it’s still not quite clicking fully into comprehension. “You’re referring to Bexley Hastings?”
Aillard raises his brow at me. “How many Bex’s do you know? It’s a bit too odd of a name to be common.”
I flip him off, moving to sit on the couch Jessica recently vacated. My nose wrinkles as I settle. I wonder if I can get Holly to burn this thing and send me a replica?
“She’s in,” King advises. “She’s definitely not happy about it. We left her little room to say no, but she’s willing to work with us.”
It takes several seconds for King’s words to sink in. She’s…in? Meaning she’ll willingly be part of my life for the foreseeable future? Then again, we’re essentially blackmailing her into agreeing so it’s not as if she has much choice.
“There’s a stipulation she added,” King carries on. “If she doesn’t want to be around you anymore then she can set you up with charities and you can continue to further your appearance on your own. At the moment, she’s aware that her presence is needed to help convince the media you’re not who they say you are.”
Essentially, if being around me makes Bex want to punch me, she can choose not to deal with me but still reap the reward. “How much debt is she in?”
“A lot,” Aillard chuckles. “Far more than she let you know about.”
“She wasn’t with me for my money.” At least that part is true. Bex didn’t blink when we asked her not to go after my money during the divorce. If I recall correctly, and I usually do, she was rather pissed I thought so little of her. “Are we covering it all?”
King shakes his head. “No. She’ll still have a pretty big chunk leftover to cover, but it isn’t going to be as astronomical as it is now.”
Anger at the situation threatens to rise inside me. Bex never let on that she was struggling. She was vacationing in Las Vegas for the summer. Hell, we were married for two whole months and she never said anything. She never asked for anything. “She didn’t try to negotiate a higher price to cover her debt?”
“I get the feeling money is one issue she prefers to sort out on her own,” King shrugs. “If she’s not going to counteroffer, I’m not going to force it on her. Frankly, I admire her for not admitting she needs help. So many people would try to manipulate the system.”
Aillard snorts. “You mean people like you?”
King nods. “Exactly.” He walks over to the other vacant leather chair and sinks down into it. “I can create a point of contact with her assistant if you would prefer that.”
Bex has an assistant? Furrowing my brow, I lean forward to rest my forearms on my legs. It suddenly hits me that I don’t know anything about her anymore. Who did she become in the eight years we’ve gone our separate ways? “What’s her job?”
“Well, she works for Hastings Center,” King says. “She’s not part of the Humanitarian Award Committee, but her father is. I don’t know if she refrains by choice or why she isn’t a part of it. She works in their public affairs division as an editor for speech writers. From my research, she also doubles as a speechwriter for charities and politicians. Seems she’s requested often enough so she earns her paycheck and commission. The people she works with all rave about her being professional and compassionate for her work. The charities she volunteers with also think she walks on water. Apparently these charities are a passion project for her.”
A memory suddenly jumps to the forefront of my mind. Bex and I were walking around Las Vega holding hands when she spotted an elderly homeless woman. Bex immediately released my hand to go to her, offering to buy her a few things from the convenience store down the block.
She’s always been a caring person.
