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“He’s oddly silent. They had a decent number of walk-ins last night, so it wasn’t a complete write-off. Massi left as soon as the last guests, thanking the staff for a job well done.”
This concerns me way more than the opposite scenario. Outbursts are his natural coping mechanism. I numbed his ability to cope. Him not exploding is worse than him burning the house down. I don’t even want to think of the ways he’ll let out that stress.
I also notice Mila said “they.” Of course, it’s no longer “us.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Phillip agreed to pay for half of our agreed-upon fees and asked me if I want to continue to liaise with the media for them.”
“That’s good. I’ll transfer the money to you as soon as it clears my account. You deserve the whole fee. I’ll be selling the house, so my financial problems are over soon. I’ll put the house on the market, introduce Sebastien to my mother and go back to LA.” The numbness spreads from my mind to my limbs and I feel like I’m floating above us, just watching the shell of a woman going through the motions.
Mila doesn’t protest. She just stares at me, waiting. We sit in silence for a bit until, for the first time in our friendship, we reach a point where she pushes for answers. “What happened? Why? How did he get the guest list?”
She deserves the answer, regardless of how ashamed I am. I close my eyes, summoning the strength to speak. I owe it to her, to everyone really, to explain. But Mila is the only person who would listen at this point.
“I gave it to him.” Perhaps she deserves the truth, but speaking it out loud guts me. Admitting to my friend what has happened, how stupidly I acted, only confirms for me how I might never recover from this.
Mila doesn’t react immediately. She waits for more, or maybe she’s trying to process the magnitude of my colossal fuck-up.
“Fuck me.” She stands up and walks around the kitchen, stops a few times, turns to me and opens her mouth, but then she shakes her head and paces more. When she repeats the confused routine for the third time, she finally finds her voice. “Why?”
“Over the years he’d call occasionally. I cared little for his calls, but when he called to offer his condolences, I was so down, I somehow opened up. I told him about the financial issues and why I’m staying here longer. He called again, wanted to make sure I was doing okay.” I roll my eyes at my stupidity.
“He realized I was happy, so in his sneaky way, he got me talking, being all supportive and pleased I’m doing so well. I don’t even know why I was talking to him. I told him about the event and he suggested I share the guest list with him, so he could add some of his contacts to help.”
“To help his competitor?” Mila asks, pushing me to a new level of realization of how useless and stupid I’ve been. This level is even bleaker than the previous one. A swamp of worthlessness.
“I didn’t think of it like that. I only thought about taking any help to make the event a success for Massi.”
“The man only ever helps himself. Oh my God, Gina. How are we going to fix this?” Mila leans back, her eyes trailing to the garden beyond the window. I’ve never seen her this down. This dejected. Another victim of my stupid decisions to add to the list.
“We? You have nothing to fix. I’m glad Phillip still wants to work with you. If I can’t fix this I’ll just run back to LA, yet again.”
“No, no, no, you can’t just let them blame you. I mean, yes, it was stupid to give the list to a competitor, but they would see you didn’t think of him like that. He’s your ex-husband and well respected in the industry, so you gave it to him as your former mentor. If you’re guilty of anything, it’s your naivete and your shortsighted trust in Frederick.”
“Mila, stop making excuses for me! I fucked up. I lost my credibility, but more importantly I lost the love of my life. Again. For the second fucking time. And by default he lost his opportunity because of mynaiveteandshortsightedtrust.”
The self-loathing still lingers in the pit of my stomach, but it’s now joined by growing anger.
“What opportunity are you talking about?” Mila stares at me, her eyes wide at first, and then she narrows them, observing me as if I was a foreign object she needs to approach with care. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“I’m talking about the business.”
She shakes her head and her expression screams of disappointment and disapproval. Another first in our friendship. “Gina, it was one night, and frankly not so much damage was done, if we don’t count hurt egos. It’s not like Frederick’s cuisine is so much better to charm everyone over forever. Those people will be more than happy to come for another schmoozing and dining at Casa Cassi.”
Despite my exhausted half-functioning brain, it dawns on me that she’s right. Frederick’s despicable tactics didn’t destroy the competitor. It hurt me and Massi, it hurt us, our relationship.
It wasn’t a shitty business attack. It was personal. Many past moments between them—starting with Frederick’s behavior at our wedding—flash through my mind. It has always been personal.
I stand up and rummage through my bag to find my phone. “Get your phone ready, Mila.”
“What are we doing?” Her fingers already sliding on her screen.
“Getting personal.”
ChapterTwenty-Two
Massi
