The Billionaire and I (Part Two) (4 page)

We shot up to the top floor and Starla moved like she was either trying to lose me or didn't want anyone that we crossed paths with to know we were together. She didn't know that  I'd been hitting the gym with Megan and keeping up with her was a piece of cake. I made sure to smile big and obnoxiously at every person we passed on the way to Rachel's corner unit.

Starla threw me a smoldering glare before she tapped on the door with her knuckle. "Knock knock!" She twisted the doorknob and pushed inside.

I nearly shielded my eyes when I stepped into Rachel's apartment. It had nothing to do with the wall of windows that brought the sun and the city line into the living space. Everything, from her couch to her kitchen appliances, was white. It was like she'd taken someone's advice, that white was chic, and kicked it into overdrive. It was more than impractical, void of any creativity, anything that was Rachel. It was uncomfortable and sterile.

Speaking of Rachel, the woman, the myth, the legend, glided down the staircase, offering some much needed color to the room. She was in a golden chiffon maxi dress, smiling that same little victorious smile that I'm sure she wore when Jacob called her up last night.

"Leila." She stretched my name into several syllables. "Always a pleasure."

Just in case I didn't realize she was being facetious, Starla let out a snort.

Rachel stroked her blood red fingertips through her cropped mahogany locks, her smile shrinking a few inches. "Let's not be rude to our guest, Starla." She twitched her hips until she reached the living room, draping herself in a chalk colored arm chair. "Would you like something to drink? Water? A protein shake since you look like you're headed to the gym?" She winked an emerald eye at me. "Bravo on the working out thing. They say the older you get the harder it is to take it off."

I balled my hands into fists. That's what she did to me. She took me back to recess; the popular girl pointing and laughing at the chubby girl. Years had passed, and I was a strong, happy, and confident person, but she knew just what buttons to push to snatch me back to that cruel schoolyard.

I didn't have a comeback. I just stood there, fuming. And Rachel sat in her bleached white throne room, glowing.

Starla let out a low whistle. "I'll grab those waters."

Rachel snapped her fingers, shaking her head. "Water for Leila-"

"I don't want your water," I spat, finally finding my voice.

"And a mimosa for me," Rachel finished. She did a little shimmy. "I'm celebrating, after all."

She clearly wasn't going to offer me a seat, so I just helped myself, lowering myself onto her leather couch. It was surprisingly not as uncomfortable as it looked.

I played pretend too. "Oh, I know me coming over here is pretty awesome, but you don't have to celebrate on my account."

Rachel's glossy lips turned downward. "Awesome isn't the word I'd choose."

Me either. How about awkward. Painful. Grating. For both of us.
"What's the occasion, then?"

"I talked to the producer a little while ago and apparently the site views for the movie went through the roof. The website was down for several hours early this morning because the server couldn't handle the traffic." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You know, maybe I don't require your little company's services after all. I've done more for my career in the past twenty-four hours than Whitmore and Creighton has done in over a year."

My stomach dropped, but I kept my expression blank. "That's why I'm here actually. To talk about your career and your goals."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Are you moonlighting as a guidance counselor?" But I knew that she wasn't that good of an actress. She seemed genuinely surprised. And interested.

I made myself comfortable, crossing my legs. I was laying the groundwork. My earlier approach was misguided. Tough love wouldn't work for someone that cared for nothing and no one but herself. She needed honey. "I'm the head of new clients management." Hearing my job title out loud still brought a rash of pride. A much needed injection of confidence since she was really,
really
good at making people feel microscopic and irrelevant. "And you're still a Whitmore and Creighton client, Rachel. As such, your career and the goals you have are very important to me."

She puffed out her chest a few inches. She needed no help in the pride department. It billowed from her like the white tapestry that fluttered in her dining room, catching the breeze from the balcony.

Starla returned to the room with Rachel's mimosa in one hand and my water in the other. Rachel was delivered hers first and she lifted her glass to me before she took a sip. While the bottle of water Starla extended to me was unopened, I passed.

"No thank you."

"Well, that's certainly not the way to convince me that we can move forward, Leila." Rachel clucked her tongue like I was a child that got caught doing something I shouldn't.

We both knew that if I was dying of thirst in the desert, she wouldn't have offered me a capful of water. This was a power thing with her. Just like most things in her twisted world.

I steered us back to the reason I was here. "I appreciate the offer." If my face got any tighter, it would snap in two. "I want to start off by-"
You can do it, Lay
. The nauseous feeling that rose in my stomach said otherwise. I wiped my mouth and swallowed the utter wrongness that was hitting me.
I have nothing to apologize for! She was the child! She was the one that went on national TV and told the world my husband asked her crazy ass to be his sex slave!

Rachel had practically finished her mimosa and I could tell her patience was running thin for whatever game we were playing. It was now or never.

I sunk my teeth into the skin in my jaw. Biting back the overwhelming urge to tell her off. It didn't compare to the urge to rectify this situation. I had to fall on my sword...and it was gonna freaking
hurt
.

I summoned up all the acting ability I had and looked Rachel dead on. "I want to apologize for disrespecting you at the meeting." The wave of sickness hit me again. It felt like someone had socked me with a brick in the gut, but I managed to keep my face still and void of anything true. I sold the lie with everything in me, even dipping my head guiltily when she leaned in, those snake eyes on the hunt for BS.

"Did you hear an apology, Starla?" Rachel gasped.

I pulled my chin up and wished I hadn't. The glee that danced across her face...it was almost too much to take. Almost...because if I had to fake an apology and stroke Rachel's ego to get her to agree to a ceasefire, maybe even retracting her statement, I'd do it. I'd do anything for Jacob. For us.

Starla poured salt on the wound, coming way too close to me for comfort, hand on her hip. "I'm not sure. I think I may need to hear it again, just to be certain."

I was dangerously close to biting the inside of my jaw off entirely. I looked at the gleaming, cruel smile on Starla's face, then at Rachel. The cruelty in her smile was dialed up a few notches. Yep, they were serious.

One plus side was that the deep breath I sucked in through my nostrils to keep my cool would help sell the lie. If I’d just said it a second time without any sort of struggle, Rachel would know I was full of it.

I even snarled a little before I folded my hands in my lap and acquiesced. "I'm sorry for disrespecting you, Rachel." The sorry was the hardest part. When I brought my hand to my chest like I was making a solemn vow, I convinced myself that I was just playing a role and it was easier to stomach. Kinda. "I know what you've been through. And you didn't deserve to be chastised by me."

She clenched her jaw. Her smile dropped from her face instantly. "You don't know what I've been through. Not even close."

Uh oh. Just when I got ready to backpedal, sure I'd unintentionally struck some nerve, she handed off her empty glass to Starla and her face brightened. I knew her brand of crazy well enough to know when she was pretending. And she was rolling out the acting chops too.

She slipped to the edge of her ivory throne, hushing her tone like she was about to tell me something for my ears only. "Despite what you may think, I like you, Leila. You have your quirks, but I see a strong woman. I know you’re strong because it takes some massive ones for you to come here and give me some fake ass apology."

My heart skipped a beat. Not in any romantic or positive way. It literally stopped beating. "Rachel-"

"I'm not finished. I had to sit in that conference room while you,
you
talked to me like you're authorized to give me some sort of intervention." She was clearly angry. Her features were as tight and uncomfortable as my own, her eyes wild and filled with disgust. But she was still smiling, her teeth gleaming, sharp enough to cut. "Since you came all this way, let me make the trip worth it. I don't think, no, I
know
you don't care about my career. You probably wouldn't shed a single tear if an asteroid dropped out of the sky and ended me right this minute. So don't insult me with this little routine like you're not sick to your stomach from sharing the same air as me. I know you're hating every minute, because
I'm
hating every minute."

From the laughter that trickled from the kitchen, I knew Rachel's volume wasn't nearly as confidential as I’d first thought. I didn't bother with trying to contest the truth. She'd called my bluff.

Rachel scooted backward in her seat. She mimicked the awkward hand over hand position I was locked in. Her smile was long gone.

"Now that we're clear and being honest with one another," she continued, her voice filled with vehemence. "Get the hell out of my house."

"W
hat do you mean she said 'get out'?"

If I wasn't already practically going into cardiac arrest and singularly focused on sweating out the awful confrontation with Rachel, I would have popped my head in Megan's direction and given her the most incredulous look I could muster. But it was a miracle that I hadn't become a cautionary tale about what happens when a klutz operates a treadmill. One misstep and I'd go flying from the thing.

So I just let silence be my answer. I was already breaking a cardinal rule by discussing any of this with her in public in the first place. I rationalized it for two reasons. One: it was 11PM and Megan and I were the sole users of the machines, except for a beefy looking dude way on the other side of the room, pounding each step on the stair master. Two: I had to tell her. I told Jacob, and he looked ready to hire an assassin. I hoped Megan would have some sort of helpful insight. Instead, she looked just as flabbergasted as I'd been since this morning. The fact that we both were completely clueless on how to fix this situation was actually the opposite of helpful. And the only insight I'd gathered was, we're screwed.

"Leila, I know that face," Megan huffed beside me, her sneakers slapping the treadmill.

I pointedly locked my eyes on the TV screen attached to the control panel. I didn't have in any earphones so I couldn't hear a thing, but it was the only way I could ensure she couldn't see me. "You can't even see my face."

"But I know you well enough to know," she took a breath. "To know that you're probably wearing the same face you wore every time I got back together with Brad."

Brad was her ex, a smarmy asshole who was a pathological liar and cheat. The first couple of times she forgave him, I just shook my head. He was really good at charming his way out of trouble, and a master at convincing Megan that he'd changed. When Megan made her fifth tearful call, telling me she'd found some piece of irrefutable proof that he was at it again, his remorseful act was useless on me. Unfortunately, it took Megan a few more turns on the merry go round before she realized that she deserved so much better.

I gripped the bar, stabilizing myself long enough to take a swig of water. "So my face is like, are you crazy? Because that's how the Brad situation was. It was the very definition of crazy: taking him back every time when he showed you what his true colors were." I nestled my bottle of water back into the nook on the machine. "And I'm not that crazy."

I squeezed my eyes shut, sweat trickling into my eyelids. She was just trying to help and I was snapping at her, rubbing her face in her missteps? Had Rachel's bitchiness rubbed off on me?

Megan went silent, the machines still whirring. Whirring like my stomach as I lowered my speed to walking. I looked down at my feet, then back up at the machine. It read that I'd gone nearly three miles, but I wasn't really going anywhere at all. I'd approached an irrational person with rationality, like this time I'd get through. Just repeating the same thing over and over, expecting a different result.

I twisted my mouth to the side, the flush in my face mostly due to shame and not exertion.

"Megan-" I turned to her. She had the same eyes straight ahead, stubborn, angry stride that I'd been rocking a few moments ago. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone there."

I saw the nerve in her jaw twitching, but she didn't say a word.

"Megan-"

"I heard you, Leila," she panted, her machine beeping as she slowed down too. She swiped her towel and wiped her face.

When she looked over at me, I could have tossed my towel at her. She looked like an ad for the gym; her skin rosy, her strawberry blonde ponytail swishing back and forth, her work outfit a coordinated black and pink top. I just threw an old university t-shirt and kept on the sweats I'd been living in all day. The same sweats that had brought out Rachel's mean girl claws, reminding me that no matter how much money I had, I'd always be me. Beauty came naturally to people like her and Megan. I tugged at my sweat t-shirt depressingly. People like me had to work at it. We always would.

Megan snapped her fingers and when I glanced up, I knew that she really did know me well. Knew I was having a moment of feeling like I just didn't belong.

"I know that look too,” she said sternly. “And don't you go entertaining that woman's crap for one second."