The Bet, page 2
Jacob rattled off a website. I made a mental note of the name. "So, will you come on Friday?" he asked. "It starts at seven."
"I would love to, but I already have plans for Friday." I cringed at the lie. "It's my friend's birthday, so we're all going for dinner."
There was a long pause. I grimaced. Did he know I was lying?
"That's a shame," he said eventually. "Another time, then? How about we go out to dinner next week?"
I covered my face with my hands. "I'm out next week as well."
"Sounds like you're a busy woman."
"Kinda." I was cringing again.
But I couldn't really say to him, Look. My ex-boyfriend betrayed me and I'm recovering from an abortion, so I'm not ready to date yet.
"I have a few busy weekends lined up," I told him.
"Good for you. That's the college lifestyle."
"Guess so."
"Well, I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
"Okay, Sloane," Jacob said lightly. "See you."
"See you."
I grimaced as I hung up. That was terrible.
Seeing him at work was going to be real awkward now. Maybe I should have just said yes, after all I did find him attractive.
No, you did the right thing, I told myself. I wasn't ready.
My phone rang again. I thought it would be Jacob again, and my heartbeat paused, until I saw that it was my dad. I snatched the phone up. "Hi, Dad."
"Hey, baby girl."
Something in his tone made my ears prick up. "Is everything okay?"
He was quiet.
"What happened?" I asked. Had Mom finally come clean with him? My heart skipped a beat. He deserved to know, but he would be so hurt. My heart went out to him.
"Uh, Sloane?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry to tell you this on the phone, but I want to tell you before you see it in the media. Your mom is missing."
I frowned. "Mom is missing?"
"Yes. She went to a conference in LA last week. She was due back two days ago. I wasn't worried when she didn't show because she's come home late from conferences before. But it's been two days now."
My dad's voice didn't crack or wobble, but something in his tone told me he was extremely worried.
"I've been calling her, but she's not answering," he told me. "None of her colleagues have seen her this week. I've just reported her missing to the police." My dad paused, and silence roared over the line.
I wanted to believe that there was a good reason for my mom's disappearance, like something terrible had happened, but I didn't. Instead of concern, I was filled with suspicion.
"I don't want you to freak out," Dad said. "As I said, it could get to the press, and I didn't want you to find out that way."
All I could manage was a grunt.
"I'm sorry I had to tell you over the phone. I'm still at the police station."
"Does Sadie know?"
"I'm going to call her now."
My dad tried to reassure me that he was sure mom was fine, and then we said goodbye and hung up.
I stared at the Miss New York tiara on my dresser, dread filling my heart. What if my mom had gone back to Eli? What if she'd decided to finally take the plunge and divorce my dad?
But if she wanted to do that, she would tell him, rather than just go missing.
What if things had gotten ugly between her and Eli since their breakup? Eli was rich enough to harm someone and get away with it.
I gave myself a mental shake. Now was not the time to let my imagination start running wild.
I found my mom's number on my phone and called her. I couldn't remember the last time I'd called her. I was much closer to my dad—especially since finding out about her affair.
The phone didn't even ring. It just went straight to her voicemail. I wondered whether to leave a message. There was a beep and then silence as I was supposed to start speaking.
I hung up.
Chapter 2: Marshal
I felt as slimy as the sushi on Garrett's dish as I joined Garrett and Jon for lunch at one of the quieter cafeterias on campus. It was quiet because it was cheap. Our peers, being the status conscious crowd that they were, preferred to dine at pricier places. Since cutting all ties with my father, I was done with that kind of lifestyle.
My cell phone buzzed. My dad was calling. I rejected the call and then tucked the phone into my pocket. My dad had been calling me constantly since yesterday. I wondered why, but I wasn't curious enough to call him back.
I grabbed a menu from the holder at the center of the table and locked my gaze on the main courses.
Jon kicked me under the table. "Avoiding eye contact isn't going to help you."
I didn't reply. Jazz music played softly from overhead speakers, but with my headache it was just extra noise that my brain had to deal with.
"What happened?" Garrett asked
"It's obvious what happened," Jon said.
I lowered the menu, and sighed. "Nothing happened."
They both looked surprised. Obviously, they couldn't believe that a dirty dog such as I could go home with Alana Mordisio, a hot new model, and nothing would happen.
Garrett nailed me with a look. "You left the party with that model chick, right?"
My gaze returned to the menu. I couldn't believe I'd done it. What was I thinking?
"You were drunk," Garrett added, as though I'd forgotten. As though the incessant roaring in my head wasn't reminder enough. "You were drunk," he repeated. "You left with a cute girl, and you didn't come home all night; and you expect us to believe that nothing happened?"
"Nothing happened," I ground out. I was trying to put it out of my mind. There'd been a kiss, in Alana's limo. But I came to my senses when the limo stopped outside her mansion in the Upper East side. Despite my intoxication, I knew I couldn't follow her into her house, or things would happen. Things that shouldn't happen, now that I was a Christian.
"So where have you been?" Jon asked.
"At the Plaza Hotel," I mumbled. I couldn't get out of bed this morning, so I'd stayed at the hotel and tried to sleep off my hangover. I'd slept all morning, but the hangover hadn't lifted.
"How'd you get to the Plaza Hotel?" Jon asked.
All the questions were beginning to annoy me, but I guessed they had the right to ask. They'd probably been concerned about me. "I had Alana's limo take me."
"So you want us to believe that, despite your drunkenness, you refused to go home with her and then you told the limo to take you to a hotel?"
"That's what happened, whether you choose to believe it or not."
Jon clapped me on the shoulder.
Garrett gave a low whistle. "Good for you, man. We were worried, thinking you were getting it on all night."
I said nothing. I wasn't proud of myself. I'd known yesterday's party would be trouble. That was why I'd invited Garrett and Jon to accompany me. I hadn't expected a bunch of models to conspire to get me drunk.
Jon was giving me a pensive look that told me he was about to say something I might not like. "Go on," I prompted.
"This whole modeling thing...?" He shrugged. "I'm happy that it's going so well for you. But you keep getting into trouble. You need to be careful. Maybe you need to do some serious thinking about it."
When I first started modeling, a month ago, Garrett and Jon thought it was hilarious. They'd teased me nonstop about it. I'd taken the teasing on the chin, since I also thought it was silly myself. But it was a great way to become financially independent from my father. Sloane had put the idea in my head.
Sloane.
I groaned internally. I didn't want to think about her.
"Is being a model what you really want?" Garrett asked. "I'm not dissing male models, or anything, but you've never mentioned it before. It's never been an ambition of yours. I'm not quite sure where it came from."
He was right. I'd always stayed out of the limelight. It wasn't my thing. My dream had always been to have my own coaching company, which I had now. I even had my first client. Technically, Sloane had been my first client, but I wasn't set up properly then. I was set up now. I'd registered the company and everything.
Sloane.
I shook my head. Why wouldn't she get out of my mind? Out of my heart? I was sick of missing her. I wondered if she'd seen my commercial, or any of my modeling pictures. People had been emailing, calling, and texting me ever since I started modeling. I'd hoped she would too, but I hadn't heard from her.
"I'm not sure where this whole modeling thing came from, either," Jon said.
I tuned back into the conversation. "You're right," I told them. "I'm not really keen on being a model, or being in the limelight." In fact, I'd already decided, sometime this morning—which was a haze of vomiting and headaches—that I was giving it up. "I've already called my agency and told them I want out."
They both looked shocked. "Really?" Jon asked.
"Yeah," I replied. Modeling wasn't even fun anyway. And all the events I had to attend weren't fun. I had to pretend to be happy all the time. I was sick of smiling. Sick of air-kissing people. Sick of walking in an unnatural manner, or posing in ways that were supposed to be sexy, but I just found ridiculous. And most of all, I was sick of wearing make-up. I felt like such a girl. I'd done a few catwalk shows during fashion week, and backstage I'd been reminded of Sloane's pageants.
Sloane.
Arrgh! I needed to stop thinking about her.
"So you would give up all that good money they're paying you, just like that?" Garrett asked, snapping his fingers. "Wow. That's deep. I began to doubt your salvation, when you left with that girl last night. But you're deep, man. Real deep."
"I won't lie, I'm finding this whole Christianity thing a little hard sometimes," I mumbled. I hadn't been to church for two weeks. I'd felt too guilty after going to a party and almost sleeping with some girl whose name I didn't even know. That happened two weeks ago. I didn't want to repeat that, which was why I'd made Garrett and Jon come with me last night. Their presence hadn't made much of a difference since I'd been drunk and hadn't listened when they tried to stop me from leaving with Alana. I didn't know what made me change my mind in the limo. Maybe it was God.
However, the main reason I'd stopped going to church was Christy. I'd been praying for her to get better, and she was slightly better since she was out of the coma now. But she wasn't out of the woods yet. I guess I expected God to answer my prayers and just heal her instantly. I guess a part of me was mad at Him.
Garrett and Jon were both quiet as I waved a waitress over. I ordered fried noodles with chicken. I hoped I'd be able to keep it down. I was starving. I needed to eat.
"I won't say I necessarily find being a Christian easy all the time," Jon told me, when the waitress left us. "But there are things you can do to make it easier."
"Things like what?" I asked.
"Real deep, drastic things like hanging out with people of a like mind, not going to places where you know you'll face temptation, attending church regularly." Jon grinned. "You know. Earth-shattering things like that."
"Very funny," I replied. But I knew he was right.
Garrett tossed a blob of sushi into his mouth. It took me supreme effort not to gag. "Apart from attending church," he said. "You should be reading the Bible on your own, too. And praying."
I grunted. I hardly ever did either of those things. I did pray internally sometimes, while I was out and about—especially whenever I went to visit Christy at the hospital—but that was it. "Do you guys pray and read the Bible?" I asked.
They both nodded.
"When?" I asked. "I've never seen you."
"First thing in the morning," Jon said.
"Me too," Garrett said.
"Can I join you, then?" I asked.
They both nodded. "Maybe we can all do it together," Garrett said.
"Something else that helped me," Jon said, "when I first became a Christian back in high school, was to keep myself occupied. The busier you are, the less time you have to think about cute girls, or go home with women."
I rolled my eyes. "Sheesh, Jon—"
"For real," Jon cut in. "Why do you think I'm so ripped? It's because I expend all my energy in the gym, so that I have no energy left by the time I get home. I can only sleep. No time for thinking about chicks. No time for watching stuff I shouldn't be watching on the Internet."
Garrett chuckled. "I like that."
The waitress returned with my noodles. Usually, I would dive in hungrily, but I decided it'd be best for my stomach if I took my time and ate slowly. I needed to see Christy this evening, but I couldn't go if I was still a mess like this. Aunt Shay would take one look at me and know I'd been up to no good. If I ate, at least a little, I should feel better.
My cell phone buzzed. I groaned, knowing it would be my dad again. I checked just in case it was someone else. It was him. A text message this time.
I tapped on it, only mildly curious to know why he suddenly wanted to speak to me. I stilled at the one word in the message: Sloane.
What was that supposed to mean?
I called him back immediately.
"Everything okay?" Jon asked.
I didn't reply. The phone was ringing. Annoyance crackled in my chest as it rang out. My dad was such a game player. I cut the call when his voicemail picked up. I called him again. Still no answer.
My blood began to boil. I hadn't spoken to him since he told Sloane that I'd betrayed her trust. This had better not just be a ploy to get me to talk to him. I hated it when my father manipulated me. He was always manipulating me.
I jumped to my feet. "I have to go."
Garrett and Jon looked up at me.
"Where?" Garrett called after me as I hurried towards the door. "Where are you going?"
"To see my dad."
◦◦◦◦◦
My dad's receptionist yelled to me that my dad was in a meeting with some very important clients as I stepped into the elevator and jabbed the button for the top floor. The doors closed.
My heart was pounding with anger as the elevator ascended. If this was just a ploy to get a reaction out of me...
What if he's been talking to Sloane again?
The thought made nervous chills shiver down my spine. My dad had caused enough trouble. He should just leave Sloane alone. And stay out of my life.
When I reached the top floor, my dad's PA, Josie, was waiting just outside the elevator doors, with a bright smile and a mug of coffee. No doubt the receptionist had warned her that I was on my way.
"Mr. Aaronson, why don't you take a seat," she said thrusting the coffee up at me. "I'll check with your father and see if he's able—"
I stepped around her and strode towards the wide mahogany door to my dad's office.
"Uh, Mr. Aaronson. Please don't go in there—"
"Why?" I snapped. Did he have a woman in there, or something?
"He's meeting with important clients."
I didn't care. My father shouldn't have pulled that sly trick on me if he didn't want me disrupting an important meeting. Sending me a text with just Sloane's name was a blow below the belt.
"Mr. Aaronson—" Josie sounded desperate.
I twisted the handle and pushed the door open.
Half a dozen heads turned in my direction. My dad sat at the head of the table. A shrewd-looking Japanese man in a red kimono sat at the opposite end of the table. More Japanese people sat in the other seats.
My dad had been trying to expand his Casino business in Japan for years. That must be what this was about. It truly was an important meeting, then. In that case I was glad I'd interrupted.
I glared at my dad across the room. "How dare you?"
My dad grinned at the Japanese guy across the table who was now frowning at me. "Uh, this is my son." My dad sent me a smile that had an edge to it. "Wait outside, Marshal. I'll speak to you when I finish."
"You'll speak to me now!" I yelled.
The Japanese people looked shocked.
If I wasn't a Christian now I'd yell some curse words too, just to make sure I really sabotaged this meeting. The thought appealed to me, but I kept my mouth shut.
My dad's face remained relaxed, but there was a slight hardening in his gaze that told me he was mad. I could tell he hadn't expected this reaction to his text.
The man in the red kimono inclined his head. "Family business must always come before money business," he said in perfect unaccented English.
My dad rose to his feet.
The kimono-guy rose too. "We have concluded what we came here for. I do not accept your offer. You may contact my assistant if you would like to accept my offer." He snapped something in rapid Japanese, and all his people immediately jumped to their feet.
I stood aside as they all filed towards the door. My dad was quiet. Kimono-guy bowed his head in his direction before stepping out of the room last.
My dad's dark gaze was on me. A vein bulged in his neck. He was furious. I didn't care.
"Sloane," I snapped. "What about her?"
"Marshal." I could tell he was close to the edge. "Never interrupt one of my business meetings again."
"I want to know why you sent me that text," I replied.
"Get out."
"Not until you tell me."
My dad stared at me.
I stared back.
As I looked into his angry eyes, it occurred to me that I'd better be careful. I didn't know what he was planning to do with the information about Sloane's mom's next product. If he wasn't planning to leak it, I didn't want to do anything that would annoy him and make him change his mind.
"I...didn't know you were in a business meeting," I said. It wasn't an apology, but my dad stared me down for a moment and must have decided to accept it as an apology because he released me from his angry stare and moved to his desk.
He sat down in his executive chair and kicked his feet up on the desk. It was such a smarmy stereotypical 'executive' pose that I couldn't help the snarl that curled my lips.
I shouldn't hate my own father, but I was close. I'd always disliked him, but the events of the past few months had completely filled me with bad blood towards him. I remembered the day I gave him the information about Sloane's mom's product. He was supposed to pay me four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He hadn't paid me. He didn't want me to use the money to pay Christy's medical bills. He didn't care if Christy died.
