The Gamble, page 6
As we walked back to the hotel afterwards, she smiled up at me. "That was good for me."
"I'm glad."
She reached up and kissed my cheek.
I stopped walking.
Why have you stopped? I yelled at myself. It wasn't a kiss on the lips. Keep walking.
Still, I was frozen.
Sloane looked different. Her eyes were bright. There was no strain behind them. And something about her demeanor had changed.
"Sorry," she mumbled. Her gaze dropped to the ground.
"No…" I took her by the shoulders. "That was…fine. I'm just completely thrown by the light in your eyes."
She looked up at me, her eyes shy.
I didn't dare believe her depression had lifted so soon, but at the very least, it had subsided.
"Now, we're ready to go all out in preparing for the Miss World."
Chapter 9: Eli
My son was still infatuated with the Golding girl. Sloane, or whatever her name was.
I scrolled through the pictures the detective had sent me, silently seething. Before Marshal left to take Sloane to Darien for 'coaching', I'd asked him whether anything was going on between them. Nothing is going on, he'd told me, looking me dead in the eye. You made sure of that. I'm just helping her.
Are you trying to win her back? I'd asked.
She doesn't want me, Dad. It's over.
I'd believed him, because he'd sounded so bitter. But I'd commissioned a private eye just to be certain.
Marshal and Sloane were having romantic rendezvous'. Nighttime picnics. Was that coaching?
I'd used the same detective to monitor him while he coached Talia. There'd been no night picnics or Sunday morning jaunts to church and pecks on the cheeks.
Something was going on.
What's more, he'd chosen her over my choice for him. I wanted him to marry Ayla. Ayla was a perfect match for him. But he was hell bent on Sloane. She was only going to be his ruin. Her family wasn't on our level. She was from a different background. She was a pageant girl of all things. Strutting around in swimsuits, showing off her body. She was the kind of girl he should just have fun with, a torrid affair, not the kind of girl he should take seriously, or, God forbid, marry.
Worst of all, he'd left me to help her. He'd left town when I needed him. I'd told him not to leave New York as I was unwell and needed his assistance, but he hadn't listened. He'd taken Sloane to Darien. He'd chosen to help her rather than me.
I called him, but I didn't expect an answer. He hadn't answered or returned any of my calls since he'd gone. He hadn't even sent me a single text message. Not even to check how I was doing.
As expected, his voicemail picked up. I hung up, not leaving a message this time.
If Sloane won Miss World, they would get together. She would be grateful to Marshal and forgive all that had happened. She might even overlook the fact that he was my son.
If she didn't win, she would cut him off once the pageant was over.
She couldn't win.
I checked my email inbox for some of the messages her mother had sent me during our affair. The particularly spicy ones. I'd released some of our text messages a few months ago and they'd been hot gossip. The emails were even better. They should be sufficient to distract Sloane from her goal, sufficient to drive a wedge between her and Marshal.
I looked at the picture of my son with Sloane, blowing out candles on a cake. "You and Sloane will never be together," I murmured.
I would make sure of it.
Chapter 10: Marshal
I took out my cell phone and tapped into the camera. "Say cheese," I said to Sloane.
She frowned at me.
"No, Sloane. Smile."
She rolled her eyes and then smiled.
I took the picture and then uploaded it to the Instagram account I'd created for her a few days ago. "You need to let your followers know that you're off to China to prepare."
"Really? Why do I have to let them know?"
"You need to keep them in the loop. Build your platform."
She grunted.
Until a few days ago Facebook was the only social media account she'd had. I'd rectified that. She was now active on most of them. I was posting to all her accounts a few times each day for her. But only for now. She would have to take over at some point or hire someone else to do it. She needed to get better at connecting with fans and managing her brand.
"Do I have any followers yet?" she asked idly, glancing at a shop that sold brightly colored scarves as we walked through the airport.
She didn't have any idea how popular she was. "Your follower count is running into the millions."
She seemed to choke on her own breath. "You're lying."
"I'm not." I entered one of the airport shops to buy a book. We were going to be in the air for over thirteen hours. I'd need entertainment.
Sloane followed.
I could get used to this. Being followed around by Sloane.
Today had been good. We'd reviewed her beauty strategy and noted down all the questions we needed to ask the consultant. But all in all, Sloane was happy with it. She was getting minimal highlights as suggested by the consultant and had agreed to all the therapies advised.
I'd been trying, unsuccessfully, not to think too much about the kiss on the cheek this morning. It still made me feel all warm inside.
I heard her gasp behind me as I perused the book stand for something interesting to read on the flight.
I turned. She was staring at her cell phone screen.
"What's up?" I asked.
She quickly tucked her phone into her pocket and forced a smile. But I sensed a shift in her mood.
"Sloane?" Had she checked how many people were following her? Was she freaked out by it?
Her features seemed to harden.
"If you don't want all this social media stuff all you have to do is say so," I told her. "Not every celebrity does it. It's possible to become influential without it."
Her eyes narrowed, and then she looked away. "I'm not a celebrity." She stared at the display of books before us. "And I wish my private life and my family members' private lives would stop being splattered across every newspaper and news website."
I was confused.
She took out her cell phone, unlocked the screen and handed it to me. Then she walked away.
I looked at her cell phone. It was on a gossip website. The headline made my heart sink: New Exclusive: Steamy Emails Lottie Golding Sent to Eli Aaronson.
I read a little of the article but had to stop. The emails were bad. I scanned the rest of the article. There were none from my dad, only emails that Lottie had sent to him. Some crude journalist must have hacked into her emails.
Why couldn't they just let the poor woman rest in peace? Why must they do these things and torment her children? Sloane's dad would probably hear about it too, in jail. He'd be heartbroken.
I called Joan, my dad's housekeeper. "Is my dad okay?" I asked her when she answered.
"Yes. He's in the main drawing room. He has a guest."
"Who?"
"I, uh, am not at liberty to say."
It was probably someone's wife.
"He's in the headlines again," I told Joan. "They've gotten hold of emails that Lottie Golding sent him, but none that he sent to her. Tell him to make sure his IT guys secure his firewalls and stay vigilant in case of any hackers."
If Lottie's emails were this bad, the ones my dad had sent her would be even more shocking. The world really didn't need to see them.
When I finished on the phone, I went to look for Sloane. I found her sitting on the floor outside the shop, her back resting against the shop window, a forlorn look on her face. Around her, people rushed to catch flights or collect baggage.
I reached out a hand to her.
She exhaled and then took my hand.
I pulled her to her feet. "I hope you didn't read any of them."
"No. I just saw the headline."
"Good. Don't read them. And you're not allowed to go on the Internet or check the news anymore until after Miss World. You don't need these distractions."
Her face was impassive, but I knew it was a front. She must be raging on the inside.
"Don't get down about it, Sloane."
"I'm not down. I'm just angry."
I preferred anger to depression, but neither was desirable right now.
I lifted her chin, forcing her to look me in the eyes. "We're on our way to China. We're leaving America behind with all the drama. Stay focused, Sloane. After Miss World, you can wallow and be mad and cry. But I'm not going to allow that now. You have to stay focused."
She set her jaw. The darkness seemed to clear from her eyes. "I agree."
Chapter 11: Sloane
I was so glad Miss World was taking place in another country. I could tune everything out and focus. Back home, I'd have reporters in my face everywhere I went while I was trying to train.
Here, nobody knew me, and nobody cared about me. Nobody gave me a second glance as Marshal and I made our way through Sanya to our hotel.
As Marshal checked us in, I phoned Sadie and my dad to let them know we'd arrived safely. Neither of them asked me how Marshal and I were getting along relationship-wise, only about how the training was going. I was grateful for that. But I'd bet they were dying to know.
I watched Marshal when I finished on the phone. He was such a strong, capable person. And so full of wisdom. He wasn't bad to look at either.
I dragged my gaze away as something began to stir in my chest. I'd fallen madly in love with him before. I knew just how far I could lose my senses around him. I wasn't going to allow any of that. At least not for now.
He came over when he finished at the reception desk. "Ready?"
"Yup."
"We're on the same floor. Only because, well, this isn't home and I feel kinda responsible for you so I want to stay close by."
"I think that's the most belittling thing anybody has ever said to me. How old do you think I am?"
Marshal rolled his eyes. "Okay. I know you're an independent woman and everything, but it'll be good for my piece of mind if I'm close enough to hear your screams. Not that you're going to have any cause to scream."
I stared at him. "You're supposed to be Mr. Positive Mental Attitude and you're imagining—visualizing—negative situations that involve me screaming?"
"No. I'm just being careful." He grabbed our bags. "I'm more than a coach, Sloane. I'm your friend, too. Male friends look out for female friends."
"Are coaches allowed to be friends with clients?" I asked as we rode an elevator to our floor. "You should hire me a bodyguard instead so that we don't blur the coach-coachee line."
His eyes narrowed. "Sloane."
"I'm not scared of you so use that dangerous voice all you want." I folded my arms across my chest. "I think you just want to be near me."
To my surprise, his cheeks pinked. I couldn't believe it. It only made me want to tease him more. I must have hit the nail on the head. Why else would he be embarrassed?
"Are you blushing, Marshal?"
He frowned. "Quit it, Sloane."
"I've made Marshal Eliezer Aaronson blush," I sang as we stepped out of the elevator.
Marshal looked taken aback. "How do you know my middle name?"
"Is it supposed to be a secret? You're a billionaire and you don't expect your full name to be in the public domain?"
"My dad's the billionaire, not me," he muttered.
I followed him to a door. "Is this my room or yours?"
"Yours." He opened the door and carried my bags in for me.
I yawned as I followed.
He shot me a look. "Tired?"
"Not at all," I replied, rubbing my eyes.
He grinned at my obvious sarcasm. "I scheduled all the meetings with your advisors for as soon as we arrive so that you can get to bed early. Would you have preferred to sleep now and then have the meetings later?"
"No. I prefer it this way. It means I can sleep through until tomorrow when we get back."
Marshal grabbed his bags. "I'll dump my stuff then we can go."
I stepped out of the room after him and watched him move to the next door. Not only were we on the same floor, but our rooms were next to each other.
I opened my mouth to say something about it, but he spoke first.
"What's your middle name?" he asked.
"Patience."
His brows lifted. "It's kinda old school but I like it."
"I prefer Sadie's. Hers is 'Hope.'"
"You both have cute middle names."
He disappeared into the room. When he returned, he winked at me. "Let's go."
I moved to the elevator and pushed the button. When it opened, I stopped dead.
My heart seemed to freeze at the sight of the curvy, golden-skinned blond inside. Zara Holmes. My arch nemesis. The girl who'd beaten me in every pageant but one, from the time we were both thirteen.
The doors began to slide shut and Marshal quickly entered, dragging me in too.
It was then that I noticed the man in the elevator.
Marshal nodded at him as the elevator began to descend. "Mr. Smirnov."
The man nodded back.
I was shocked. That was Anton Smirnov? He was tall, almost as tall as Marshal, with a goatee and penetrating dark eyes. There were silver streaks in his dark hair. I tried to remember how old he was. Forty-three, if I remembered correctly. He was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt.
"This is Sloane Golding," Marshal told him.
I wished he hadn't, although Anton probably already knew.
Anton nodded at me.
I gave him a smile that I hoped didn't look too tight. I couldn't believe we were staying in the same hotel as Zara and Anton.
Marshal was giving me this pointed look. He wanted me to speak to Zara? Why? I didn't want to speak to her.
Marshal glared at me.
I took a deep breath. "Hi, Zara."
Zara looked at me. "Hi, Sloane."
She looked like an absolute goddess. Her eyes were a pretty, light brown, almost amber. Her skin glowed. Her hair fell in glossy waves around her shoulders. Her figure was pure perfection. She wore a mini dress that flaunted every curve.
"I heard you were arriving today," Zara said.
So, she'd been keeping tabs on me. Did that mean she considered me someone to keep an eye on? The thought was flattering.
"When did you arrive?" I asked.
"A month ago." She gave me a look that said, 'Game on'.
I looked at Marshal. He gave me an encouraging smile.
"Oh," I said. "Wow."
Zara smiled.
She looked so prepared and determined, and she oozed confidence. Of course, there were no stupid emails in the papers that her mom had sent to a lover. Her dad wasn't in jail. Her family was probably happy and stable.
No wonder Anton preferred to have her as a client.
The elevator doors opened on the first floor.
"After you," Anton told Zara.
She gave him a demure smile and then minced out of the elevator, her hips swaying and hair swishing.
Anton followed, placing a hand at the small of her back.
No need to panic, I told myself as Marshal practically dragged me out of the elevator. No need to freak out.
She'd been here for a month, preparing. And she had Anton Smirnov at her service to help her with her final preparations. I hadn't been preparing. And my coach was inexperienced.
We stepped outside and the heat hit me. I felt lightheaded. I wasn't sure if it was from the heat, seeing Zara, or fatigue. Maybe it was all three.
"Do you want to move to a different hotel?" Marshal asked.
I wanted to say yes, but I wasn't sure what impact that would have on my confidence or on Zara's. I didn't want to run away from her, and I didn't want her to think I was running. That would only make her feel gleeful.
"What do you think?" I asked Marshal.
"I'm glad you're soliciting my opinion. I think we should stay."
"Why am I not surprised?" I mumbled.
"You're not scared of her," Marshal said, his tone firm. "She's the one who should be scared of you. She lost Miss New York because of you and had to transfer countries in order to be here."
I nodded. Yes. I needed to keep that in mind.
"This is a battle of mental strength as much as a beauty contest, Ms. Golding." Marshal was on a roll. "Stay and let her think you don't see her as a threat at all. It'll knock her confidence. We want to knock her confidence. In fact, do something totally nice like send her good luck flowers. That'll show her you don't feel threatened by her."
"No, I should send her chocolate so that she'll binge on them and ruin her sexy figure."
Marshal stared at me for a moment and then we both laughed.
My laughter was partly hysteria, but at least I was laughing instead of weeping.
***
I pushed Zara out of my mind as I met with my advisors. There were ten in total: experts in each category I'd be assessed on during the pageant. There were also nutritionists, a beauty strategist, and a PR manager who would help me court the public in order to try to get more votes in the categories that relied on public votes.
Marshal left the room when the beauty strategist and nutritionist wanted to remove my clothes, take my measurements and make any other observations about my physical appearance. I thought of Zara and her lean curvy body and couldn't help feeling inadequate.
When I finished with all the advisors, I couldn't find Marshal so I took a taxi back to the hotel. He'd probably gone to sleep off his jet lag. Neither of us had slept on the plane.
When I got back to my suite, I paused in the doorway. I could hear sounds coming from the kitchen, like the taps were on. A heavenly smell filled the air.
Marshal appeared in the kitchen doorway. He glanced at his watch. "You're back already? I was hoping to be out of here before you get back."
I shut the door to the suite. "What are you doing?"
"I thought you could use a meal as soon as you get back. Eat and then sleep. That's the plan."
