The Bet, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
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From the Back Cover
Chapter 1: Sloane
Chapter 2: Marshal
Chapter 3: Lottie
Chapter 4: Sloane
Chapter 5: Marshal
Chapter 6: Lottie
Chapter 7: Sloane
Chapter 8: Marshal
Chapter 9: Lottie
Chapter 10: Kurt
Chapter 11: Sloane
Chapter 12: Marshal
Chapter 13: Kurt
Chapter 14: Sloane
Chapter 15: Marshal
Chapter 16: Kurt
Chapter 17: Sloane
Chapter 18: Marshal
Chapter 19: Kurt
Chapter 20: Sloane
Chapter 21: Marshal
Chapter 22: Lottie
Chapter 23: Sloane
Chapter 24: Marshal
Chapter 25: Lottie
Chapter 26: Sloane
Chapter 27: Sloane
Chapter 28: Marshal
Chapter 29: Lottie
Chapter 30: Marshal
Epilogue: Sloane
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The Bet
Dayo Benson
Copyright
The Bet
© Copyright 2017 by Dayo Benson
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission from the author. The only exception is brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Some Scripture is taken from the New International Version and the New King James Version of the Bible.
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From the Back Cover
If your mom was having an affair would you tell your dad?
Sloane:
My mom is supposed to be the perfect Christian, but she's a hypocrite, and it's eating me up inside. Is staying quiet about it the right thing to do, or is my silence consent? Her disappearance is tearing my Dad apart. He deserves to know that the woman he's so worried about is a liar and a cheat. But do I have the guts to tell him?
Marshal:
Watching Sloane's life unravel isn't easy. And it makes it even harder for me to stay away from her despite her saying we're over. We don't have to be defined by our parents' mistakes, but Sloane seems to be on autopilot on the highway to self-destruction. And I don't know how to help her.
Chapter 1: Sloane
The last thing I needed right now was to see Marshal Aaronson, the gorgeous dark-haired bad boy I fell in love with a few months ago, on TV. Especially not in a Levi's jeans commercial, wearing nothing but the jeans, flaunting his ripped abs and shooting the camera smoldering looks.
There was an unpleasant squeeze in my chest as my gaze connected with his dark eyes. If he was truly a Christian now, he should know that sexualizing himself for money was wrong. He had a scantily-clad blond draped all over him. He should also know that was wrong.
Why am I watching this?
I grabbed the remote from Grace and changed the channel.
"Hey!" Grace protested. She was sprawled on the floor in the den with a magazine. "I love that commercial."
Grace was so insensitive it bordered on evil. She knew I was hurting over my breakup with Marshal. A good friend would scoff at the commercial and say he looked terrible. A good friend would tell me I was well rid of him.
"I hate it," Rhiannon said, shooting me a sympathetic glance. "He looks like such an arrogant jerk, pouting at the camera like that." She was wiping the sofa across the room with leather cleaner. The den stank of chemicals.
Taylor, our neat-freak roomie, had instructed Rhiannon to clean the sofas. Grace was ordered to vacuum the floor and I was supposed to dust and wipe all the surfaces. We'd usually dismiss Taylor as a nag, but the apartment was in a sorry state of chaos. She was right about us needing to clean up.
She'd also threatened to move out if we didn't listen. Since she was the best—and the most frequent—cook, we decided we'd better obey. Taylor was so sweet she'd even started making two meals each evening. One 'normal' meal for everyone else and a separate healthy meal for me since I won the Miss New York pageant in January and needed to maintain a healthy diet.
Grace and I hadn't done our chores yet, but Taylor wouldn't get back from her classes until six so we could relax until five forty-five.
Grace cooed suddenly. "Marshal is really crushing it with this whole modeling thing." She held up the magazine she was reading. "Look, Sloane. He was at New York fashion week, mingling with celebrities."
I looked at the picture. Marshal had his arm around a woman who looked vaguely familiar. She must be a model. My heart shriveled. It doesn't matter, I told myself.
But my heart didn't believe me. I was hurt.
I shouldn't be hurt.
After all the drama and pain last month he'd told me he still loved me and still wanted us to be together. I was the one who turned him down and said I needed space to think, so I had no right to be hurt that he was moving on.
In fact, I was the one who'd planted the idea of modeling in his mind. He'd been thinking of ways to become financially independent of his father and I'd suggested that he model. Something I bitterly regretted now.
No, I'm happy for him, I insisted to myself. All the visualization, positivity, and success gurus I listened to said you had to be happy for the success of others and maintain a positive, internal attitude no matter what. I'm happy that he's happy.
Yeah right.
To be honest, it wasn't fair that there were millions of aspiring models out there, and he'd probably just waltzed up to a modeling agency, asked for a contract, and gotten one immediately, just because he was Marshal Aaronson, the son of billionaire playboy Eli Aaronson. Most people would call me privileged, but I'd still had to work hard to achieve the things I'd achieved: my Miss New York crown, and my job with Henry Griffiths, governor of New York. Okay, his daughter, Lorna, was my friend, and had put in a good word for me, but I'd still had to do a good interview. Marshal, however, was privileged on a whole other level.
Grace was still staring at me. "I heard he's going to be in a music video with—"
"Grace," Rhiannon snapped, cutting in. "Sloane doesn't want to know."
"Okay, but you'll want to know this," Grace said. "Rumor has it that he's dating—"
"Grace!" Rhiannon growled, spraying Grace with the leather cleaner.
"Are you trying to kill me?" Grace screamed. The shrill sound pierced my eardrums.
"Leather cleaner won't kill you," Rhiannon replied.
Grace rubbed her eyes. "Right. Maybe it'll just make me blind."
Rhiannon rolled her eyes.
"I'm serious." Grace whimpered. "You got me in the eye!"
"Well, shut up about Marshal and I won't have to spray you again."
Grace shot Rhiannon a glare and then picked up her magazine again. Thankfully, she didn't try to say anything else about Marshal. I could hug Rhiannon for making her shut up.
I wanted to be mad at Grace, but the truth was, I knew she wasn't just being insensitive. She just wanted to know why Marshal and I had broken up and she was trying to provoke me into telling her. I'd told Taylor the truth about all that had happened, since she was the deep spiritual one and would pray for me rather than judge me or dole out unwanted advice. But I'd just mumbled something vague to Grace and Rhiannon when they asked about the breakup, and told them I wasn't upset about it. Of course, if I truly wanted them to believe I wasn't upset, I should have tried harder to act like I wasn't upset. However, I was beyond upset. I was in a place where it was an effort just to go out and face each day.
I quickly dragged myself away from that mental path. I wasn't thinking about it. I couldn't let myself think about it. Not while Grace and Rhiannon were here. Thinking about all that had happened was reserved for bedtime, when I was alone in the dark. Nobody to see my tears. Nobody to witness my pain.
Rhiannon finished cleaning the last sofa. She set the cloth and can of leather cleaner inside the little container Taylor kept them in. She shot me a look. "I do wish you would talk to us, though. It's obvious you're hurting over the breakup."
Grace's head snapped up from the magazine. She looked at me.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as they both stared at me. This was my own fault for choosing to hang out with them in the den, rather than going straight to my room once I got home from college thirty minutes ago. But I'd been doing that a lot lately: isolating myself. I knew they were concerned about me, so I'd decided to hang out with them.
"Please tell us," Grace said. Her eyes were worried. "What did he do to you?"
I wasn't sure how to answer that question. So much had happened. We'd both hurt each other. I remembered the pain in his eyes when I told him about my abortion. Sudden tears stung my eyes. I
It all started when I found out my mom was having an affair with Marshal's dad. Actually, it started before then, with the dare. In fact, it was Grace who dared me to kiss Marshal. Technically, I could blame her for everything.
Actually, I couldn't. Marshal would never have spoken to me again after Grace dared me to kiss him if not for the fact that his dad asked him to try and find out from me what my mom's next product was.
"Sloane?" Rhiannon prompted.
I realized they were both still looking at me.
"Uh, I slept with Marshal." I cringed internally, and waited for my friends to both go berserk. We were all supposed to be Christians, but Grace and Rhiannon had gone completely off the rails. College had changed them. Taylor was still a Christian, though. I used to be somewhere in the middle: not bad, but not entirely good either. That had changed now.
I noticed that neither Grace nor Rhiannon looked surprised by my revelation.
"We gathered that," Grace said. "You went to Miami with him for a so-called 'visualization weekend'. Of course you slept with him."
The fact that they weren't surprised I'd slept with Marshal was pretty disconcerting. A few months ago, they would have been completely scandalized by the idea of me sleeping with someone. I guess I'd changed a lot over the past few months.
"Is that why you broke up?" Rhiannon asked. "Or did something else happen?"
I exhaled. "In a nutshell, our relationship was a farce."
"What do you mean?" Rhiannon asked, her blue eyes serious.
"He only started a relationship with me because his dad told him to find out what my mom's next product is going to be."
Grace's and Rhiannon's eyes widened.
"That's terrible!" Grace exclaimed.
"I hope you didn't tell him?" Rhiannon asked.
"How did you find out?" Grace asked.
I decided to answer Grace, and leave Rhiannon's question unanswered. "Remember when Marshal and I went to Vegas for his dad's birthday party?"
They both nodded.
"Marshal wanted to introduce me to his dad because I was...pregnant."
Rhiannon's jaw dropped. Grace's eyes widened.
Fresh pain squeezed my heart. I bit back the tears that threatened. Instinctively, my hand went to my abdomen. I snatched it away. "Marshal's dad told me about it all: how he asked Marshal to get close to me and find out about my mom's product."
"His dad exposed him?" Rhiannon asked. "Why would he do that? Why would he tell you?"
"He didn't want Marshal to marry me. He wants Marshal to marry a Jewish girl."
Rhiannon looked indignant. "Right. So he had a motive for ruining your relationship. What if he was lying just to split you up?"
"He wasn't lying. Regardless of his motive, it's the truth. Marshal got close to me for a reason."
I was angry about that, but not as angry as I could be. I knew Marshal had cared about me despite only getting close to me because his dad had told him to. He'd done it for his sick cousin. I understood that.
"I don't get it," Grace said. "I saw the way Marshal always used to look at you. Was that all a lie? I can't believe he was such a convincing actor."
I said nothing. I didn't want to talk about it. My heart was hammering. My throat was getting all painful and tight.
Rhiannon's gaze dropped to my belly. "Are you still pregnant, now?"
I shook my head. I'd had an abortion immediately after Marshal's dad told me. The baby was gone.
Grace and Rhiannon were quiet.
There was so much more that I wasn't telling them:
The abortion was the worst thing I'd ever done.
I'd stopped going to church because of my mom's affair.
I had told Marshal about my mom's product and I was terrified that his dad was going to sabotage her product launch next month.
Marshal hadn't wanted us to break up.
I remembered the intensity in his dark eyes, outside JFK airport. I'd just gotten back from Vegas after having the abortion. I didn't know how he beat me to New York.
I still love you.
The words haunted me. They rang in my ears each and every day, and echoed in my dreams each night. He wanted to work it out despite being mad at me for having an abortion. But I was too confused at the time to continue our relationship. And now, by the looks of things, he had well and truly moved on.
I rose to my feet before Grace and Rhiannon could ask me any more questions. I'd said enough. My eyes flooded with tears as I walked out of the den and went to my room.
It had been a month since the abortion, but the pain still overshadowed everything else. It had taken me a few weeks to recover physically, but the emotional wounds would probably take a long time to heal. I didn't know how to speed up the process. I didn't know how to heal.
It was still crazy to me that I'd found myself in that situation. Pregnant. By Marshal Aaronson, of all people.
In my defense, my world was tipped out of balance when I found out about my mom's affair. I became reckless, stopped making rational decisions, started going against everything I believed in. I would never have dated Marshal before I found out about my mom's affair. It was like her affair made something snap inside me.
The affair was over now, but I wasn't sure if my mom had told my dad about it yet. She probably hadn't. She'd probably pretend nothing had ever gone wrong, and my dad would never suspect her of anything. That was maddening, but at least the affair was over. Marshal's dad had dumped her. I didn't know if she was hurt or not, and I didn't care. I was just glad it was over.
My cell phone rang as I lowered myself onto my bed. A glance at the screen told me it was Jacob Wright from work. He was one of Henry Griffiths's speech writers. I hadn't spoken to him much at work, although I had definitely noticed him. He was tall, with the broad physique that always caught my eye. He had café au lait skin and waves in his black hair. He'd asked me for my number yesterday. I shouldn't have given it to him, but I'd told myself he might not be interested in me. Just because a guy asked for your number didn't mean he was interested in you. Right?
If I'd met Jacob a few months ago, I would have had a major crush on him. However, I was in too much pain right now to muster the emotion required to have a crush on somebody.
"Hi, Jacob," I answered.
"Sloane." The phone line made his voice sound even deeper than usual.
Something wobbled in my heart. Had I said I didn't have the capacity to develop a crush right now? Maybe I was wrong. I twirled a lock of hair around my finger. Jacob would be a perfect rebound guy. Someone that would make me forget Marshal.
I really wanted to forget Marshal.
My mind flashed back to December when Marshal took me to Miami. The way he looked at me throughout that weekend. The kisses. The tender words.
An image of Marshal's face materialized before my eyes. His dark eyes. His smile.
Stop it, Sloane.
"I didn't see you at work today," Jacob said.
Great. He'd probably just called over something work related and I was getting carried away thinking he was calling because he liked me.
"Yeah, I'm part time. I'm still at college." There was no way he didn't already know that.
"Oh. What's your major?"
"Politics."
"Is it a busy time at college right now?"
Odd question. I frowned slightly.
"Any immediate deadlines?" he asked.
"No," I said, slowly.
"Good. That means you have no reason to turn me down if I ask you out for Friday night."
I smiled.
"It's hip hop night at Bassline. Open mic."
Bassline was a club in town. I'd never been there, but I'd heard they were good about allowing aspiring musicians to showcase their talent. "Are you a musician?" That wouldn't surprise me. Jacob emanated a cool relaxed vibe that I imagined most musicians had.
"I'm in a rap group."
"Cool. You have a website where I can listen?" I asked, stalling on giving him an answer about the date. I definitely found him attractive, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to go out on a date with someone. He probably wasn't a Christian, so he might expect...things. Things I wasn't ready for.
Not that I was a Christian anymore, anyway. But if I went on a date with him, I didn't think I'd want to kiss him. At least not yet. Not on our first date. Not while I was still processing so much pain. I definitely wouldn't want to go any further than a kiss.
