Recklessly, Wildly Yours (Only Yours Book 3), page 14
“Shit,” I whisper as I open my eyes and exhale a breath. Leigh’s right: sitting around ranting about my problems isn’t going to fix them. I started this when I ran out on Tucker, and now I have to finish it.
I push up off the ground and splash cold water on my face while staring at myself in the mirror. I look tired and stressed, and I refuse to let my record label see me like this, so I get to work fixing my face and finding something to wear that screams I’ve got this under control.
Fifteen minutes later, I emerge from the bedroom ready to tackle the rest of this day. I find my new publicist sitting with Leigh on the sofa, deep in conversation. They stop talking when they hear me. Judy smiles and stands. Leigh narrows her eyes at me like she’s trying to decide my state of my mind.
“Hi.” I extend a hand to Judy. “Thanks for making time on such short notice.”
Judy’s grip is firm, and she exudes an air of confidence and control, which I find highly reassuring. “I’m glad to meet you, Madeline. I’ve been a fan for a while and that statement you made last night reminded me why.”
I did not expect that, and it stuns me into silence for a moment before I find my voice again. “Thank you. I appreciate you saying that.”
She smiles knowingly. “I imagine it’s been a rough few days.”
“You could say that. All my own doing, though.”
Her brows furrow. “That’s inaccurate. You may have chosen to end a very public relationship, but you didn’t choose the social media nonsense that’s occurred. If I could get my clients to believe one thing, it’d be that while they chose their line of work, they didn’t agree to the bullshit that goes with it.”
I’ve never thought of it like that, and I appreciate her saying that, too.
She indicates to the table in the corner of the suite. “Let’s start by getting to know each other a little and then I’ll take you through my ideas for managing this crisis and redirecting your brand. And let me just say before we begin that the response you’ve had to your post last night shows that we’re starting from a solid foundation.” She pauses and eyes me like she wants to ensure I’m listening. “Tucker might be out there calling you a liar, but your get-loud hashtag is trending on all platforms. You’ve struck a chord, and I don’t think your fans are going anywhere.”
I’ve avoided my post all day, not sure I was ready for any nastiness I might read in the comments. The relief I feel at this news is immense and helps get me in the right mindset for our conversation.
We spend half an hour talking about how she plans to help me shift my brand away from Tucker’s and manage the negative publicity I’m currently facing. I’m impressed with everything she suggests, and I can tell that Leigh is too. By the time we leave for the meeting with my label, I’m feeling a lot more confident about everything and hopeful about my future in this industry.
“Never have I ever been so appalled by the misogyny of this fucking industry,” Leigh rages as we push our way through the door of my record label’s building and walk out into the sunshine that feels a lot warmer than I do after the meeting I’ve just had.
I think I’m in shock. Not that I know what that feels like. But if it involves clammy skin, nausea, a racing heart, and a faint feeling, then I’m definitely in shock.
“Surely, they can’t do that,” Leigh continues her tirade.
I’m going to vomit.
That’s all I’m sure of right now.
“Right?” Leigh stops and inspects me. “Shit, are you okay?”
I claw at the top buttons of my blouse that aren’t letting me breathe.
“Fuck,” Leigh curses as the sun blinds me and I stumble. Her hand cradles my elbow, and she guides me to the park bench on the grass near us. Once I’m sitting, she shoves a bottle of water in my face. “Drink this. You are not puking on my watch.”
I push the bottle away and lurch in the opposite direction of her just in time, hurling over the grass instead of her lap.
She thrusts a tissue at me, and I wipe my mouth while my stomach settles. When I’m sure I’m not going to vomit again, I turn back to her. “I think they can do whatever they want, and they just did.”
“But you have a contract that I imagine is ironclad and states they can’t terminate you based on that bullshit they just spewed at you.”
“It clearly isn’t that ironclad. They wouldn’t terminate me if it was.” And god, why do I not know this information? Past Madeline has a lot to answer for.
The record label execs cited a variety of reasons for terminating my contract but mostly they relied on a morality clause, saying that my recent behavior is unacceptable and damaging to the label’s reputation. Read: Tucker, their number one artist, demanded they fire me.
I am so fucking angry at him. I thought he might do something like this, and truth be told, it’s probably why I took six months to leave him and ruin all the business plans he and Darren built around our relationship. Fear of him trying to cancel me by throwing his power around in this way kept me engaged to him.
Having to listen to those men today tell me that women need to tread carefully in this business so as not to ruin all the hard work their team put into cultivating their brand has pissed me the hell off. Why should women have to tread carefully? Why does Tucker get to go out there and do whatever he wants, but I don’t get to do the same?
Aaaargh!!!
Unable to hold in the fury grinding in my chest for a second longer, I throw my head back, open my mouth, and scream.
It’s long.
It’s loud.
And damn it feels good to get it all out.
Fuck those people who want to keep me down.
Fuck. Them.
I’m a Miller and we don’t stay down. We stand the hell up and handle our business, and we don’t ever give up.
Ethan was right when he told me I’m not powerless. Tucker can screw with my career as much as he wants but I have so many resources I can tap into.
The only person who can stop me is me.
“Wow.” Leigh stares at me when I finish screaming, eyes wide, mouth open. “That was . . . unexpected.”
I shake out my arms, every inch of my skin buzzing. “You should probably expect more of that.”
She blinks. “Right. Good to know, but I’d like to suggest we maybe keep that kind of outburst to private spaces only.” She motions at all the people staring at us. “God knows who just filmed that.”
“Let them film. I’m holding my head high now. The only things I’ve done wrong in all of this have been not listening to myself, allowing people to make decisions for me, and not paying attention to the details. Lesson fucking learned.” I take a deep breath. “I’m not burying my head in the sand anymore, Leigh. I’m taking charge and we’re not fucking going down.”
With that, I stride toward the car, my shoulders pushed back. If Tucker wants a fight, I’ll damn well give him one.
19
Ethan
“Have you spoken with Dad yet?” Hayden asks me quietly during our family dinner on Wednesday while everyone else is engaged in a lively conversation with Luna, Gage’s five-year-old daughter, about her new teacher, who she adores.
“Yeah, we had a quick chat this afternoon.” I spent two days driving home from Louisville and then went straight into a meeting this afternoon with the company that acquired mine so we could iron out some details regarding my continuing presence as an advisor. I called Dad after I stepped out from the meeting.
“And? Did you say yes?”
“Fuck no.” I look at him like he’s lost his mind. He knows I have zero intention of ever accepting a job at Dad’s company. “What have you been smoking today? He wants to turn me into a venture fucking capitalist and you know that’s never gonna happen.”
He lifts his glass of whiskey to his mouth. “I’m just checking to see that all the time you spent in Europe didn’t turn you into someone I don’t know. Glad to know it didn’t.”
I grin and at the same time, Luna comes around the dining table to crawl up onto my lap. I welcome her with open arms and help her settle in, at which point she grips my shirt and says, “Uncle Ethan, Daddy said you’re coming to my birthday party. Will you take photos of me?”
Fuck, I love this kid and have missed her. “Of course.” I squint my eyes questioningly at her. “What are you dressing up as this year? I’ll need to bring the right props.” This is something Gage started with her first birthday. He went overboard and dressed her up as a princess, and since then the two of them have made a tradition out of selecting her outfit and dressing her up each year.
Her eyes sparkle with joy. “Daddy bought me a unicorn tutu dress! It’s so pretty.”
“Excellent. I will find the exact right props for your birthday photos.”
“And Sarah is coming too! She has to be in the photos with me.”
“Who’s Sarah?”
“My best friend, silly.”
I chuckle. “Right. Got it. She’ll be in all the photos too.”
“No.” She shakes her head madly. “Not all the photos. Mommy and Daddy will be in some. And Michael.”
“Remind me again who Michael is.” I’m sure I’ve never heard of this guy, but my memory may be failing me.
Eyes still alight with joy, she says, “He’s going to be my new daddy when Mommy marries him.”
Her new daddy? I glance across the table at Gage and catch his darkened gaze. He doesn’t correct his daughter, though. Gage is the best father I know and not once since his divorce from Luna’s mother has he succumbed to the kind of nasty behavior I often see exes engaging in over their children. Shayla, his ex, has, but not Gage. Luna’s wellbeing is his priority, and I can’t imagine he would ever want to take away her excitement over having another family member in her life.
I smile at Luna. “Okay, so there will be lots of photos with all the people you want in them. Will you send me an invitation so I know where and when your party is?”
Her forehead crinkles with a frown. “Daddy already sent you one.” She looks at her father for confirmation.
Gage nods to verify he sent the invite. “Uncle Ethan has been away, so he probably hasn’t had a chance to read the invitation yet.”
“I’ll look for it tonight,” I promise her.
Once she’s satisfied that I’ll be at her party, she slides off my lap and runs to her grandfather who lifts her up with a smile. The two of them then talk quietly and I’m struck by the easy way Dad immerses himself with her and the obvious affection they have for each other. It’s so unlike the way he raised his sons. Sure, he spent time camping and fishing with us, and taught us stuff, but there were always strict expectations and not the kind of affection I’m observing now.
Gage arches his brows at me. “I heard you’re moving to Nashville.”
“Smartass,” I mutter, but it’s no lie that my mind goes immediately to Madeline at the mention of Nashville. She texted me yesterday to let me know she arrived home safely but we haven’t texted or spoken since. My thoughts have been returning to her obsessively, thinking about the time we spent together. Remembering her kisses, her touch. The sex. Fuck, the sex. And in amongst all those thoughts, I’m hoping she’s okay with all the shit she’s dealing with.
“So?” Gage nudges. “Will you see the runaway bride again?”
“Yeah.” Fuck yes.
“Did you take that photo of her that she posted the other day? It looked like one of yours.” Bradford says.
I look at him. “Since when do you go on social media?”
“Since my wife takes it upon herself to shove her phone in my face to help me keep up to date with my brothers’ lives.”
I grin, my gaze meeting his wife’s who is sitting next to him. So far, I’ve only spent time with Kristen at Callan’s wedding, but that was enough to know I like her. I also like the way she’s softened Bradford’s edges. “Promise me you won’t ever stop shoving your phone in his face.”
Her smirk matches mine as she looks up at Bradford before glancing back at me. “I promise. How would he ever know what’s going on in the world otherwise?”
I laugh and take in the way my family watch Kristen with fondness while Bradford looks at her like she hung the moon, the stars, the entire galaxy. Then, I answer Bradford’s question. “Yeah, I took that photo of Madeline.”
“It’s a beautiful photo,” Kristen says. “Do you think you’ll ever go back to photography?”
I nod slowly. “Maybe. It’s certainly on my mind.”
“You were always happiest when you were traveling the world taking photos,” Mom murmurs with a smile. We haven’t spoken much since I arrived for dinner but I’ve gotten the impression she wants to pull me aside for a conversation.
Dad looks up from Luna, the easygoing expression on his face now gone, replaced with a stern one. “He’s twenty-eight, Ingrid. Roaming around the world taking photos is hardly work that will sustain him for the rest of his life.”
A hush falls over the table as I stare at Dad and fight the urge to tell him what I think of that. “I don’t know, Dad,” I say as lightly as I can, “I roamed around for years taking photos that sustained me. I think I could make a go of it again.”
“Not to mention the fact he could live off the sale of his company for the rest of his life,” Gage drawls.
Dad’s gaze stays firmly on mine. “I’m not talking about money, son. I’m talking about settling down and being a responsible adult.”
“Dad,” Bradford says quietly, cautioning our father in the way he sometimes does when Dad tries to pull me into line.
“No.” I shake my head at my brother. “Let him say what he wants. He’s obviously got some thoughts on the matter.” Then, turning to Dad, I ask, “Is it the photography that’s the problem or is it the fact that I’m just not doing what you want me to do? That my idea of a dream job doesn’t look like yours? Or,”—I cock my head—“is it that you just wish I’d find a woman you approve of, marry her, and live a respectable life like yours?”
“You’re putting words in my mouth, son, but is it wrong for a father to want his children to find happiness and live a good life?”
“No, but when the happiness and good life have to look a certain way, that’s wrong.” I push my chair out and stand. “I don’t want to keep going over this with you. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a responsible adult, I’m happy, and my life is good.”
I stalk out of the room, needing to put distance between us before I really get into it with him.
Mom follows me into their grand salon, calling out, “Ethan. Wait.”
I slow my stride and stop even though I’m not ready to get into a conversation about this with her. Turning, I find her looking at me with compassion. “I don’t have an argument in me, Mom.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. I just want to make sure you’re okay. Your father . . . well, we both know he can be difficult at times.”
“At times?”
“You’re right. He’s always difficult with you, and I’m sorry about that.”
“You don’t need to apologize for him. That’s not on you.”
“It is on me.” She stops talking and a thoughtful expression fills her face, like she’s trying to figure out exactly what she wants to say. “Well, no, that’s not quite right. What I mean is it’s on both of us, the way your father is with you I mean.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She releases a breath. “Our marriage is complex, which you know.” I know she’s referring to the fact their marriage was one of convenience so they could join their families for political power. I also know she’s referring to the fact Dad cheated on her in between Callan’s and my birth. “After you were born, I had postnatal depression, which I know you’re aware of, but it isn’t something I’ve ever talked about with you boys.
“Your father and I were distant with each other while I worked through my devastation over his cheating. And I was distant to you boys. Especially to you, Ethan. And the depression didn’t help.” Her entire face is filled with regret. “I made sure you had all the physical things you needed but I didn’t give you love in the way you needed, and for that I am sorry.”
Fuck me.
This is the conversation I never imagined us having. Never imagined her opening up about.
“I’m still not following as to how this all fits into the way Dad treats me.”
“He changed after he cheated on me. You have to understand that up until that point, our marriage wasn’t based on love. We were two kids told to marry by our families. So, we did, and we tried to do what married people do. We had kids, we vacationed, we entertained, we tried to fall in love. But starting a marriage without a strong foundation of love and then having five children in seven years was a recipe for disaster.
“After your father cheated on me, we had to work through that. We had years of therapy and ended up falling in love. And I know that might not be something you can understand—that I was able to forgive him and fall in love with him, but it’s what happened. Unfortunately,” she continues with sadness, “you boys suffered throughout all of that turmoil, especially you. I was so lost after your birth and I just didn’t have the emotional capacity to bond with you like I did with your brothers. As a result, I know you struggled to find yourself and your place in our family. You were lost and your father was extra hard on you because he worried so much for you. And he’s still hard on you, but only because he worries, Ethan. He loves you more than you know.”
I stare at her, lost for words. Lost for so fucking much. This is the kind of conversation I’ve wanted with my mother for my entire life and it fucking kills me that she’s taken twenty-eight years to broach it with me.
“You’re right that I don’t understand how you can forgive him for what he did,” I finally say because, fuck, I don’t understand that and I’m not sure I ever will.
