Promise and Punishment, page 7
“I’ll think about it,” I said sternly, placing the pen back in her direction. Lina’s strained eyes softened, briefly shutting as if to refrain from either begging or demanding.
“I’d appreciate that. And please be mindful of the things I said today and the things Sergeant Fields told you.”
“Things you reminded me of,” I added, “Belmont Hills?”
Her face dropped again, but this time from her vibrating phone. It lit up on the coffee table, reading a name that made her wince: Miguel. She physically snapped her jaw shut, testing its durability with a steady grind of her teeth. Whoever it was, whatever they wanted, didn’t make her happy. “Busy, busy…” she sighed.
“Parker will be here soon. I’m sure he’s already in a cab,” I interjected, worried she would press me further to sign the document.
Lina silenced the call, allowing it to go to voicemail. “That’s my queue. Keep the NDA, and here’s my card,” she handed me her information as she stood from her chair.
“Thank you,” I palmed it in my hand, walking her to the door. “For the tea, as well. It was very thoughtful.”
“Thoughtful? That’d be doing the right thing, even when it feels wrong to do.” She winked, “Good luck at your meeting tonight.”
She walked away, not once looking back. She was wrong though; I knew there was another way for Alejandro and me. We didn’t need to conform to this life—of fame, of gossip. What we needed was to be ourselves, or more so, who I hoped we were. I knew tonight was part of that, and maybe that’s why I felt so nervous. Whatever answers Parker wanted, I hoped he’d get, because I was moving on, with or without his approval.
Chapter 6
Gemma
“He’s late.” Parker checked his watch, scowling, saying his first true words since sitting down by the fireplace. He took a slow sip of his scotch, not breaking his gaze from the front door where Alejandro would hopefully appear.
I tugged on my dress, its fabric taut above my knees, feeling slightly self-conscious, not unnerved by Parker’s focus, but provoked by its unanticipated directness. He watched me for a moment, holding the longest stare we shared in weeks.
“He’s not late,” I corrected. “We’re early and that’s fine. He’ll be here soon.” I hoped, anyways, considering Alejandro had a serious reputation for being late. The two hadn’t even met yet, and according to Parker’s associates, Alejandro’s tolerance for stress was minimum.
“I’d be surprised,” Parker graveled, sitting confidently still, his shoulders back in a charcoal-grey suit.
“Don’t act like you’re above him. It’s not a very good look,” I scolded, watching as Camilla stood over by the bar awaiting her drink while Parker and I finally sat alone.
“Are you really that impressed by him?”
“Is that why we’re here? A pissing contest? It’s not about being impressed. It’s about giving you what you want so you can leave me alone.”
“Haven’t I done that enough lately? What next? Just shut me out, like always?”
“I don’t shut you out, Parker. I’m entitled to my privacy.”
“Guess Alex is too... it seems like he knows you better than me these days.”
“I hate that you just said that.”
“Good, because I hate how it feels…” he mumbled, swirling the glass in his hand before taking another long sip.
I looked away, uncertain of what to do next. Parker was never an angry man, never with me at least; not even as children, like when I squirted mustard on his signed Derek Jeter jersey at a ball game. Anything I’d ever done to him personally never transpired into something as awkward as this. But then again, this wasn’t about him, this was about me.
“I don’t want to argue with you.” I settled.
“I’m not trying to be an ass... it just feels like after everything we’ve been through, you’ve picked a side… and if you think I enjoy doing this, then you’re wrong.”
“Well, you’re the one who wanted this. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s like you want to control what happens to me, but this isn’t you, Park.”
This seemed to strike a chord, the crease of his brow deepening amongst the thunder outside. It all felt so daunting.
“I’m not controlling you. You’re my best friend,” he uttered.
“Best friend? Sister? Think of me however you want, just don’t pretend that ever entitles you to anything.”
Parker looked down at his drink, his thumb tracing its rim as his cheeks hollowed in silence. Why did every word feel like a misstep, like every exchange was a loose stone to an already brittle bridge? The concept of us ever being angry with each other was so foreign, making these past weeks impossible to navigate, considering we’d only ever been comfortable with each other.
“If it makes you feel better, I didn’t ask Lina to be my lawyer,” I said as Parker looked up, mildly relieved. “Not that I owe you that courtesy, but it feels like the right thing to say. You know, if I ever needed help, I’d only come to you, not her.” I sighed, squinting towards the bar, “I’m trying to be considerate, and I wish you’d do the same… I just don’t understand why you’d bring Camilla with you tonight.”
“She’s more of a convenience than I’m willing to admit.” Parker’s momentary relaxation quickly faded as he suddenly huffed. “And thank you for telling me about Lina, but that doesn’t change how I feel. I won’t apologize for trying to do what’s right.”
“What’s right?” I laughed. “I admit I’d come to you if I ever needed help, and that’s what you have to say? I don’t even care about that anymore… what I really want, what I really need is my Parker back…” I folded my hands above my lap, un-soothed by the silk dress I originally reserved for something special, an impossible fantasy that Parker and I would ever go on a date someday. “I don’t even know if that’s possible anymore. I just want the real you, but maybe you don’t want the real me.”
“I know the real you, and this isn’t her.”
“I’m still the same person, Parker… the girl who hates oysters, who hums ‘Monster Mash’, who sleeps with the same stuffed giraffe you gave her forever ago. I’ve always been me. It’s you who’s different. You wanted to change, you wanted to try new things. So if this isn’t the real me, then who am I?” I argued. “You don’t care about me, or how this whole spectacle makes me feel.”
For a moment, Parker’s lip trembled, the fireplace by his side glistened in his eyes. They were wet, full, and undeniably hurt. Maybe it was true, maybe he didn’t want this, but then why were we here?
“It kills me that you think so little about what I really want,” he fought back a look that broke my heart.
“No,” I warned. “I love you, Parker… and if you love me too—whatever spectrum that may be on—then you’d respect me enough to let me go.”
“Love?” he asked, his voice rough, the kind of rough that could only occur when every exhausted word had already scathed your throat. “Was it love when you kicked me out of Claire’s? I trusted that you knew best, because I didn’t know what it was you were hiding. But I respected it. Love can be uncomfortable, Gemma. It’s doing what’s right, even when it hurts. And trust me, I’m always hurting.”
I composed the burn in my throat, our candid moment instantly ruined as Camilla appeared by our side. I looked away, but Parker refused.
“Do you really know Alex Rivers?” Camilla sighed; her martini glass held delicately between her red painted nails. She looked like the devil herself, her shiny, black hair falling along the thin straps of her red dress.
“That’s a silly thing to ask,” I answered, checking my phone one last time.
“Silly is imagining that Hollywood’s biggest star would even show up, especially for his stylist.”
“I’m his designer.”
“And he’s your boss,” she retorted. “Or is there more to this?”
“That’s enough.” Parker inhaled calmly, his low voice bristled with the burn of scotch. Either he was focused on the interaction to come or annoyed by Camilla’s question. Regardless, he silenced the both of us, leaving me no room to answer.
Besides, what would I say anyways? Alejandro and I had no labels, we had nothing but the beginning of an idea, the possibility of some partnership, but I knew that nothing good could ever come from keeping secrets. Lina’s nondisclosure sat folded inside my purse, and her approach from earlier was an alarm to the patterns I always had, the attempts I’d made to avoid tough topics.
“Good evening, Jones Party,” a waiter greeted, interrupting with a silver tray in hand. He bent over, resting a bottle of crystalline liquor on the table. “Compliments of Mr. Rivers,” he placed two accompanied glasses along its side: one for Parker, the other for Alejandro.
“Don Jefe?” Camilla laughed, reading the unfamiliar label of the newly set bottle. I examined the embossed Jalisco letters as Camilla reached into her clutch, pulling out a cigarette. “Shots for a ghost. How imaginative.”
“I said enough, Camilla,” Parker commanded, using her full name like a disappointed parent. Camilla’s response was stifled, disguised with the flick of her lighter, its sharp wheel giving me the most unbearable chills.
She took a long drag, holding it loosely between her fingers. Between the anticipation of Alejandro arriving and the pungent cigarette smell, I began to feel anxious. I stroked my neck, just as I always had, but covered it by trailing my thumb along a gold necklace I wore.
“There’s nothing here that needs your approval.” I pointed Camilla to the exit, “This isn’t some Great Pumpkin moment. You’re welcome to leave.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I just never assumed Alex to be so underwhelming. The drinks, the waiting, the exaggerated sense of self-importance. Parker was right, he should be here by now. Feels… I don’t know… not as courageous as I’d assume an action star to be.”
Camilla always had a sense of superiority, an ability to make me feel like the discounted version of herself. I never appreciated that from her, but the look of disappointment she gave when I didn’t react was pure ecstasy.
I assumed she wasn’t expecting me to smile, but I couldn’t help myself. It had been so long since I’d seen him, and now he was through the door and by her side; the man who crept his way from my fantasies and into my life.
I grinned.
“Maybe you should tell him yourself. It appears he’s on time.”
Chapter 7
Parker
I imagined this meeting going a thousand different ways in my head. Each time there was a different introduction, a different setting. But not ever—and I mean ever—did I picture the greeting I heard from Alex’s deep, provocative voice.
“Good evening, Gemma.” He inhaled her name, allowing it to enter his mouth with such delicate intention.
I hated it.
It made me fucking sick.
And as much as I despised how it burned a pit into my stomach, the discomfort he caused was nothing compared to how Gemma responded.
“Hi…” she stumbled out, breaking into an uncontrolled shyness that pinned my back to the bottom of my chair.
Hi? Just like that? Sweet and in awe? It was nothing like how we’d spoken to each other for weeks now, her enthusiasm as candid as Mila’s, whose wide eyes stilled on Alex as he lifted the cigarette from her fingers.
“Gemma doesn’t like the smell of smoke,” he growled, extinguishing her black Sobranie onto the linen tabletop.
Of course he knew that about Gemma, but then again, it wasn’t a secret. Regardless, he was better than me in this moment, bold enough to correct Mila in something I should have but was too distracted to do so. All I could focus on was how Gemma stared at Alex. Her chin dropped, her eyes stitched from his shoulders up. I wanted her to stare at me the same way I did her, with complete amazement, because she looked so beautiful, and I wish I could say that out loud, not just to her, but to everyone, to be that annoying husband that points and boasts, “See her? Isn’t she perfect? That’s my wife, the girl with flowers on her dress and in her heart.”
But all the lovely compliments I had for her began to compete with the anxiety of making a stern first impression with Alex, thinking and assessing all at once, determining his and Gemma’s dynamic like an ill-prepared computer. I hated to admit it, but I felt overwhelmed.
“Alejandro, this is my best friend, Parker Jones, and this… is his girlfriend, Camilla.” Gemma rose from her seat, making the uncomfortable introduction. God, hearing the word best friend killed me, each syllable like a thousand pounds on my chest, and despite having already described myself in the same way, I didn’t want Alex to hear it.
I fixed my face as he made his way towards me, his dark, unreadable eyes meeting my own. He was fucking tall, wearing a black suit with even blacker tattoos, his confidence placing my insecurities back to the feeling I had when I was in front of Claire’s awful green door.
“Mr. Jones.” He reached out, his calloused hand meeting mine, his overall appearance as carefully crafted as his Omega watch.
“Mr. Rivers.” I shook his hand, our unanimous strength fastened like the yank of a leather belt. “I’m happy you could join us. You’re very hard to get ahold of.”
“Still am.”
“And yet here we are, finally meeting. This must be important to you,” I said, giving him one final grip of our handshake before sitting back down.
“Perhaps. Mainly curiosity is what brought me here. That and appreciation…” He took a purposeful long look towards Gemma, scanning the entirety of her gorgeous, fitted dress. I stopped myself from snapping my finger, directing his attention like the pull of a leash.
I realized quickly that this wasn’t just a meeting, this was the life cycle of a trial: one with opening statements, evidence, and closing arguments. It all focused on the mental deliberation of one judge, and one judge alone: my Gemma. I could be domineering in court, but place me next to her, and I was always on the cusp of crumbling.
Every move counted.
“Did you say appreciation?” I adjusted my hands into a steeple. “I like that answer, it’s a little odd, but funny. Especially because of how awkward this could be.”
“Is it?” he asked.
“I’d imagine so, given our relationship, or, the lack thereof.”
“Don’t take it personally. My attention is typically more narrowed, but I wouldn’t miss this for the world, considering there’s a lot to be grateful for.”
“I’m sure that’s not because of me.” I laughed to myself.
“No. Not particularly, but it could be.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“That’s the perfect way to describe us.” Alex uncorked the tequila bottle by his side, commanding the attention of the room with the clank of crystal shot glasses. “I don’t need another friend, but outside of business, there’s no reason for us to dislike each other. Things can be both burdensome and rewarding… just like this,” he tilted the bottle. “Did you know it could take twenty years to make a single batch of tequila? Eight of those just for the agave to mature,” he asked Gemma, grinning only for her.
“That’s not too long, given it takes people their entire lives sometimes.” Gemma answered in my direction, her role in this immediately clear; she was acting as Alex’s defense.
“Agave can be mature, but maturity by itself doesn’t give you tequila.” I said, watching Mila’s studious gaze as she made meticulous, mental notes on everything we said. Being discreet was an absolute requirement.
“You’re not wrong. You have to harvest it, cook it, shred it, ferment and distill it, but most importantly, and what really separates it from the rest, is its age.” Alex seemed pleased, as if distinguishing us apart, inspecting the nauseating translucent liquid against the fireplace.
And did he really have to mention age? He had well over a decade on Gemma and me, and I supposed he thought it meant something. Maybe that’s why he seemed so confident, or perhaps maybe he was just a good actor. Gemma never showed an interest in older men before, and sure, she was old enough to date who she wanted, but the visual of Alex with her felt like complete robbery.
“Age is good. However, it’s gross when someone wants it before it’s ready. You know, younger than expected,” I jabbed, fighting to keep my eyes from moving towards Gemma.
“It’s old enough…” Alex added, “I’d know. I made it myself.”
Gemma reached for his knee, leaning in with the widest smile. “Wait, is this the project you’ve been working on?” she asked impressed, her enthusiasm deflated me.
She obviously knew of some backstory, and my mind immediately pictured her and Alex together, exchanging pieces of their past, tucked away in his penthouse—or worse—his bed. The unstoppable image caused my heel to bounce.
“I’m proud to say, yes. It took years to perfect. It was completely frustrating and painful to work with, but the best rewards often are. You’d think I hate it by now… but in fact, I appreciate the hell it put me through.”
“You must love me then.” I said sardonically as he unfortunately poured me a drink.
“You’ve cost me a lot of money, but that’s ok. I have more to spend than you know.” He pushed the drink in my direction, “Taste it, and tell me what you think.”
It was my first true move, akin to the beginning slide of a single chess piece; but I fucking hated tequila, ever since that New Year’s Eve party when I got completely sick with Gemma. My throat cramped up with the anticipation of its taste.
Gemma watched, knowing damn well I could barely say the word tequila, let alone drink it, but she didn’t even try to stop me, and in fact, said nothing, like she was secretly punishing me.
I lifted the shot to my mouth, pulling it to the back of my throat, attempting to ignore the fire building in my chest as Alex slowly swallowed his drink, actually enjoying it.
