Chapter 16

I kneeled by the door, stopping to make sure Earl didn't trip me as he wove between my legs trying to send me stumbling face-first into my own front door, and I scratched him behind the ears as he let out a pitiful yowl.

"Yeah, yeah, can it," I said. "Ruth will give you dinner tonight. No matter how much I adore you and your whiny self, you'll survive if someone else feeds you, okay?"

He yowled plaintively again, dropping onto his side.

"Mom's got a conference to headline," I said, standing up. "And I can't bring you, or they'd think I'm weird."

Apparently dissuaded from harassing me, he folded onto himself in cat origami and started licking his butt.

"Case in point." I turned to the door, hoisting up my shoulder bag. "See you tomorrow, little baby."

I opened the door, and suddenly Earl licking his butt and whining was hardly the worst thing in the world, because here was fucking Miguel, at my apartment again, giving me that look like I was the weird one.

"Fuck's sake," I muttered, pushing the door closed. The asshole actually stuck his foot in the door.

"London. Will you hold on? I'm concerned for you."

"Concerned, my ass." I opened the door and stepped out, shutting it carefully behind me to keep Earl inside. I knew what I had to do—he wouldn't change his behavior from getting yelled at, and all I could do was try to coax him towards some decent behavior by making him think it was his own idea—but fuck it, I didn't want to do the right thing right now. I kept finding myself aching wondering what Cameron was doing, and Miguel was hardly a sight for sore eyes. "I told you to forget where I live. And you're just concerned you can't steal my spot at the conference—"

"You think you're so fucking smart just because you're María's favorite, huh?"

" I'm María's favorite? Me? " I snorted. "That woman's been letting you do whatever you want for the past two years like you own the place—"

"Are you fucking stupid? You haven't noticed once you're the damn precious child, little sweetheart who can't do any wrong? And you don't think anything is wrong there?"

"I don't have to listen to your bullshit, Miguel. Tell me what you're so concerned about and get the fuck out."

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. "You know? Maybe I don't give a shit anymore. I try to help you, and all you do is spit at me, just because I closed a job you couldn't finish up with—"

"Oh, that's creative. How long did you spend workshopping a better way to say stole your credit for a job you— "

"Maybe you deserve what you get, bitch. Lose your job and land on the street, see if I care. Maybe you can fuck Cameron Mercier and stay at her place. I don't fucking care anymore. You know what? I'll see you in hell, you—"

He turned, stomping towards the stairs, and his keys flung out of his pocket with the harsh, drastic way he moved, and he tumbled, face-first, falling down the stairs. Not too bad a fall, just… incredibly undignified, landing on his side on the landing half a flight down.

He groaned. I inched closer, raising an eyebrow.

"You, uh… you okay there, Mr. Tough Guy?"

He cursed me out in Spanish, standing back up and brushing himself off, and then I swear to god, he shoved his hands in his pockets, marching towards the rest of the stairs, and his phone tumbled out, and he fell face-first down the next flight of stairs.

Some days the bad luck was a blessing.

I just wondered what the fucking Cameron Mercier part meant—if it was just him taking a shot at me because he'd blamed me as the representative for the lesbian community when our one-time coworker he'd been ready to die for had rejected him saying she was gay, or… Ruth wouldn't have tattled about her suspicions. Were people just gossiping about me in general around the office?

It didn't matter. I had to move forward. Queen Pearl was counting on me.

I hoisted my bag up on my shoulder, and I started down the stairs, a bit more carefully than Miguel had gone.

∞∞∞

Somehow I always got my hopes up when it came to conferences. As if I expected lavish spaces on the thirtieth floor in luxury hotels with beautiful women in silk dresses drinking champagne, when it was hardly my first conference, and I should have known full well it would have all the glamor of a school play without the fun props. And that instead of beautiful women in silk dresses drinking champagne, it was mostly middle-aged white men who assumed I was an assistant or an intern and called me sweetie.

I was a machine that ran on spite, so I'd never felt more confident climbing up onto the stage at the start of the conference, adjusting the neckline of my dress and holding my presentation materials loosely by my side as I waved to the crowd. The best part of the whole conference was catching the condescending white guys' faces when they saw pretty young miss assistant on the stage representing Queen Pearl for the headliner.

Still, I wasn't about to make myself look unrelatable and icy, so I fumbled with my papers at the lectern and dropped two, stooping to pick them up, and I dropped one of them again. A few laughs broke out, the tension easing, and nobody seemed to catch on that it was intentional, so I settled in and relaxed at the lectern, giving a big smile and starting off on the presentation.

It went well, and people nodded along, plenty of them leaning forward in their seats. María had built a good sense of back-and-forth tension into the script—plenty of unresolved lines pulling people in for more, making them actually care what I was saying. I pulled some laughs from the audience, some noises of approval, and even got a round of applause at the key quote towards the climax of the presentation. Resounding applause filled the room when I wrapped up, and María and I had agreed to screw convention—I didn't soften the ending with a squishy Q&A session. Instead, I gathered up my things, and I walked towards stage right under a halo of applause, feeling good enough about myself I didn't even panic at going down the steps in high stilettos like I always did.

A younger woman, probably Southeast Asian, wearing a smart blue suit, came up to me with eyes all but shining once I got off the stage, gushing praise for seeing a woman up on the stage, asking if she could message me for career advice. When I responded with a warm smile saying I'd be delighted, she pulled out her phone, and the back of the casing popped open, the battery bulging. She stared at it, blank, seemingly so caught off-guard that she didn't even know what to feel, and I just shrugged.

"They don't build phones to last anymore… I'll just write down my information."

"Th-thank you…"

Someone else caught me as well, asking a couple of follow-up questions, and his tablet died when he was finishing up. A self-important white man fresh out of college gave me some more-of-a-comment-than-a-question s and I smiled and nodded and felt some satisfaction when he got back to his chair and it cracked and buckled when he sat back down, the folding mechanism apparently bunk.

I sat front and center once we were seated for the rest of the presentations and talks, and—as much as I was glad to see just how much I had been the star of the conference, it didn't mean I enjoyed sitting through a dozen people with the personality of cardboard phoning it in on stage, especially since the lighting kept malfunctioning the second it was on someone other than me.

And when the speeches finally dragged themselves over the finish line, the conference took a much nicer turn. The organizer led the bulk of us up to the hotel rooftop, where the night sky was clear, crisp, and the city was beautiful spread out past the glass railings—and to make matters better, not only did they have champagne, but it even included the beautiful woman in a silk dress part, because I was leaning against the railing talking with the woman who'd approached me earlier when my stomach dropped at the sight of long black hair and glasses with blood-red rims. I almost dropped my champagne flute clear over the railing, turning to where Cameron—Amelie—leaned against a table, a champagne flute in her hand, giving me a playful smile.

I excused myself breathlessly from the conversation, drawn like a magnet by Cameron's gaze, and she smiled wider as I came closer, my heart pounding. I hadn't seen her since we toured the cheaper property together… almost a week ago now. It felt like an eternity.

"Miss Douglass," I said lightly, joining her to the side, past a row of plants that tucked us in for a bit of privacy by the railing. "Pleasant surprise to see you here."

She tucked a strand of black hair back, looking up at me just under the rims of her glasses. "Well, isn't that a cold welcome? I'm just Miss Douglass now, am I?"

"Ah… I'm in professional mode. You'll have to excuse me."

She let her gaze travel down my body, going quickly back up to meet me, and it gave me a lump in my throat. Agreeing to behave , to act appropriately… it seemed to be going about as well for her as it had been for me. Still, she didn't say the million things I could see were on her mind, settling to sip her champagne instead. "Your presentation was marvelous."

"You were watching?"

"I'd heard about a pretty little rising star…"

I ducked my head, suddenly shy, blushing. Something about showing Cameron myself at work… even though she'd literally been my job for a while now, it had me feeling nervous, almost like what had been between us was realer for it. "I was set up for success, that's all."

She made a face. "False modesty is such a passe look, London. You can be bigger than that."

I looked away, my heart pounding too much. I didn't know why. It wasn't my first time around Cameron. It wasn't my first time with her outside of the tours. Just… I couldn't place the sensation. Still, I flicked my hair back. "Well, I'm a goddamn star. How's that?"

"No sense for the middle ground, huh?" She laughed, sidling just a bit closer, leaning against the railing with me. "I like that, though. I like it quite a lot when you're all in."

I pursed my lips, keeping my eyes fixed on the distance. "Cam… Amelie. Didn't we agree on something?"

She sighed, short and sharp and frustrated, bending over the railing with her arms folded. "Yes. We did. I apologize. I shouldn't even be here."

But… I'd drawn her in? The thought that she couldn't resist coming here just to see me was pure adrenaline. I tempered my reaction and kept it to a quiet, "I'm glad you are."

I only got a glimpse of her expression from the side like this, but I could see the smile play on her lips. Still, she didn't say anything, and I contented myself with leaning on the railing next to her.

"Is… everything okay? With—you know who."

She shrugged. "He doesn't control me. All he can do is annoy me. Which he does exceptionally well."

"You're not worried about what he might do?"

"He's not a violent man, if that's what you're getting at. No matter what's happened to him, between us…" She swirled a fingertip in the air, searching for phrasing. "I don't love him anymore. And there's nothing left there that brings happiness. But when you let someone in that close, for that long, it's not something that ever goes away. I know that man. Sometimes it's gratifying, sometimes it's frustrating, but I can read him like a book."

I took a long breath, trying to fight down the sick feeling rising in my throat. There was zero reason for it. Nothing except… well. "And what does that book say?"

She made a face. "That he still loves me. That he fears me. But above all else… that he's not physically violent. Yelling and manipulating and making someone question their own perception of reality—no doubt. I'm not saying he's a good person. But he would never lay a hand on someone. Nor get someone else to do it for him, before you try to find a technicality."

I drank long and slow from my champagne, watching cars streak by below us. "But… that's not ruling out that he might try to do something else devastating."

"Devastating?" She glanced at me. "Like what?"

"He knows about us," I said, quietly, my voice thick. She furrowed her brow.

"So?"

" So? You're…" I gestured, dropping my voice lower. "Cameron's a public figure. A… married woman."

She scowled. "In name only."

"No—I know that." I shifted closer, whispering. "I'm saying, what if he starts talking about us? To other people? It would be terrible for both of us."

"Why… would he do that?"

"Why—" I shrugged. "Because he's petty? Because he hates that you're with me? Or…" I caught myself, my stomach sinking, and I looked back away, over the railing. "Hates that we… well, you know."

She winced at the slip of wishful thinking, following my gaze out to the distance, but she kept her expression hardened. "He's not going to do anything like that. He's not that kind of person."

"He certainly seemed like that kind of person to me."

She drank the champagne quietly, a heavy tension hanging between us, and I simmered in the frustration—wanting to grab back everything I'd said, and at the same time wanting to grab her hands and not let go until she understood what she was turning a blind eye to.

"I'm sorry he came after you," she said eventually, her voice firm. "I had a chat with him about that."

I glanced at her. "You did? He wasn't pissed off?"

"He's not as violent as you seem to think he is." She shrugged. "I told him he can be angry with me if he wants to, but to leave you alone."

My chest pulled in two directions. "Cam—"

She nudged me.

"Amelie," I said. "It's not about him coming after me or anything like that. It's just—"

"He has no motivation to sabotage us. He doesn't stand to gain anything from it."

"People like that don't need something to gain from—"

"What is people like that, London?"

I burned suddenly hot, an angry flush at being up against him —and then in blink of confusion, I simmered the feeling out, feeling myself come down, hands quivering.

I wasn't normally like that. Jealous and angry—it wasn't my look. That was his look. And I didn't want to be him.

I didn't know what this was doing to me. But it scared me.

"Sorry," I said, quietly. "I'm just wary and going off one interaction with him. I trust you… Amelie. So if that's what you say, then I believe you."

It was the right thing to say, and the wrong thing at the same time—her expression melted, and I saw a string of emotions play out on her face before she looked away, with that look she would get when she was about to kiss me.

"I… should probably be on my way," she said, quiet, breathless, stepping away from the railing. "But I'm glad I got to see you here."

"Amelie…" I turned to where she was turning back towards the door. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you—"

She held up a hand. "I think you know it's not that I'm offended, London."

My heart lurched, and I found myself tangled, lost for words, as she walked with her heels striking on the tile as she headed back towards the door, long black hair flowing behind her.

My thoughts churned the whole time mingling there, forcing myself to socialize after she was gone—my mind far away, replaying the conversation, imagining if I'd said this differently, if I'd said that differently. There was probably no way to ever know.

All I knew was that, at the end of the night, climbing into my car with a dozen new names and numbers in my phone that I couldn't even bring myself to remember right now, I was tired. I drove home without even putting the music on, just watching the city go by, and it went like a trance until I was stepping out of the elevator, coming back down the hall towards my apartment. The lights were on, and I could hear the kettle boiling—I'd expected Ruth to be in and out, leaving the key in the drop box like I'd said, but here we were. She had probably fallen asleep to Netflix.

I knocked on the door, and her tired voice came through. "It's unlocked."

I paused. She sounded awful. Her voice was strained, and I could recognize the tone in her voice she got when she stressed and paced the room all day.

She'd gotten the job. Dammit. Queen Pearl was going to be quiet without her.

I pushed open the door, slipping through and shutting the door behind me. Earl of Westlake woke up from where he was sprawled out on the couch, and he zipped between my legs yowling pitifully, as if Ruth hadn't fed him already. In the galley kitchen, Ruth leaned over the counter, folding her arms, giving me a look.

"I fucking well told you so," she said. I stooped, scratching Earl behind the ears, pushing down the numb, aching feeling I got.

"Ruth, it's your life," I said. "If you want that job, go take that job. I'm happy for you."

She studied me a while longer as I stood up, taking my shoes off. Finally, she said, "Shit, they didn't even tell you."

I hung up my bag, turning back to her. "Tell me what? Some good gossip I missed?"

She shook her head. "Christ, woman. Well, congrats on your curse working its magic. Queen Pearl is gone."