“Of course it is,” I say. “It’s always been personal. Otherwise, you would’ve made Serena Markson sign one of these.”
“I make everyone sign them.”
“Well, a lot of good that did, huh? Are you going to take her to arbitration for sending the tabloids to my father's front door?”
He stares at me.
I can feel his gaze.
I’m tired of people staring.
“Why are you so sure it’s Serena?” he asks. “Could it be because you’re trained to blame the other woman?”
“There is no other woman,” I say, the way he worded that ruffling my feathers, so to speak. He’s trying to get under my skin, and ugh, it’s working. “He told me they’re just friends.”
“And what are you and him?”
I open my mouth to answer, but I haven’t the faintest idea what to say. He’s the father of my daughter. He’s the man who sleeps beside me, who makes love to me, who swears he still loves me, but I’m not sure what all that adds up to.
“Johnny’s talented,” Cliff says, my silence enticing him to continue his little lecture. “But this business is ruthless, and it takes more than talent to get ahead. I work hard to keep him on top. He’s not going to fade into obscurity on my watch. So again, this is nothing personal. I’m doing what’s necessary to ensure he never again becomes a ‘nobody’.”
There’s so much I want to say right now. He pulls out a pen, holding it out to me, but I ignore it. Instead, I crumple up the paper and shove the chair back to stand, saying, “The thing is, Mr. Caldwell, Jonathan has never been a nobody. I stand by what I told you years ago. He’s too damn good for you.”
I leave the office, making it a few steps into the store before I hear loud voices. Glancing at the registers, I see Bethany.
Standing beside her is Serena Markson.
“Awesome,” I mutter.
Just what I need.
The pair take selfies like they’re long-lost friends, and Bethany gushes over her as she signs autographs. Clifford steps out of the office behind me, clearing his throat, getting Serena’s attention.
“Cliff, where have you been?” Serena asks, approaching the customer service desk.
“Taking care of a problem,” he says. “We can go now.”
I try to slip past them, try to go around them, wanting nothing more than to exit stage left before this gets ugly, but Serena notices my presence.
“Kennedy,” she says, reading my nametag. “The Kennedy? You look different.”
“Different,” I say, wondering what she means by that, because it’s not sounding like a compliment.
“From the other night,” she says. “With Johnny, you were all dolled up, wearing a dress? I almost didn’t realize it was you. You always look so different in your little work uniform.”
Yeah, definitely not a compliment.
Even in a grocery store, she looks like she’s prepared for a photo shoot, not a hair on her head out of place.
“Yeah, well, you know how it is,” I mumble. “Real world and all that.”
Her eyes narrow.
“A pleasure as always, Miss Garfield,” Clifford says before pressing his hand to Serena’s back and giving her a nudge. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon.”
“I look forward to it.”
Man, I’m going to have to help a lot of old ladies cross the street to earn back some good karma for that big, fat lie.
Serena casts a look over her shoulder at me as the two of them leave the store. The second they’re outside, she throws her hands up and starts ranting. I watch through the glass doors as Clifford forces her into an awaiting car before she can make a scene.
Sighing, I approach Bethany, who’s so excited she’s bouncing. As soon as I’m within arm’s reach, she hugs me. “Oh my god! You’re the best!”
“I take it you guys had a nice talk?”
“The best!” She gives my phone back. “Because of you, I got to talk to both of my idols!”
“Oh, well, I'm not sure the Serena thing was my doing.”
“But when she showed up the other day, she was asking about you, so I'm totally giving you credit.”
“The other day?” It strikes me when I ask—the night she showed up at my apartment. “Wait, she was asking about me?”
“Yeah, she asked if anybody knew a lady named Kennedy. It's kind of funny, because she didn't even know you worked here! She just knew you were from Bennett Landing, and the store was really the only thing open. She wanted to know where she might find you, so I sent her to the apartments.” Bethany's eyes widen. “Wait, should I not have done that? I didn't know… I wasn't sure… I was just so excited, and she didn't even mention Johnny, so I didn't realize… oh my god, are you having any affair with her husband?”
I shake my head, my fist tightening around the crumbled up confidentiality agreement. I don't even know what to say to any of that, so I just walk away.
Before I can slip the phone in my pocket, it vibrates with a message.
I glance at the screen.
It’s from Jonathan.
That girl is crazy. She asked me to describe my cock.
I laugh at that, despite everything else going on. What did you tell her?
Seriously? What do you THINK I told her?
I start to type ‘that she’s lost her mind’ when another text comes through.
I told her it was the most beautiful nine inches in the fucking world, baby. ;)
“Daddy! Daddy! Guess what!”
Maddie runs right for him the second we’re safely inside the apartment, too excited to even notice the police officer lurking outside, a patrol car parked cockeyed not far from my front door to keep everyone at a distance.
Jonathan’s in the kitchen cooking again—or well, he's trying to. I smell something burning. I don’t think he’s any better at it than I am. He shuts a burner on the stove off, shoving the pan aside before looking at us. “What?”
“Today, at school, Mrs. Appleton said that we’re gonna do a play!”
He raises an eyebrow. “A play?”
She nods excitedly. “It’s about the weather outside and water and stuff! We got to pick parts, but we did it with a hat, ‘cuz everyone wanted to be the sun, but not me! I get to be a snowflake!”
“Wow, that’s awesome,” he says, grinning at her. “I think I’d want to be a snowflake, too.”
“It’s not ‘till the end of school,” she says. “Will you come watch?”
“Of course,” he says. “I’ll be there.”
She runs off, saying something about needing to practice, even though ‘end of school’ is still over a month away. I lean against the kitchen counter beside the stove, my eyes settling on the food. “Hot dogs.”
“Yeah, I fucked them all up,” he says with a laugh. “I walked away for one second and all hell broke loose in the pan.”
“We like our hot dogs like that around here,” I say. “The more burnt, the better.”
“Good,” he says. “Because they’re so burnt they’re pretty much black.”
He starts looking through the cabinets, pulling out a box of Mac & Cheese to make to go with them. Other than the stove, the apartment is scrubbed spotless. I can tell he’s been cleaning, even though it wasn’t messy to begin with. The domesticity, although appreciated, stirs up an unsettling feeling.
He’s growing restless.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”