Calendar Girl: October: Book 10 Page 5

  I narrowed my eyes and placed my hands on my knees. “What do you mean? I haven’t been given the script.”

  His head jolted back and his eyes widened. “You mean your agent didn’t tell you?”

  My eyebrows rose on instinct. “Uh, tell me what?”

  He chuckled and slapped his knee. “Darling, you’re supposed to write the entire segment for Living Beautiful. It’s all you. What you see as beauty. Based on your modeling with the Beauty in all Sizes and the Love on Canvas, as well as the video you did, our research showed a segment driven by you and what you feel is relevant as it pertains to beauty would resonate with our audience.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  He shook his head. “ ’Fraid not darling. Sounds like you need to have a chat with your agent and get to work. I want the cliff notes of your fifteen-minute segment to me by Wednesday. That way we can meet, discuss it, and when we tape it live on Friday, I’ll be able to play off what your focus is with the studio audience.”

  I had to come up with a fifteen-minute segment relating to Living Beautiful out of thin air. What the fuck did Millie sign me up for? I thought I was going to be acting, playing a part. No, I was the part. This was real life. A shimmer of excitement and dread rippled through me. Could I do this? Was it possible that I could come up with something millions of people would find interesting enough to want to watch it every week on the Dr. Hoffman show? I guess I’d find out. Maybe Wes could help? This could be the thing that helped him find his passion again.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to get started, bounce ideas off my man, and come up with something that would wow the producers and Dr. Hoffman himself.

  “So what do I do now?” I asked the cocky, sexy doctor.

  “You get to work. See you on Wednesday for our pre-production meet. Don’t let me down. I personally asked for you. I’m expecting a wow moment for my viewers.”

  I stood and clomped to the door. Turning, I flung my hair over my shoulder. “I’m going to blow this out of the water. You’re never going to want me to leave.”

  He smirked. “Prove it, darling.”

  Without a look back, I exited his office. Dr. Hoffman had a bit of an ego, and he definitely looked at me as though I were a piece of meat, but not so much that I thought he’d move on those feelings. Maybe he was a good guy wrapped in a pompous, sexy-as-fuck package. My douchecanoe receptors weren’t firing, and after the experience with Aaron, I was always on high alert.

  * * *

  During the ride back home, I pulled out my phone and called Millie.

  “Exquisite Escorts, Stephanie speaking.”

  “Hi, Stephanie, it’s Mia. Can you patch me through to my auntie?”

  “Oh, hey, girl! So good to hear from you. Ms. Milan says you’ve left the escort business. Everything okay?”

  It was impossible not to laugh. I certainly had left the business all right. I’d never wanted to be in the business in the first place, but now that my debt was paid, I was able to move on to greener pastures. Since Max had paid off Blaine, Millie got me out of November’s and December’s contracts. For now, I would do four segments for Dr. Hoffman’s show, and if they renewed my contract, maybe more. I guess that all depended on whether or not I liked the job and if they liked what I brought to the table.

  “I’m totally fine. I was only doing the jobs to pay off some debt that my family incurred. Now that everything’s settled, I’ve moved on and gone back home to Malibu. Anyway, is my aunt available?” I brought it back to the reason for my call.

  “Oh, sure thing. Take care, Mia! Don’t be a stranger,” she said and switched the line. It rang a few times.

  “Hello, dollface. How is the land of silicone, plastic surgery, and starlets treating you?”

  “ ’Bout as well as you’d expect. Was there something, dear auntie, that you forgot to mention to me about the Living Beautiful segment?” I asked, my tone implying that there was indeed.

  Clacking on the keys could be heard through the line. “I don’t know. Their people sent over the contract, I reviewed it, the legal team reviewed it, and everything was perfectly in order. Don’t beat around the bush. What’s the problem?” Her tone was all business, and I welcomed it. That meant she took her role as my agent very seriously.

  “Millie, you never mentioned that I had to write the segment on my own.”

  She hummed and continued working through our chat. I could imagine her reading her emails, plucking at the keys, setting up lonely men with too hot to handle women. “I’m not seeing the problem. Don’t be obtuse, darling. Get to the point.”

  I sighed. “Millie, I have to write the segment. From scratch, every week.”

  “And how is this an issue? You’re smart, beautiful, and creative. This should be a piece of cake for you.”

  Groaning, I twiddled a piece of my hair and stared out at the other cars passing by on the busy downtown freeway. The lanes were six wide each way and it was still bumper-to-bumper.

  I licked my lips. “It would have been nice to know what to expect.”

  “Sweetie, I sent over a copy of the contract. It detailed out what your role was. You signed it. I’m sorry you didn’t read it. And for future reference, I will say never, and I repeat, never sign a contract that you haven’t read thoroughly.”

  That comment grated against my already frail nerves. “You’re my agent. You should have given me a heads up.”

  “You’re blaming me because you weren’t prepared? Dollface. I’m sorry. However, I’ll only take responsibility for not prepping you completely when I knew that you were in an emotional state. Although, I wouldn’t have agreed to the contract if I didn’t believe this was the right move for you. As good an actress as you are, you’re not the best. Let’s face it. You don’t play too well with others. In this type of environment, you get to make the decisions. Well, you have to run them past the execs—mostly Dr. Hoffman—according to the outline of duties, and then you’re set.”

  She paused for a while as if letting that sink in before she continued. “You’re making twenty-five thousand a segment, sweetheart. That’s more money than you make for ten commercials selling tampons or pregnancy tests. This is a good move for you career-wise. Take the bull by the horns and make something of it. Now’s your chance.”

  Millie was right. It was my chance. It was my time to prove that I could do something other than modeling, pretending to be someone I’m not, or just being someone’s more. Not that I minded that. Being Wes’s more was everything, but it was personal, private, between us. This job, this opportunity was for me and me alone. It was time for Mia Saunders to kick ass and take names. You only get one shot at something this grand, and there was no way I was about to let the opportunity pass me by.

  “You know, Auntie, you’re right.”

  She laughed. “Of course I am. Honey, I’m always right. Get to work. It’s Friday, so you’ve only got five days to come up with your segment concept. I look forward to watching it on TV. I’ll be DVRing it weekly.”

  It felt good hearing that my aunt, the only maternal figure I had left in my family, cared enough about me and my future to push me into succeeding. My Aunt Millie Colgrove might be a shrewd businesswoman who operated on just this side of legal in her dealings, but she still had a heart, and it beat for me.

  “Thanks for believing in me.” The whispered words came across garbled. I was having trouble getting them out.

  She hummed. “Oh, dollface. I’m beyond proud of you. Chin up. It will all work out as it’s supposed to.”

  I had to believe she was right.

  Everything would work out as it was supposed to. The phrase rolled around in my mind as the driver pulled up to our home and let me out. I entered the house, ready to tell Wes everything that happened and eager to get his opinions on the Living Beautiful segment when the scene in front of me shattered me into a million pieces.

  Wes. My Wes. His arms wrapped around a brunette. This one I knew all too well. She
was clutching him around the back digging her fingers into his shoulders. Her face to me, eyes closed tight, Wes facing out the other way. As I stood there, silenced by the thudding of my heart, the warble of sound rushing in and out of my ears, she lifted her head. Tears poured down her cheeks in a river.

  There she was. The woman I never wanted to see again. Gina DeLuca sat on my couch, in my new home, in my man’s arms. Fuck me.

  Chapter Five

  Not knowing what else to do, I cleared my throat…loudly. Enough so that the couple embracing on the couch turned. Wes saw my face, stood up as if he’d been scalded. Then he grabbed Gina’s hands and lifted her to her feet.

  “Uh, Mia, um…I didn’t expect you home already,” he said, pushing a hand through his unruly hair, not at all helping the predicament I found him in.

  Wrong answer, buddy. “I can see that. Should I leave you two alone?” I grated through clenched teeth.

  Wes’s eyes widened, and he looked at Gina and then at me. “Oh, God, no!” He lifted his hands up. “Sweetheart, this is not what it looks like.”

  I pursed my lips and tipped my head. “No? Because it looks a lot like the man I love comforting his ex while I was away at work.”

  Wes shook his head and stepped away from Gina. “Baby, no way. Nuh-uh. Do not read into this.” He came over to my side, reaching his arms out. I stepped back before he got a hold of me. His arms dropped to his sides.

  I shook my head. “You tell me what it is before I lose my shit,” I warned, crossing my arms over my chest. I wanted to tap my foot, forcing him to hurry it along before steam blew out both ears and I exploded.

  “Mia, Wes and I weren’t doing anything, I promise you,” said a broken voice from behind Wes. Gina leaned on the couch, and that’s when I truly noticed her. One of her legs was in a full cast, a pair of crutches lying close by near the couch. Once she stood, I noticed her body lacked the vivaciousness it once had. Now, she was gaunt and deathly thin. Taking in everything that was Gina DeLuca from the top of her now flat brown hair, the locks no longer showing the luster and sheen that rivaled any Pantene commercial, to her toes. This was not the same woman I’d met back in January. If anything, this was the empty shell of what was once an incredible beauty.

  I blinked a few times not knowing how to respond when Wes sneaked up and curled an arm around my shoulders. “Mia, Gina was just visiting. It’s part of her um…” His voice trailed off.

  “My therapy,” she finished. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell her, Weston.” Her eyes were sad, lifeless, almost hollow.

  For some reason, I enjoyed that she called him by his full name versus the nick name I used. That helped put distance between the two that I needed a whole lot in that moment.

  “Wasn’t my story to tell,” Wes shared solemnly.

  Gina pushed her hair back, wiped at her eyes, and then looked at me. “My therapist says I need to see the survivors. Connect with the people who went through what I went through so that I could remember I’m alive. Attempt to move on with my life. That’s why I was here, Mia.” Her voice shook. “Wes was just comforting me. We went through a lot over there, and…um… that makes me feel safe near him,” she admitted, more tears falling down her cheeks. “I never feel safe anymore. No amount of security or locks on the doors.” She rubbed her hands over her biceps. “I’m scared all the time.” Her voice shook in a way that made me want to reach out and hold her.

  Hearing her admit her fears and express what she was experiencing cut right through the fleshy parts of me straight to the bone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. You guys have been through a lot together. Finish your chat. I’m not mad. Please…” I gestured for Wes to sit back down by the frail woman. “Take your time. The green-eyed monster popped out for a second, but I trust Wes, and I believe in our love. He’d never be unfaithful.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Wes said, his eyes shimmering with something I couldn’t define. All I knew was that it was real. I leaned forward, kissed his lips briefly, letting him know physically that things were truly okay between us.

  “I’m going to take a shower and catch up with Maddy and Ginelle.”

  “Okay. I’ll be done here before dinner,” he promised.

  As I walked away, I stopped and tapped my thigh with my finger before turning around. “Gina, I’m glad you survived. Wes cares for you, and I know the two of you went through a lot, so feel free to come here as often as you like. I want you both to be well. Nobody should be afraid all the time.” I shuffled my feet and shrugged. “So I guess what I’m saying is that I hope to see you again soon.”

  It took everything I had, all the grown-up parts that I needed to pull from, to say what I did, especially because, before all this went down half a world away, I most certainly never wanted to see Gina with Wes again or anywhere near our life together. Now, though, I had to be the bigger person. Together, they had gone through something traumatic, life-altering, and if I had any hope of helping him, maybe helping her would lead us there. It was worth grinning and bearing it to take even one small step toward Wes fighting those demons deep inside him. I could push down the green-eyed monster and smack her into submission for Wes’s health and his sanity.

  “Thank you, Mia. You’re a kind soul.” Gina’s voice was small and broken when she responded.

  I smiled and nodded, not knowing what else to do.

  “Sweetheart?” Wes said.

  “Yeah, baby?” I rested my hand on the doorframe to the hallway that led to our bedroom.

  “I love you more and more every day.”

  He said the words, but I didn’t just hear them. I felt them arrow into my heart and burrow there, safe and sound, where they’d stay for eternity.

  * * *

  Lying back on our California King bed, I dialed Ginelle.

  “Hey, skank?” she answered but it lacked the normal life and teasing nature it usually carried.

  My best friend had been put through the ringer last month. Being kidnapped and roughed up by Blaine and his goons had hardened her in ways I couldn’t begin to understand, mostly because she kept it hidden behind bravado and humor.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, hoping to have a normal conversation. I wanted the easygoing, barb-throwing, banter-loving girl to engage once more. The one who had no bones about calling me hateful names I knew were given out of love. It was a weird way to show affection, but it worked for us, and I wanted it back.

  Gin sighed, inhaled, and then blew it out. Oh, no. No, no, no. I knew that sound, spent years hearing it over the phone.

  “Are you smoking?” I yelled into the phone and sat up on the bed. “I can’t believe you! What the hell, Gin? You go almost eight months without so much as a puff, and now you’re back to it? Seriously?” My heart hurt for her, knowing that she was ruining eight months of effort in the blink of an eye.

  “Relax, bitch!” she shot back. “It’s a fake ciggy. The e-cig. This one has nothing but mint crap with vapors in it to simulate the menthol cigarettes I loved smoking.”

  I blew out my own frustrated breath. “But why are you even smoking it? Isn’t that like the act of smoking, a habit you’re trying to break? Doesn’t that the defeat the purpose?”

  “Look, Mia, I’ve been through a fuck of a lot, okay? I wanted a goddamned cigarette. Instead, I bought this fake shit to help take the edge off. You’re not here. You don’t know what it’s like to be dealing with all this shit alone.”

  That’s when the tone of the call took on a different slant. Anger and emotion bled through the phone as Ginelle continued.

  “I hate my job. I hate my apartment. I fucking hate being in Vegas. Everything reminds me of him. I turn around and wonder if he’ll be there.” A sob tore from her chest, a sound I rarely heard come from my stoic, hard-as-nails friend. “Just the simple act of walking to my car, I’m worried I’m going to get taken again. I had to ask my manager, the scumbag of all scumbags, to walk me out, because I was convinced that fucker was goin
g to be there. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” Her question was a shrill rhetorical statement.

  No, no, I didn’t. And if I could, I’d trade places with her in a hot minute. The only positive was that she was letting it out, at least. Guilt, rage, and sadness ripped through me, tearing every emotion I had into little pieces. I wanted to hold her, tell her it would all be okay, but I had the same fears she did. Her being there in Vegas alone was not conducive to either of us fixing our problem. The good news was, I’d already talked to Wes about my concerns. He couldn’t believe what all had gone down during our time apart. That was when I did what I swore I’d never do. I asked my boyfriend for a favor. A career-type favor. Something I swore I’d never do with any of my clients. I’d already done it with Warren, but that was different. He owed me…huge. And he paid up. His debt to me had been cleaned when he scored the information no one else could get on Wes’s whereabouts.

  Maneuvering my thoughts back to the present, I had asked Wes if he knew of any shows in LA that could use a dainty dancer or someone with Ginelle’s unique talents in the dance world. He’d made some calls and pulled a couple strings. In two weeks, if Gin wanted, she could actually take her career to another level.

  “Hey, babe, calm down. Listen to me.”

  Some fumbling noises, a few blows into what I assumed was a tissue, and then a deep sigh. “Okay, I’m sitting in bed now. Lay it on me.”

  “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

  She chuckled, and the noise was the most beautiful opera complete with succulent Italian spoken directly in my ears. “You gonna hook me up with Aunt Millie?” She half laughed, half snorted. It was an ongoing joke.

  As much as Gin said she wanted to be an escort, she really wasn’t the type of woman who could stand quietly on the arm of a rich businessman and just look pretty. I’d been lucky with the type of people I’d been paired with, but the circumstances were unique. Those opportunities would not be available for another girl. Millie had already made that clear. It would be the standard go out with an old fogie or rich bastard who expected a little slap and tickle at the end of the night. Even though Gin talked a lot of shit, she wasn’t cut out for that life, regardless of the high pay.