“You made me late.” Her voice was small, but wild. “I said no one can be late.”
“I know,” I replied. “I’m so sorry.”
To Bridget, my apology was baseless and empty. She turned around and stomped her little boots on the pavement as she stormed off. “I’m not talking to you ever again for nine weeks!”
She was too much like me to be able to follow through with dishing out the silent treatment, but enough like Adam to find a way around it. She continued her rant in French. Most of it escaped me, but a few familiar words jumped out. I grabbed her hand, pulling her to a stop.
“You listen to me, Bridget Décarie,” I growled. “You can be as disappointed as you like, but if you call me a marshmallow head one more time there’s going to be serious trouble.”
Her pout could’ve cut glass, but she didn’t speak again. It was a relief for the first few minutes, but showing will I didn’t know she possessed, Bridget didn’t utter another word to me for the rest of the afternoon.
58. EVERYTHING IS FIXABLE
Adam
My brother likes to think of himself as the ultimate alpha male, but he’s not. Our father is. Dad commands attention and respect from everyone he deals with, and because he’s charming and articulate, he gets it.
We spent seven hours glued to chairs in the boardroom as we tried our hardest to reel in a deal that was going south for no other reason than a clash of egos. For once, the ego wasn’t Dad’s. The deal had been mine from the beginning, and surprisingly, he took a back seat and let me handle it. After hours of renegotiation and a few alterations to the original contracts, a new deal was struck. The merger would go ahead as planned, and for now, both parties were happy.
It should’ve been the end of my working day, but my negotiation skills were in demand. Unable to check them earlier, I spent the cab ride home catching up on the million text messages Charli had sent me that afternoon. I hadn’t really anticipated the concert going off without a hitch, but I wasn’t expecting Olivia to sink as low as refusing to let Bridget participate.
It was her most vicious move to date. It destroyed Bridget, and judging by the play-by-play text updates her mama gave me, all blame was lumped squarely on Charli’s shoulders.
I arrived home to World War Three. It wasn’t playing out with weapons and screaming. Our apartment was deathly quiet, which was worse. Charli was in the kitchen, looking miserable and fed up. Bridget was nowhere to be seen.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“In her room,” she muttered. “She won’t come out and she won’t talk to me.” She slid a plate of cheese and crackers across the counter. “Can you please take this in to her? She’s not eaten all day.”
I picked up the plate. “I’ll talk her round,” I said gently. “I’ll make her understand.”
She shrugged. “I don’t think it’s fixable this time.”
“Bridget’s four, Charlotte,” I reminded her. “Everything is fixable.”
***
When we returned to New York and moved back into Gabrielle’s apartment, we allocated the bigger bedroom to Bridget. The kid had more possessions than Charli and I put together, and putting it all into one room was the only hope we had of containing the clutter.
I inched open the door and took a good look around, searching for my wayward daughter. If I hadn’t spotted two little feet poking out from under the bed, I might never have found her.
“Hello,” I called. “Is anybody in here?”
“Nobody is in here,” came a muffled reply.
I closed the door, shifted a piled of girls and sat on the floor beside her bed. “That’s too bad,” I lamented. “I brought snacks. I guess I’ll have to eat them by myself.”
It wasn’t enough to coax her out, but when I set the plate down a little hand made a grab for a cracker.
“I’m very sorry that things didn’t work out for you today, Bridge.”
“We were late,” she said simply.
It was important that I choose my words carefully. The point I wanted to get across was that Olivia was responsible for every ounce of disappointment she’d endured that day, not her mother.
“Baby, it wouldn’t have mattered either way,” I told her. “Olivia wasn’t planning to let you dance today anyway.”
Bridget was quiet for a long moment, and I worried that I’d been too truthful. Exposing her to a little more of the world wasn’t supposed to include the introduction of hateful, twisted people.
“Why not?” she asked finally.
I censored my reply as best I could, giving her only the basics. Not everyone is nice. It was that simple – but a crushing piece of enlightenment to serve a small child nonetheless.
“Madame Kara is not a nice lady.”
“Does she hate me?” She sounded worried by the prospect.
I shifted the plate of crackers aside and lay on the floor, needing to see her eyes. “She doesn’t hate you,” I assured her. “Olivia just doesn’t realise how special you are.”
“Malibu hates me,” she retorted.
The conversation was now getting complicated. Malibu’s problem with Bridget was that she did realise how special she was. I reached under the bed, sweeping her hair off her forehead. “No one hates you.”
“Squirrels hate me.”
“And what do you do about that, Bridge?”
“Oh, I stay away from them.” Her face contorted into a grimace. “I say ‘you’re mean dudes, get out of here’.”
I tried not to laugh, but failed. “Do you wish you were friends with the squirrels?”
“No,” she drawled, as if it was a stupid question. “I hate them too. They’re bad.”
My daughter was born into wealth and privilege. There was nothing I couldn’t buy for her and no place I couldn’t take her, but all the money in the world counted for nothing when it came to protecting her from disappointment and hurt inflicted by others – even squirrels. All I could do was shelter her from it. I stared at the ceiling as I asked my next question. “So it’s a good idea to stay away if you’re not friends, right?”
“Yes it is.”
I looked across at her again, silently willing her to understand the reasoning behind what I was about to tell her. “You’re not going back to ballet any more.”
“I know.”
“Are you mad?”
“No.” She sounded strong but looked devastated.
“I don’t want you to be mad at your mom,” I whispered. “She tried very hard for you today.”
“Okay,” she whispered back.
“And it’d be really nice if you apologised to her.”
“I will,” she assured me. “I will say ‘sorry for being a mean dude’.”
“That’s all she needs to hear from you.” I reached out and held her hand. “In English, Bridget, or it doesn’t count.”
59. SUNSHINE AND TEQUILA
Charli
Adam and I lay awake talking for hours that night. He was worried about me, and made me promise a hundred times to stay away from Olivia for good.
“Just let it go now,” he urged. “She got what she wanted.”
It wasn’t until the moment she stomped on Bridget’s concert plans that I wised up to what it was she did actually want from me. For some reason, Olivia’s main objective had been to hurt me, and she’d cruelly carried it out via my daughter.
For Adam, it was reason enough to stay away, but I wasn’t satisfied. I lied when I told him I’d let it go, and when I told him I had a meeting with a buyer the next morning, I was lying then too.
The only meeting I had planned for the day was at the Minuet Dance Studio. It was the day of Olivia’s bogus charity luncheon, and judging by the glimpse I got of the inside of the dance hall as I passed the doorway, her plans were coming together nicely. Round tables and upholstered chairs had been brought in. There were masses of floral arrangements and rows of gift bags were lined up on a table in the reception area.
Oli
via probably thought the details were classy and unique, but I’d attended enough functions to know that it was as stock standard and showy as any charity event – even the legitimate ones.
My lovely mother was nowhere to be seen, but Erin flew out from behind the reception desk as if I’d barged in waving a gun. “What are you doing here?” she hissed. “I don’t think you’re meant to be here.”
I was certain of it.
“Where’s Olivia?” My quiet tone matched hers, but void of panic. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t worried about a thing.
“She’s in there.” She pointed to the doorway of the dance hall. “Please, you have to go.”
I peeked inside. Olivia was fussing with the table settings, probably mentally reckoning up her profit for the day ahead.
I grabbed Erin by the elbow and led her to the reception desk. “I have something for you.” I reached into my bag, pulled out a cheque and handed it to her. “This will more than cover the money she owes you.”
Her brown eyes bulged as she read the cheque. “You don’t have to do this.” She tried handing it back to me. “It’s not right that I take it.”
I pushed it back toward her. “It’s conditional, Erin,” I explained. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Like what?”
“I want you to go in there right now and quit,” I replied. “You don’t have to say anything more. Just quit and leave.”
“That’s it?” she asked.
I reached into my bag again, this time pulling out a business card. “Call this lady. Her name is Ella Daniels. I mentioned that you’re looking for a job, and she said she could use someone at her studio on a part-time basis.”
Erin took the card and studied it. “Why would you do this for me?”
“Because you’re a good kid,” I replied. “So will you do it?”
She didn’t answer, just walked into the hall and in a voice laced with both nerves and relief, announced that she was quitting.
I couldn’t see Olivia from where I stood, but I had no problem hearing her. “You’re needed here today,” she barked. “I thought you wanted your money.”
“No,” replied Erin. “Keep it.”
Poor Erin sounded nervous, which made me wonder what she thought Olivia could do to her. She wasted no time in finding out, hightailing it out of the room.
“Get back here!” screeched Olivia. “I’ll get you your money!”
Erin didn’t even hear. The front door swung shut and she was gone.
It was my turn to make a move. After a few steadying breaths, I stepped into the doorway. “I don’t think she’s coming back.”
My mother’s shoulders slumped as she breathed my name. “What are you doing here?”
I took a few steps into the room. “I thought you might need some help getting things ready.”
Her look of suspicion was perfectly understandable. What I didn’t understand was why it was so brief. “I’d appreciate a hand,” she said politely. “And I want to apologise for yesterday. Recitals are very stressful events.”
I swallowed hard, tried to suppress the urge to vomit. After all she’d put me through, she was still trying to play me. Olivia Kara thought I was an imbecile, or worse, some poor whipped puppy that she could beat and still expect loyalty from.
“What would you like me to do?” It took all I had to keep my tone polite, but I did it.
“We’ll start with the cutlery.” She pointed to a box on the table in front of me. “I’m sure you know how to set a lovely table.”
I reached into the box and picked up a bunch of forks. “Yes, of course,” I replied dryly. “The Décaries taught me lots of good manners.”
“It’s nice to see that things worked out for you, Charli,” she said in her usual condescending tone.
I stopped what I was doing to glower at her.
“That rundown old hovel you lived in with your father was an abomination,” she continued. “I felt sorry for both of you.”
The bunch of forks in my hand crashed onto the table. She’d just added a new dimension to the drama, and I didn’t doubt for a second that it was intentional.
“You’ve been to my house?”
“If you could call that shack a house.” She laughed derisively. “It wasn’t fit for farm animals.”
My brain went into overdrive, trying to piece a timeline together in my mind. Alex’s house was ramshackle when he first bought it. It took him years to repair it and make it the lovely little house it was today.
By my reckoning, I would’ve been three or four years old while it was in its worst shape. That meant Olivia hadn’t walked away from me once, she’d done it twice. It also meant that Alex lied when he told me she’d never had anything to do with me.
Olivia remained ice cold, setting cutlery as if we were having a casual chat about the weather. “You’re surprised,” she said. “I can tell.”
“Not really.”
That was a lie. I desperately wanted to know why she’d been to our house, but there was no point asking. I’d save that question for my father.
I picked up the forks, busying myself while I thought things through, but Olivia kept chipping away.
“I feel nothing for you, you know,” she said matter-of-factly. “I never have.” It was almost a relief to hear her say it out loud, but it didn’t make the blasé way she said it any less disturbing.
“It takes a cold woman to say that,” I replied.
Olivia looked at me. “Did you think I’d fall in love with you and want to make up for all the time we missed?” she asked. “You’re nothing more than something that once happened to me, Charli.”
This woman didn’t just dislike or resent me. She hated me with every fibre of her being, and even now I wasn’t sure why.
“What did I ever do to you?” I asked calmly.
“I had a full scholarship lined up,” she said irrelevantly. “The Australian Ballet Academy wooed me for a year. They even put my place on hold while I was pregnant.”
“So what happened?” I managed to make it sound like I didn’t care either way.
My indifference infuriated her. She thumped a stack of cutlery on the table. “Nerve damage from a poorly executed epidural,” she said bitterly. “I never regained my strength and precision. They dismissed me two months into my scholarship. I was seventeen years old.”
No wonder she despised me. I wasn’t merely an inconvenience. I was a career-ending injury.
In the most bizarre of circumstances, she calmed herself down, I picked up a stack of napkins, and we continued setting tables. I knew before I arrived that this would be the last time I ever spoke to her. For that reason, I wanted to make sure nothing was left unsaid. “I wish I’d never found you,” I told her.
“I’m sure you do, darling.” She let out a sharp laugh. “But I, on the other hand did quite well out of our short-lived reunion.”
I turned to the doorway, catching a glimpse of the hellishly expensive painting I’d forked out for hanging in the reception area. “I’m glad I was finally of some use to you,” I said.
The nasty, soul-destroying conversation could’ve continued for the rest of the morning. Olivia had enough hatred built up to keep burning me for hours, but it was finally time to save myself.
“You’re a sneaky, underhanded woman, Olivia,” I announced making her laugh again. “My father is good to the core. You should know that.”
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “He always was,” she said pityingly. “Poor naïve, Alex.”
“We butted heads a lot over the years,” I revealed, fussing with the vase of pink roses in the centre of the table. “I’m not always good like him.”
I could feel her steely glare demanding an explanation. After a long moment of keeping her hanging, I turned around to give her one. “I can be sneaky and underhanded when it comes to getting what I want. I must get that from my mother,” I suggested. “I’m especially good at acts of revenge.”
<
br /> Sadly, I wasn’t even lying. I’d been more than capable of bad behaviour in the past. None of my impious deeds came close to hers, but common sense dictated that the tinge of wicked in my soul was inherited from her. I was just thankful I’d almost grown out of it.
Olivia cackled as if I’d said something hilarious. “Forgive me,” she said insincerely. “But a spoiled little Manhattan socialite trying to sound menacing is comical.”
I shook my head, tutting. “You really should’ve taken the opportunity to get to know me better,” I chided. “If you had, you’d know I’m the biggest misfit ever to hit the Upper East Side. There’s a reason I don’t fit in.”
I might’ve sounded calm and collected, but my heart was hammering, still unsure if I’d be able to pull off my plan and escape with my wits about me. It wasn’t my most well thought out idea, but I’d come too far to back down.
“Do tell.” She sounded calm too, but wasn’t.
“I’m trouble, Olivia,” I declared. “You should’ve stayed away.”
She threw her arms wide. “Look around, Charli. Reconnecting was a nice little earner for very little work. I got exactly what I wanted from you. As soon as I realised who you were married to, you became useful.”
I glanced around the room, pretending to take it all in. “Oh, yes. I can see how well this worked for you.”
Even if Erin hadn’t told me that the charity event was a scam, I still would’ve worked it out. She was far too excited for someone so soulless. People like Olivia don’t get keyed up over the success of charity endeavours unless there’s something in it for them.
“Fiona booked all thirty tables,” she said smugly. “Thousands of dollars in donations.”
“Very profitable,” I agreed. “It’s a shame you won’t see a cent of it.”
I watched her closely, studying her reaction. Her expression remained straight, but both hands gripped the chair in front of her as if she wished it were my neck.
It was time to put her out of the misery she didn’t even know she was in.
“I called in on Fiona this morning and told her to make sure not a single person turns up,” I told her. “She stopped payment on the cheque she sent you. You’ve been left high and dry, lady.”