Текст книги "Perfectly Imperfect"
Автор книги: Harper Sloan
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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
THE NEXT DAY, WHEN MY alarm starts blaring, I wake up with a sense of dread over the news that Ivy might just be back in the office today. It doesn’t matter that I’ve changed mentally and physically since the last time I saw her. It doesn’t matter that in that time, I’ve gained some of my confidence back. I’ve been stronger. At that moment, the feeling of hate and fear instantly pushes me back once again. Hate for her, but even that is overshadowed by the hate I feel toward myself for being so weak that I forget every step I’ve made to better myself over the last six months. And fear that being around her again is going to cause me to slip and forget the strength I’ve earned.
Physically, I’ve worked hard to shed some weight and have dropped a solid fifty pounds from my body. I no longer look in the mirror and hate who I see looking back. I don’t love it, but I’m getting there. I had been a size twenty for so long that sometimes I still struggle to see the size fourteen I’ve earned through basically starving myself of the food I crave and maintaining daily—sometimes twice a day—trips to the gym. Getting ready this morning, though, no matter how hard I try, I see the old me. I feel the same helpless self-loathing I had for so long. Just because of Ivy and what her return could mean.
I know the problem. I know why I see the old me. It’s taken months of deep theory to understand that it is a trick my mind plays on me. I have a preoccupation with finding my flaws. All of this stems from suffering from what my doctor calls body dysmorphia. I’ve made the vision I see for myself a product of the imagined flaw. Even realizing this and working daily to overcome it, I still find that it’s easier said than done. A week after my divorce was final, she started me on anti-depressants, and with the help of our sessions, my journaling, and a lot of extensive therapy I had been able to put it behind me … for the most part.
To be honest, I’m mad at myself for allowing Ivy to bring me back down to my lowest of lows with just a thought.
You’re better than this, Willow. You’ve come so far. Don’t let her take everything you’ve earned from you. You aren’t weak anymore. No one has that power over you but yourself.
I dress with care, picking one of my more flattering black dresses and black pumps. The dress hugs my ample chest, covers my arms to the elbow, but more importantly pleats at the skirt to hide the slight roundness of my stomach I can’t seem to rid. Even I feel pretty in this, so hopefully, it will add some much-needed confidence to my mentality going forth today.
The ride to work, like always, is uneventful. The ascent to the floor of Logan Agency’s offices has my pulse spiking. I try to mentally prepare myself, but when I step off the elevator and into the glamorous lobby, I lose every ounce of careful preparation. Like a sixth sense, I just know she’s here. As if Ivy’s very being has left her twisted vines of evil behind with every step she takes.
Why would he bring her back? God, really, I can be so stupid. Why wouldn’t he bring her back? She’s his pride and joy.
“Hey.” I jump when Kirby’s voice calls out to me from behind Mary’s desk, the floor’s main receptionist. Mary, an older woman who has been with the agency from conception, gives me a kind smile and wave before lifting the ringing phone from the cradle.
“What’s up?” I ask, shifting the weight of my purse and giving Kirby a small smile.
“You look pretty, Will,” she praises.
“Thanks.”
“You know, don’t you?”
“That she’s here?” I ask. Kirby’s eyes soften before she nods. “I know. It’s okay, Kirb. I’m not worried about it.”
Lie. Big freaking lie.
“What can I do? I can start a small fire in the break room? We could be out of here before you ever saw her face. Run off to Mexico? Drink those yummy tropical drinks until we pass out in a drunken stupor?”
Despite my unease, I laugh. “Nothing you can do. I just need to get it over with. Rip off the Band-Aid. Who knows, maybe she’s going to be happy to see me.” I laugh; the sound hitting my ears is as fake as it feels coming out.
“We could quit,” she continues. “I wouldn’t mind being a kept woman and staying at home all day,” she jokes, trying to lighten the dark mood that has settled over me.
“You would be bored out of your mind, and I wouldn’t be able to pay my bills.”
“Right, well … it’s a suggestion. If you want to run, just pull the fire alarm or something … I’ll follow your lead.”
“I love you, Kirby Quinn.”
“I know. And I love you back, Willow Elizabeth.”
Might as well get this over with. I give Kirby a hug and walk around the corner to begin my walk down the west wing of our offices. This side, the whole west end of the floor, belongs to my father. One long, narrow hallway full of pictures of the popular signed models he’s had over the course of the agency, no doors, and dim lighting with little spotlights on each picture. The other wing of our floor, being the meat of operations, is full of offices, studios, and chatter from all angles. But not here … nope, this hallway is long and silent.
That is until I hear her high-pitched giggles carrying down from the open door of my father’s office. I reach the end of the hallway and walk around to my desk tucked in the corner. I always thought its placement was my father’s way of placing me away without actually losing sight of me. Keeping me close, but far away at the same time—which really makes no sense because, from the way his eyes go hard every time he’s within a few feet of me, I’m not sure why he would even want to have me around. Hell, I’m not really sure why he even gave me a job to begin with.
My area is basically just the outer room to his huge office. I have no windows and the only natural light is from the glow of his office of glass. All the lighting around me is dim. What isn’t coming from a few strategically placed lamps comes wholly from his office’s walls—even when set to the fog privacy setting. His whole office takes up the back half of the room, paneled in floor-to-ceiling glass on my end and the one inside his office. But like now, when he has the fog-like setting turned on, those glass walls make this room almost dungeon like. My desk takes up the right side of his outer sanctum. The other side of the room has two chairs, one leather loveseat, a sleek glass coffee table, and one longer console table against the far wall. A huge television flashes pictures of the talent he’s held or holds under the Logan Agency’s name. The room my desk is in is used only for clients to sit while they wait for him to call them in.
That calling always being done by Ivy when she worked here. In recent months, since Ivy hasn’t been around, he’s actually let me take more of an active role as his secretary. But I’m sure that now that she’s around, I’m going to be back to being a wallflower, stuck answering phones and gathering his coffee and meals.
Cinderella probably had it better than I do.
Storing my purse in my desk, I sit down and power up my computer. I can hear them laughing as I sort through the emails from overnight and make note of all pressing issues. Checking the calendar for today’s scheduled meetings, I frown when I see a huge blank spot on the lunch hour with a notation I’m to have lunch catered and arriving no later than noon for three people.
“Willow!” My father bellows through the intercom, spiking my already frayed nerves.
“Yes, sir?”
“Get me my coffee,” he demands before severing the connection. I hear him through the opening in his office door as he slams the receiver down, grumbling his complaints.
After a few deep breaths, I stand and walk through the doorway behind me and into the small kitchen area housed in our wing for him and his clients’ needs. How hard would it be for him to just walk to his door and speak to me like a human and not some robot slave?
I plop the K-cup in the machine and wait while the water heats before it starts spitting coffee into his mug. Making sure I measure out the correct amount of sugar—no cream—I walk back through the doorway, careful not to spill the hot liquid.
With my focus on my feet and my concentration on avoiding burning myself, I don’t even see the person standing in my path until it’s too late.
“Watch where you’re going, dumbass.” And with those venomous words, my sister twists her body and knocks into my arm with her elbow, sloshing the coffee over the edges and all over my hand.
“Crap,” I hiss and jerk my arm to attempt to ease the pain, completely forgetting the mug itself is attached to my burning skin. And like most of the things in my life that Ivy touches, disaster hits in the form of a frontal attack of caffeine as the coffee hits my body, soaking through my dress in a liquid fire burn.
“Nice to see some things haven’t changed, sister.” Ivy laughs before turning again and slapping me in the face with her long, sleek ponytail. I watch as she walks down the hallway and away from the office.
“Willow! My coffee!” My father’s voice comes booming through his partially opened door, making me jump slightly.
Crap. God, that is hot.
“One second,” I call out.
I turn, ignoring that my sister just effectively ruined my morning, and make my way back to the kitchen. Dabbing my body with a towel the best I can, I wash my hands and fix his coffee once again. I need some Excedrin and quick.
I add the right amount of sugar packets—three—and grab one of the stirring sticks from its tidy bin next to the sugar.
I’m more careful this time, and when I walk into the main office, I make a mental note to avoid looking into his eyes until I’m done with my task. He would flip if I spilled just a drop on his desk. Placing his coffee down, I take a few steps away from his desk before I look up.
His eyes, so much like Ivy’s, look at me.
“Your sister is back, Willow,” he tells me, not looking up from the papers he’s shuffling. Uh, yeah Captain Obvious, I noticed.
“Yes, sir,” I reply evenly.
“I’m going to need you to finish out the work day by getting Ivy up to speed on where we are with upcoming shoots and new model acquisitions, but then I would appreciate it if you cleared out all your personal shit and left by the end of the day.”
Wait. What? “Excuse me?”
His head tilts slightly, and I hold my gaze with my father, Dominic Logan, and pray this is some sort of a joke.
“Really, Willow. You didn’t think I would keep you on after your split with Bradley, did you? I did him a favor by employing you while you were married, and I did Ivy a favor by keeping you while she and Bradley enjoyed some time together as newlyweds. But now she’s back from her honeymoon and ready to take her rightful spot, so there is no need for you here.”
“Excuse me?” I repeat a little more forcefully.
My father’s eyes narrow, and his meaty fist slams down on his desk. The coffee I had so carefully prepared sloshes at the force of his fist and splashes over the edge, causing him to curse.
“Fucking hell!” he booms. “How much more clear would you like me to be? Catch Ivy up and then get out. I gave you a job out of respect for your mother, Willow, but even that duty has come to a long-awaited end. You were no use to me when I married her, the bastard daughter always attached to her hip, and you damn sure aren’t now. We have certain standards here at Logan. Standards you never have and never will be able to excel at.”
“Excuse me!” I yell and lean forward to slam my own hands on his desk. Surprising us both, his coffee tips over from the coaster it was resting on and rains brown liquid over his desk, soaking everything in its path. “You can’t fire me! I’m your daughter!”
“Stepdaughter, Willow. Let’s not forget that. And I believe I just did, little girl,” he seethes.
Feeling the carefully constructed control over my emotions snap after years of mastery, I finally ask him the one question that has been burning in my mind since I realized my father … no, stepfather hated me. “Why does my very presence bother you so much, father? Do you have no concern you’re essentially taking away my livelihood? My income? The fact you’re throwing your own stepdaughter away doesn’t concern you at all?”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t give a single emotion away with his cold stare. But his words, those do all the damage of a thousand knives piercing my body at once.
“You, Willow, will never be a daughter of mine. I have an image to withhold here, and for the last five years you’ve worked here, that image has been tarnished. The Logan Agency is about perfection and that, Willow, is just not something you have. You’ve been nothing but a waste of space since you started to let yourself go.”
“Let myself go?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You freaking bastard! I didn’t let myself go. Maybe if you acted like you actually cared about me for one second since Mom died, I wouldn’t have let myself go!”
“Do not mention your mother.”
“Why? Because I’m right? You stopped caring about me the second you walked into the hospital to find out Mom had died and I lived. Is that it? You hate me because I lived?”
Floodgates open. I can’t and won’t stop now. Everything I wished I could say to him for years is finally coming to an ugly head at our confrontation.
His face gets beet red and I watch as his nostrils flare a few times before he responds through thin lips. “Yes, Willow. Are you happy now? The wrong woman died that day, and every time I have to look into your eyes, the same eyes of your mother, I hate you more and more. So do what I fucking said. After today, do me a favor and don’t turn back up. It would be nice not to have to see you again. Then maybe I could pretend it was you and not her who died!”
I hear a shocked gasp from the doorway and spin around; my anger dies instantly when I see Kirby’s tear-streaked face. But where that anger was before, burning mortification has now replaced it. When I look behind Kirby, I see the pissed-off face of none other than Kane Masters himself.
Of course. That makes sense. Fantasy meeting nightmare.
“ARE YOU OKAY?” KANE ASKS, his eyes not leaving my father.
“Uh …” I stammer, my anger dying with the shock of seeing him here.
“Right.” He smiles slightly, his gaze colliding with mine, and I watch in fascination as his softens just a breath before looking over my shoulder and becoming a mask of anger. What is that about? He doesn’t lose the hard look of anger until he looks back at me. His eyes roamed over my face before moving down my body. I shift, uncomfortable, and pull my dress at the waist, hoping it isn’t sticking too tightly to my body. Those cerulean orbs narrow at my movement and only cause me to pull a little more. God, this is embarrassing. “Stop that,” he commands harshly, and I instantly drop my arms.
I hear my father clear his throat before addressing the witnesses to our heated fight. “Kane, you’ll have to forgive me. I thought our appointment was later today. Willow was just leaving.”
Dismissed.
Again.
By the man who I have called my father for my whole life. The only one I’ve ever known, even if he wasn’t the one who helped give me life. Instead, he’s always been the one who has resented the fact I existed. Hello, Daddy issues anyone?
Kirby moves into the room and clasps her hand in mine, giving my father a clear f-you by making her stance at my side known. I try to pull my hand from hers, knowing my father won’t hesitate to reprimand her for butting in. She digs her fingers in, grasping hold of my hand until the strength of her hold is bruising and her nails are biting in warning.
“Kirby, stop,” I plead.
“No. Not this time, Willow.”
I try, once again, to remove my hand, but she holds strong.
“Is this how you treat your own family, Dominic? I would hate to see how you treat someone outside that bond.”
My eyes widen as Kane speaks. His voice is strong and true as it rumbles around us like thunder. I watch in rapt fascination as he stands up to my father. For me. I haven’t had someone other than Eddie and Kirby go to bat for me in close to ten years. In fact, the only person I remember ever doing it before was my mother.
Why is he doing this? He doesn’t even know me.
My relief that he obviously didn’t hear everything is short-lived when my father speaks.
“I’m sorry you had to witness that, Kane. It’s unfortunate, but it seems like my stepdaughter needed a firm hand. You’ll understand one day when you have kids of your own. It’s necessary to be hard. Please sit. I’ll have Ivy set up the conference room.” He clears his throat before continuing. “Willow?”
I move my eyes from the detailed study of Kane’s body and glance over at my father. Maybe he’s changed his mind. Perhaps this was all just a daydream … yes, I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding. “Sir?”
“A word?” He walks around his desk and flicks his hand toward the doorway. I’m sure this is when he’s going to admit it was a big prank—admittedly, not funny in the least, but I’m sure there’s a reason. However, I’m not sure that would matter now that the verbal damage is done.
Kane doesn’t move as my father attempts to get through the door. Not surprisingly, he radiates a dominating presence that leaves no room for argument. He slips his gaze from mine to look down at where my father is standing in front of him before looking back just as quickly.
Not many people can look down at Dominic Logan. At six-foot-one, he’s always been one of the taller males who floats around the agency. Most of our male models sit somewhere around five-foot-ten; the females, though, most of them are right about level with him. Not Kane though. It’s hard to tell someone’s height from magazines, television, and movies, but Kane has to be pushing closer to six and a half feet.
His eyes are holding mine over the top of my father’s head, and I feel Kirby’s hand tighten. What is he doing?
“Oh, Kane, sweetheart! It’s been ages.” All four of us look into the outer sanctum as Ivy comes strutting back down the hall, her voice breaking the silence around us. I look over at my father to see a beaming smile in place before moving my gaze to Kane. His eyes are no longer on mine but assessing Ivy. Perfect. Freaking. Ivy.
Well, I’m certainly not going to stick around for this. I would prefer to keep the fantasy I’ve built around the image of Kane Masters on my pedestal of ‘the perfect man,’ and I know anything he might do right now would ruin that. Or actually, what Ivy might do, and his subsequent reaction to her.
I’ve yet to meet a man who could see Poison Ivy for the evil human being that she is. Kane will just be like the rest stuck in her spell.
“Come on, Kirb,” I whisper and tug her forward. I have to suck in to make it through the doorway Kane occupies, but no amount of air forced through my panicked lungs would make me a smaller person. Nope; instead, my large breasts rub against his chest, and I hold back a shiver with the friction of his touch. I cringe when I think about what he must think. Someone like Ivy would have no trouble slipping through. I turn to look at Kirby, avoiding his penetrating gaze at all costs, and my shoulders drop when I see her move past him with no trouble at all. Her slim build makes it easy to walk through the narrow opening provided with little effort.
“I brought you a trash bag, Wills,” Ivy says with a slither.
“For what, Ivy?” I say with rancorous sarcasm dripping from my tone.
“For all your shit, sister dear.” She laughs, her face not moving from her tight-lipped sneer.
“You bitch,” Kirby fumes.
“You have ten minutes, Willow,” she continues. “Make sure you turn in your keycard to the offices as well as any other property of Logan Agency you might think you have rights to. Ten minutes, Willow, to remove all your shit and don’t let me see you back here again.”
Perhaps, it was years of verbal abuse from my father, sister, and Brad. Maybe it was years of self-hatred finally boiling over the tipping point. Coming to a head between who I was and who I have worked so hard to become. Or maybe I just finally had enough. Recognizing when you hit the ground of rock bottom and it turns into quicksand puts into perspective that you really don’t have anything left to lose. They’ve taken it all, but they will not get my pride. Whatever the driving force behind it—I snap. And I don’t snap in a pretty, ladylike fashion where I whip off a metaphorical white glove and slap some faces.
No. Not me.
In typical Willow fashion, I go big when my crazy surfaces.
“I hate you!” I scream. “For years, I’ve been your punching bag. For YEARS, I’ve put up with everything you’ve thrown at me verbally. I’ve been nothing but a glorified human pile of crap for the two of you to step in whenever you need to feel better about yourself. You want me gone? Every piece of me? Fine!”
I look over at Kane. The instant reminder of our first encounter has me ripping my hand from Kirby’s and bending to snatch my shoes off my feet, tossing them at Kirby. Not this time, heels, not this time. She catches them easily despite her shock. Moving toward Ivy, I grab the bag before marching over to my desk. I throw in anything that isn’t ‘Logan Agency’ property. I’m a tornado of mental torment chanting mine over and over again as I snatch whatever I can. Pencils, pens—mine. Tape—mine. Notepad—mine. Little pillow for back support—mine. Mug with a cute little kitten on it—mine. All freaking MINE!
I stomp from my desk to the coffee table in the sitting area, grab all the magazines I had been in charge of buying each week from the little vendor on the corner of our building, and throw them in too. The fake flowers sitting on the small table near the hallway mouth are thrown in the bag too since I was the one who purchased them in the hopes of adding some happiness around here. Happiness! Ha, what a joke.
In my hysteria, I throw open the kitchen door and start to dump sugar packets and coffee stirring sticks into my bag. Because I’ll be damned if I let him make his demanded coffee with ease. Have fun finding three sugars now, jerk!
By the time I’ve grabbed anything I could deem general property, my trash bag was full to the point of straining the lining. I huff back to Kirby and thrust the bag at her, making her fumble a little to keep hold of my shoes and grab the balled up end.
I puff a piece of hair that had come loose from my bun so that it is no longer in front of my face. With one last look at my boiling-mad father, I grab my iMac desktop. With a strength I never thought possible, I pull it from its connecting cords before I heave it forward and watch in satisfaction as Ivy scampers out of the way. My eyes leave Ivy’s weird dance to watch as the computer slams through one of the panels of glass that make up my father’s office walls before it crashes to the floor in a rain shower of glass at the foot of his desk.
“There, Dominic,” I pant angrily. “There is the rest of your stupid property. Thank you for reminding me that I luckily share none of your blood. If I never see you again, it will be a day too soon.”
I look over toward Kane, wondering again why he was even here to begin with, but when I see Ivy in his arms, I stop caring enough to ask. I know for a fact she doesn’t know him. She looked as shocked as I did that day in the lawyer’s office. But leave it to her to hook her claws into another man who’s spoken for. Let’s hope his relationship fares better than the one Ivy has already succeeded in ruining.
Just as well.
“Be careful with that one. Her bite is deadly,” I mumble heatedly toward him.
His eyes fire at mine before looking down at the woman in his arms. Apparently, he’s just noticing for the first time that she is wrapped around him like a little monkey. No, monkeys are cute. Snake. That’s it. Like the deadly snake she is.
I don’t give any of them another second of my time. I can feel the tears coming, but I refuse to let one drop in this room. I vaguely hear Ivy say something as I walk through the room and down the hallway. My silent, shoeless footsteps pad quickly and the tapping of Kirby’s heels follow right behind me.
Without a backward glance, I leave behind another part of my life that was slowly drowning me.
