A/N: Happy Holidays, Y'all! As if my screen name didn't give it away, I'm a Southerner (not the crazy kind, well, maybe a bit eccentric, but in the fun way…). I am hoping to get at least one more chapter published this week. For that reason, I apologize if I do not get the chance to respond to your amazingly kind reviews. I promise that I read every single one. They are the fuel for my writing tank. Thank you for keeping it full.
To say thank you for all of the encouragement you keep sending to me, I am going to release an extra chapter the story reaches 200 "favorites" in FanFic. I am not sure when this will happen, but I want to do something special for the support that you all continue to send my way. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Chapter 13
Lady Drinks-a-Lot
Ray, Carla, and the police were able to piece together what happened to me that afternoon in Texas. When I regained consciousness several days later, it was decided that I would return to Montesano to live with Ray. While Ray did his best to get me to open up in therapy, I never spoke a word about that day until now.
Testifying against Stephen Morton would have been nearly impossible for me when I was 12. While I was still in the hospital, he was found dead of an apparent hunting accident. Not one single investigator questioned the fact that Stephen Morton never held a hunting license.
Following Sunday's intense session with Ellen, Christian and I spend the rest of the day lazing together in his palace in the sky. Christian never lets me get further than arm's length away. We talk a bit about how I am feeling. I am surprised how freeing it is to finally tell my story.
Christian spends some time typing on his phone. I am pretty sure he is googling "noiseless belt buckles." I bet he has Armani custom designing them at this moment. I know his heart well enough to know that Christian never wants me to have to hear another buckle jingle again. This man makes me feel loved. Wait, what?! I have a meltdown requiring an emergency session of therapy and by the end of the day I am using the "L" word. Stop the presses! Too much at once. Let's shelve the "L" word for future consideration.
Come Monday morning, Christian wants me to stay home from work. It is tempting to hide in the wings of his safety, but I need to focus on something besides what went down this weekend. By Monday lunch, José's edited test shots are in my inbox. I forward them over to LaLa who loves them. The art department gets the green light to proceed with the actual cover art photo shoot.
I cannot believe that we are so close to the book's release. SIP is still keeping the manuscript under tight security. I have made several trips back to the reading room to further review the manuscript. At this point, I know Foolish as well as I know any of my undergrad favorites. Margaret teases me that I am becoming obsessed with LaLa's book. I do not know what it is. Something about the main character Darci Vilhelm and the antagonist Karson Blakemore just speaks to me. The first edition will go to print within the next month. I hope LaLa is ready for her world to change.
Unfortunately, some paparazzi get photos of Christian and I having a romantic dinner out. The pictures are of Christian whispering something in my ear. The camera captured my face in exceptional quality. Now the paps know my name, where I work, and where I live. They are staking out my apartment, SIP, Escala, and even Grey House. Kate is staying with Elliott to avoid the chaos. I am staying at Escala, partially for the added level of security but mostly for the sexy time.
Sawyer is now assigned as my full-time driver/CPO. I argued about needing a CPO until the first time I tried to catch the bus to work after the pictures were released. Let's just say that Taylor and Christian had to full-on rescue me, Special Ops-style. After that, I resigned myself to allowing Sawyer to be my full-time sidekick. José and Frederic are loving my new lifestyle – traveling in blacked out SUVs, staying in a penthouse with a re-drunk-ulous wine collection, and being followed around by hunky men-in-black.
Since the red room meltdown, I see Ellen several times a week. Once I admitted to what happened in Texas, it was like the dam was broken. I can feel in color again. Ellen is really great at helping me to wade through all of the darker stuff that I have kept pushed down for so long.
Ellen's best advice so far has been to let myself feel the pain when it hits and then pick up the pieces and make something good come out of the darkness. For this reason, I have been talking with Grace Grey about joining the board of Coping Together. Although the charity is predominantly about helping parents and children affected by addiction, the Greys want to expand the scope of services that the charity provides. I can't help but to feel like they are doing this just for me.
I attend the Grey family Sunday dinners regularly now. A few weeks ago, I was helping Grace wash the dishes after dinner when she mentioned that I looked like I had lost some weight. Her comment seemed so motherly and caring. A cup of tea later and Grace knew the whole story of what went down in Texas. She held me as I cried. For the first time in my life, I know what true motherly love feels like. I know that Carla loves me, but she is so distractible when it comes to her displays of affection. Carla is only capable of demonstrating her love until she sees the next squirrel.
All in all, I feel better every day. Some days are difficult when a fresh wave of trash crashes onto my shore. For instance, Carla has been radio-silent since Christmas day – not returning my calls or texts. I would really like to talk with her about what happened in Texas, but she must be too busy polishing Bob's golf clubs or attending the Savannah Ladies' Garden Club to get back with me. My own mother's lack of, well, mothering triggers all kinds of things to discuss with Ellen. I feel lucky to have found such a safe space to explore my issues with abandonment and the trauma of abuse.
Now that I am on my own journey of reconciling my past and exploring my future, I find myself frustrated that Christian is not equally as ready to do the same. I wish that he would share with me the roots of his haphephobia. From snippets of conversations with his family, I know that his life must have been rough before he was adopted by Grace and Carrick. After a night of wine and Google, I believe that the round scars on Christian's chest and back are most likely cigarette burns. Who did this to him? Outwardly, I never push my boyfriend to tell me his secrets. I try to be patient, knowing that every survivor has a profoundly personal and unique timeline for working through the pain. I do hope that Christian allows his own therapist, Dr. Flynn, to explore these issues behind closed doors.
I am also super busy at work. We are preparing to release the eARC for Foolish. Basically, this is a digital version of the novel's Advanced Read Copy, or ARC. We will release it on Netgalley and Goodreads. Netgalley allows influencers, bloggers, writers, and librarians to read soon-to-be-published work in hopes of creating some buzz ahead of publication. Goodreads offers giveaways and raffles where the prizes are access to eARCs. Additionally, we will target specific Bookstagrammers and journalists that we are hoping will like Foolish enough to write about it.
At the start of next month, SIP's fearless marketing interns will criss-cross the country attending book conferences. The interns are responsible for handing out printed ARCs of Foolish to conference attendees which include journalists, librarians, writers, and international publishers. The printed ARCs are never very fancy – no glossy dust jackets or such. It is from the ARCs that publishers hope to get good quotes and recommendations that will then get printed on the backs of the retail editions.
LaLa has been working with our press gurus to prep for her book tour. This training includes everything from how to answer tricky questions to what to do with overly-zealous fans. She even spent a day getting photographed in the different outfits that she plans to wear on her tour. This gives her and our team an idea of what photographs well for seated panels versus what will look best when reading at a podium. There really is a great deal that goes behind prepping for a book release.
With our crazy schedules, Christian and I have not been able to carve out much time for the two of us. Some weeks, our only quality time alone is in the car driving to and from Sunday dinner at his parent's. Christian is preparing for a trip to Germany. He is attending a global summit on green technology and then visiting with some of his European subsidiaries. We tried to find a window in our schedule for me to fly over to join him for a few nights, but we can't make it work. I have to accompany LaLa to NYC for a quick promotional trip. Christian promises that we will take some time away, just the two of us, when we are back in the same time zone.
Before long, it is time for LaLa and I (and Sawyer) to embark on our first trip ahead of the Foolish release. LaLa will be a guest speaker on a couple of writers' panels. She is also booked to do the podcast Good Books, Good Wine. SIP is doing everything possible to create early buzz for LaLa Roberts. Getting her name out is just as important as promoting her book.
We are flying out of Seattle on the red-eye. This will give us the morning we arrive in New York to check-in to our hotel and rest a bit before LaLa's first event that evening. Christian's flight to Germany leaves from the Boeing airfield whereas I am flying out of Sea-Tac. We say our good-byes at Escala before heading off in opposite directions.
Saying good-bye is not really the correct term. We more or less show each other how much we will miss each other for several hours before departure time.
I am on all fours on the edge of Christian's bed. He is standing behind me, slamming in and out of me at a feverish pace. His hands on my hips control our frenzied pace. My cries keep time with the slapping of our skin.
I bury my face in the sheets to muffle the building crescendo of my cries.
"Agggghhh…Aggghhh…Oh, god, Christian…more…MORE…AAAGGGHHHH...that's it... FUCK ME JUST LIKE THAT!"
His right-hand slides across my skin and reaches the nub at the top of my sex. He strokes and smacks my clit over and over in synchrony with his dick pounding me over and over. I hold off on my release as long as I can. Just before I lose all control, Christian roars, "Come for me, baby…COME FOR ME!"
With a strength I have never before known, I rock forward and then slam myself back onto the tone-hard wall of muscle behind me. The screams released from deep inside me resemble no sound that I have ever heard. I collapse while Christian lifts my hips for one final slam as he roars through his own release. His cry is the unmistakable sound of a lion king claiming his pride for all the wild to hear.
We are very good at saying good-bye. We take very little recovery time before saying saying it again in the shower, on the closet floor, and finally, pressed up against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Seattle skyline. By the time my bags are packed, I cannot walk straight. Christian is very proud of himself.
Christian and Taylor leave a few minutes before Sawyer and I depart. Watching the elevator doors close with my billionaire and his booty (yep, booty) guard inside gets me all misty-eyed. No time for tears. Ms. Fierce is off to conquer the world.
When will I ever learn? When something seems too good to be true, it usually is. Despite our great first meeting when we dining at the Mile High Club, traveling with LaLa is not enjoyable. No, it is not.
The first hint of trouble with LaLa is the handful of pills that she swallows right before take-off. I totally understand the fear of flying, but this girl can medicate! By the time the fasten seat belts light goes off, LaLa is higher than basecamp on Mt. Everest. I spend the flight trying to contain her over-the-top behavior lest this shit show goes viral. Keeping LaLa quiet is like trying to walk a fish on a leash. It is only when the pilot announces it is time to prepare for landing that LaLa finally passes out. By the time we taxi to our gate, her snores drown out the flight attendant's overhead request that we remain seated until the Captain turns off the fasten seat belt light.
We make it to our hotel with Sawyer and I towing a comatose LaLa in our wake. We finally get LaLa to her room after commandeering a bellhop cart to roll her from the front desk all the way up to her room. Note to self, encourage LaLa to medicate less on the flight home.
After giving her most of the day to sleep, I begin to worry that we were going to have to Weekend at Bernie's LaLa for her first event. Luckily, she rallies in the late afternoon and does a stellar job speaking at an author's panel at Columbia University.
After grabbing some quick pizza for dinner, our entourage heads over to Brooklyn to record the podcast Good Books, Good Wine. The premise of the show is that the two hosts interview writers about their own reading preferences over a bottle of wine. I can't help but notice LaLa is more of a gulper than a sipper. By the end of the recording, Sawyer and I have to literally stuff the slurring and wobbly LaLa into our SUV. I spend the ride trying to keep LaLa from exiting the vehicle every time we hit a red light. She keeps telling us that she wants to party at her favorite club. The only thing greater than drunk LaLa's desire to keep drinking is Sawyer's and my determination to get her back to the hotel. I have never heard of the Sub Club, but according to LaLa it is where all the little, brown haired girls go to dance. Not gonna happen tonight, Lady Drinks-a-Lot!
Thank goddess for Mr. Muscles (AKA Sawyer). The night ends with another bellhop cart ride for LaLa and one very annoyed Anastasia Fierce. After tucking in a snoring Ms. Roberts, I head back to my room and kick off my Louboutin's. I pour myself a glass of wine from the mini-bar. I sip even though I really want to gulp.
Having learned my lesson the previous day, I bust into LaLa's room before the rooster crows. With more efficiency than a NASCAR pit crew, I transform LaLa from a resident of hangover town and into a professional. In under 90 minutes, she is looking to wow the NYU campus with her relevant and on-point musings about being a first-time novelist. When sober, LaLa is a great public speaker. Note Number 2 to self, book morning events for the upcoming book tour. Less chance of alcohol-induced incidents.
Throughout the trip, I keep my boss Margaret updated on the difficulties of wrangling Lady Drinks-a-Lot. When Margaret sounds doubtful about just how bad things are, I send her a video of drunk LaLa trying to open a bag of Doritos…with melted chocolate covering her face…while crying…on the floor of the hotel elevator…at three in the afternoon.Within five minutes, I receive a call from Margaret instructing us to return to Seattle as soon as LaLa is sober enough to fly.
The following morning, JFK is total pandemonium as travelers rush to catch flights ahead of a brewing winter storm. Sawyer and I take turns playing keep away with LaLa's pre-flight medications. Thankfully, we are able to get her through TSA without getting arrested for being drug mules. I cannot get home and away from bat shit crazy LaLa fast enough. Where did the cool, calm, and collected girl from our lunch at the Mile High Club go? How did this hot mess express manage to write such a prolific novel?
On the first leg of our journey, LaLa rapidly cycles between giddy and gloomy. One minute she is gleefully talking about how great NYC was (Really?!). The next minute, she is crying and asking me why Christian loves me and not her.
What. The. Hell. Is. This. Crazy. Bitch. Babbling. About?
I have never introduced her to Christian. He doesn't love you, because he doesn't know you, Crazy Town!
Due to booking our flight home at the last minute, we are required to catch a connector through Chicago. Somewhere between gates at O'Hare, we lose LaLa. That's right. We lose a perfectly grown-ass adult woman in a secure airport terminal. When I say we lose LaLa, I mean she is g-o-n-e. Sawyer and I check under every barstool and in every bathroom stall. She is nowhere to be found. We have her over-head paged…six times. Still no LaLa.
Finally, I am forced to make a decision. Catch the last flight home today or risk catching no flight for days due to the coming winter storm. I call Margaret and suggest that she and Hannah work on contacting whoever it is you contact when you lose a well-medicated adult in an unfamiliar city. I am done.
Sawyer and I make it to our gate just in time to see the gate agent admitting the last passenger and closing the door. Of course, LaLa waves to us as the door closes behind her. That's right, Lady Drinks-a-Lot made it on to the same flight that Sawyer and I are now missing. Sawyer throws his water bottle at the closed gateway while I scream in frustration. I officially hate LaLa Roberts.
It takes Sawyer and I two more days to get back to Seattle. The forecasters are a little off on their weather predictions. The storm of the century turns out to be the greatest blizzard since biblical times. We spend two nights holed up in the only hotel room left in the greater Chicago area. We are finally able to book seats on what has to be the most discounted airline of all times. When the flight attendant demonstrates how to swipe a credit card for bathroom access, I know that this flight is the cherry on top of the worst week ever.
As soon as we collect our bags and exit Sea-Tac, we see Reynolds waiting with a Grey-issued SUV. While I climb into the back seat, I see the two men-in-black exchange a handshake before Sawyer heads off down the airport sidewalk. Reynolds taps in as my CPO as Sawyer heads away for some much-deserved time off.