Fake, page 5
She’s struggling now more than ever, but I’m doing everything I can to put an end to that.
A smile lifts my lips as tears well in my eyes. I brush them away, smooth the front of my shirt, and stride through the front doors, pausing to sign in at the front desk before navigating the hive of brightly colored hallways to find my mother. If it weren’t for the patients in wheelchairs, or trundling by with IV stands, you wouldn’t know this was a medical facility. It looks more like an upscale community center.
When I finally duck my head through the door of room 208, I find Mom propped up in bed, eyes closed, breathing deeply as Spanish guitar flows through speakers on her bedside table. Fresh flowers bloom on the counter in the tiny kitchenette. Sunlight pours through the curtains she brought from home. Pictures adorn the walls, some she’s had for years and others she made in the art therapy classes here at Shady Cove.
She’s humming to herself; more content than I’ve seen her in a while. I lean in the doorway and watch, lost in memories of her grabbing me by the hand and spinning us into a dance in the kitchen while she hummed whatever song filled her heart that day. Mom worked long hours, followed by a race home to cook dinner because she promised me I’d never feel alone after Dad left. She kept that promise until I learned to cook and kept it for her. That’s what we did. We took care of each other.
And I’m going to keep on taking care of her until she can do it herself again.
I sniffle and Mom jumps, turning to me with a gasp. “Mina! Sweet Jesus!” She covers her heart with her hand then starts laughing. “How long you been there?”
“Long enough to see you need some of these.” I heft a bag of fresh mangoes from a nearby farmer’s market. “They’re not mango fritters from Tineil’s Bakery, but they’re the next best thing.”
Mom’s crooked smile springs to life and she waves me over, her eyes filled with vitality for the first time in a long time. “They’re organic right? You know how Shady Cove is about pesticides and stuff.”
“Organic. Grown locally. I wouldn’t dare go against your doctor’s orders.” Perching on the edge of Mom’s bed, I wrap my arms around her and bury my face in her shoulder, breathing deeply. Her floral perfume soothes tension I didn’t know was hiding in my neck and jaw.
She cups my cheeks. Smooths my hair. Her eyes literally glisten with love. “I was just about to make some burdock root tea. I’ll make enough for both of us, and you can tell me all about your meeting with that fancy architect and new client.”
“Yum?” I wrinkle my nose, mostly in jest. The dieticians have Mom eating and drinking some strange concoctions, trying to meet her unique dietary needs so her body can finish healing. Burdock root tea is just another entry in a string of unusual food.
Mom pushes into a sitting position and swings her legs off the bed, then closes her eyes and takes a shuddering breath, gripping the mattress like her life depends on it.
I spring into action like the seasoned pro I am, clutching her shoulder in case she falls. “Here, Mom. You sit. I’ll make the tea.”
Two years ago, Mom got sick. Just your ordinary, run of the mill, spend a day or two in bed with the sniffles and then life goes on kind of sick.
Except life didn’t go on.
Mom got worse and worse, too tired to feed herself. Too weak to sit up. Pain wracked her body and confusion stole the sassy spitfire who raised me and left an old woman in her place. After countless trips to the ER followed by visits with every specialist in the area, they slapped her with a diagnosis of chronic fatigue syndrome, told us there was no cure, and that was that.
It might as well have been a death sentence. She was alive, but she wasn’t living. I refused to believe that was the best the world had to offer.
I spent hours researching online, devouring patient testimonials and the latest medical research, desperate to find something to bring her back to herself. I even called Dad, though to this day I don’t know what I expected from that. Whatever it was, I didn’t find it.
Then I found Shady Cove, an inpatient facility with medical, functional, and integrative doctors onsite, claiming to treat the individual, not the symptoms. The success stories had hope blooming in my heart for the first time since Mom slipped into bed and never slipped out.
But the best care comes with a price tag to match.
I made it my mission to find the money, which the universe graciously provided with Nathan West’s project.
And now she’s here.
And she’s going to get better.
Though the discount The Prince of Darkness negotiated last night threw a serious wrench in my gears. Finances were tight before my brush with the villain. Now? I’ll have to say yes to every financial opportunity that comes my way, no matter what it is. I may even have to pick up a second job for evenings and weekends in addition to the extra clients I’m adding.
Whatever it is, however strange, however unappealing, if it pays, I’ll do it.
For Mom.
“No, no.” My mother waves me off. “They want me moving around more. This is nothing but a little bout of dizziness. Doc Morgan says it’s my overactive nervous system trying to keep me safe, and I need to remind myself that I’m already safe.” Mom closes her eyes and takes several measured breaths. I watch as color returns to her cheeks.
“See?” she says, just as I decide to help her back into bed and choose another day for a visit. “All better. I just got back from PT, so I’m a little tired, but I have a massage to look forward to later. And my neurologist will be by after that to discuss my medications and supplements. Every time she tinkers with those, I feel a little better.”
“I should have picked a less busy day for a visit.”
“I can’t tell you how good it feels to be able to have a busy day.” Mom hits me with a smile I haven’t seen in a long time. She stands and shuffles towards the kitchenette, looking pleased as punch. Six months ago, she couldn’t go to the bathroom on her own. A month of dedicated treatment and she’s making me tea.
I was right to secure her place here the moment I accepted Nathan West’s offer, even though I couldn’t afford it yet.
I was less right to negotiate away the money he owes me so he’d send a shitty text, but that’s what I get for drinking bowls of wine with Fallon.
But… I’m resourceful and determined.
Mom won’t lose this momentum. There’s a way to afford the full round of treatment and the second I find it, I’ll snatch it up lickety-split. In the meantime, there’s room on my credit cards and I’m sure I’ll qualify for a loan if we get there.
“Tell me about this meeting.” She fills her tea kettle with filtered water and places it on the stove. “Was it everything you hoped it would be?”
“Yes and no.” I don’t usually keep things from Mom, but I don’t want to tell her my new dream client is rude. She’d worry. Just like if I told her how much it cost for her to be here, she’d worry. And if she knew I was spending money I didn’t already have, she’d worry.
And worrying isn’t good for her.
“That is not the enthusiastic answer I expected. What went wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing. Not really. Benjamin Bancroft is every bit as talented as the magazines made him out to be. And he’s even better looking in person. And so easy to be around. I have no business working with someone like him—”
Mom holds up a hand. “You do though. You might not have the name yet, but you’re every bit as talented as this guy.”
“I hope that proves true. If he likes working with me, this could really be a jumpstart to my career. Plus, he’s so very, very pretty.”
Nathan West is prettier, whispers a grinning voice in the back of my head.
As long as you like assholes, I reply, then realize part of me must, since I’m the one who brought it up in the first place.
Mom pulls two misshapen mugs out of a cabinet with a sheepish grin. “I made this one in pottery class last week,” she says, pointing to a chunky blue mug with a slight lean to the left. “It’s hideous, but I love it and I swore my next one would be better but…” She lifts a green one that looks like it’s melting. “Maybe I’ll do better next time?”
I take the thing in my hands, laughing as I turn it over. “Does it even hold liquid?”
She snatches it back, eyes wide with good humor. “Of course it holds liquid! Just because it’s not perfect doesn’t mean it’s worthless. Now tell me about this other guy. The one I suspect is the reason you’re not as excited as you should be.”
“He’s not exactly easy to be around.”
“People who can afford designers and architects usually have a chip on their shoulder.”
“He had a full concrete block on that thing. He’s rude, Mom. Just plain rude.”
“Good thing your hot architect makes up for it, huh? Focus on him, on his positivity, and don’t even let the client into your headspace. He’s a means to an end, that’s all.”
I dip my chin, not ready to concede her point. I want to believe in the fairy tale version of Nathan West, the one where he’s good instead of bitter and if I make a snap judgment I’ll miss out on a wonderful connection.
“Learn from my mistakes, Meens,” Mom says with a look that says she knows what I’m thinking. “Life is harsh enough without letting harsh people in. I knew from the get-go that your dad was wrong for me, but I saw this glimmer of goodness in him and focused on that instead of who he really was. Your client? He’s not worth your energy. You give him the time he pays you for and nothing more. Like I said, he’s a means to an end. That’s all.”
“A paycheck,” I reply, hefting my melting green mug.
The most important paycheck I’ve ever earned.
SEVEN
Mina
The sun is bright. My coffee is just the way I like it, warm and creamy and sweet. The sky is blue, Mom’s getting better, and Benjamin Bancroft doesn’t think I want to bite his ass, thanks to Nathan West and his meanspirited, expensive text. All that alone would add up to a wonderful Friday, but there’s a bonus on my schedule that makes this a fantastic intro to the weekend.
“Miss Blake?” Tad, my too hot to be real assistant, pops his head into my office. “Mason Channing is here to go over the plans for the custom bookshelves on the Maharishi project.” The twinkle in Tad’s eyes as he leans against the doorframe says this meeting is the bonus in his schedule too.
Not only is Mason Channing dark-haired and dark-eyed, with muscley arms and strong hands, but he’s smart and funny and one of the most talented carpenters I’ve collaborated with, eclipsed only by his father, Joe. Together, they run Channing Construction and I’ve had the pleasure of working with both father and son on multiple projects.
Mason doesn’t flirt and neither do I. Not really. Or, not seriously. He’s just so good looking and so funny that sitting in the same room with him for twenty minutes is enough to make me smile for the next hour. He’s one of those people who feel like sunshine—the complete opposite of Nathan West, Prince of Darkness. A man who grunts and growls and builds a villain’s lair on a secluded cove just because he can.
Sixty percent off my fee just to send one little text! And that’s after negotiating! What happened to him?
I smooth my hair and check my breath, cross, then uncross my legs before I settle on leaning my elbows on my desk and perching my chin in my hands. “Thank you, Tad. Please send Mr. Channing in.”
“Wilhelmina! How’s my favorite interior designer?” Mason steps into my office with a broad smile and a gleam in his eyes.
I stand and extend a hand, almost giddy as his firm grip envelops mine. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m just plain Mina.”
“About as many times as I have to tell you there’s nothing plain about you.” He pulls out a chair and takes a seat before proposing some changes on the custom-built wall bookcase Rajesh Maharishi wants added to his home office. The meeting is fast and fun, and the changes Mason introduces are smart as well as economical. As suspected, it’s the feather in the cap of my already fabulous morning.
“Oh, hey!” Mason pauses as he stands from his chair. “I heard you’re working with Nathan West on his new house.”
“Don’t get too excited for me,” I say, assuming he’s about to congratulate me on my good fortune. “I was so excited when I got the offer, I wanted to throw a party for whoever recommended me to him. But then I had my first meeting with Mr. Nathan West and, well—” I lean forward conspiratorially “—he’s kind of an asshole.”
Mason grimaces. “He’s also kind of my cousin.”
Dear God. Please remind me to stop shoving my foot in my mouth. Sincerely, Mina Blake.
“I’m sorry, he’s your what now?” I ask, then bask in the glow of my eloquence.
“My cousin. I’m the one who recommended you to Nathan and I totally expect that party in my honor,” Mason says with his characteristic smile.
Of course they’re related. I mean, not of course. I can’t think of anyone who would connect those dots on their own, but of course I insulted Mason’s family to his face.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I blubber. “I’m really thankful for the opportunity. He’s just… Um…Nathan’s…”
Say something nice, Mina. Anything at all will do!
“The exposure is going to be wonderful and the site is simply beautiful and I’m so excited to work with a legend like Benjamin Bancroft let alone someone as famous as Nathan West and…” I run out of platitudes and move in with the truth. “I’m sorry, but are you sure you’re cousins? You’re nothing alike.”
Mason makes a face I can’t quite read, one that might mean he agrees with me. Or…he may never want to work with me again.
“Nathan and I have more in common than you might think.”
“Really?” I ask before realizing I might want to stick my foot back in my mouth to stop myself from talking.
“He’s going through a bit of a rough patch, and has been a little, I don’t know…” Mason chews on his word choice.
I have several I’d like to suggest. Horrible. Rude. Stuck up. Self-centered. Judgmental. Just off the top of my head.
“…withdrawn,” Mason finally says. “But I didn’t think he had it in him to be grumpy with someone as nice as you or I would have warned you before you accepted the project. I’ll talk to him about it.”
“Oh, God no.” That’s the last thing I need. “Please don’t. I’m sure we just got off on the wrong foot.”
Probably the one I keep shoving into my mouth.
“Well,” Mason says, bracing his hands on his thighs to stand. “You let me know if you change your mind. I’m happy to slap some sense into him.”
We say our goodbyes and I lean in the doorway to watch him make his way through the office toward the front door, basking in the afterglow of his warmth and hoping I didn’t offend him enough to ruin the relationship.
“They just don’t make ‘em like that anymore,” Tad says, eyeing Mason’s exit from his desk.
“They really don’t.” I throw back the last of my coffee and frown. I never drink the last swallow. It’s always a bitter disappointment.
Speaking of bitter disappointments…
“I have an hour before the meeting with Mr. West, correct?”
Tad’s face falls and he swivels back to stare at his computer screen, looking like he swallowed a fly.
“I know that look,” I say, drumming my fingers on my empty coffee cup.
“What look might that be?” Tad’s nonchalance only solidifies my fear that the day is about to take a turn for the worse.
“Don’t you ‘what look’ me. What you’re doing with your face right now says there’s something you’ve forgotten, and you just now remembered, and I’m not going to like hearing about it at all.”
He grins sheepishly. “You say that like you know me.”
“You say that like you’re surprised,” I say with a sigh. “Out with it, Tad. If you’re going to ruin my day, I’m a ‘sooner rather than later’ kind of woman.”
“Mr. West called this morning to move your meeting forward by forty-five minutes.” Tad grimaces, his shoulders coming up to meet his ears like he’s bracing for impact.
“By forty-five…? Tad! That’s like ten minutes from now!” Thankfully, I spent most of last night tweaking my proposal and finishing the mood board, so I’m prepared. I’ll only need a few minutes to go over the materials and get my head on straight. Which is good because a few minutes are all I have.
Tad chews his bottom lip and my heart sinks.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. What else do you need to tell me?”
“Mr. West also requested you meet him at Red Stiletto for lunch instead of him coming here. And I was sure you’d be prepared because you always are, so you could go over your notes before the meeting with the charming Mason Channing, then skedaddle on over to the restaurant as soon as it was over…except I forgot to tell you about the change.”
“Yes. Yes, you did.” I glance at the time and all I can do is laugh. “And now, I have to race across town to meet a client, showing up late and underprepared.”
A client I’m already on shaky ground with, thanks to a certain drunken text and embarrassing request on my part.
A client who agreed to help, but only after negotiating himself a sixty percent discount off my design fee.
A client who really is The Prince of Darkness. I shiver as the last bit of Mason’s sunshine bleeds out of my body.
Tad flashes me his most winning smile. “It’s a good thing I’m so amazing every other part of the day or you’d fire me, right Ms. Blake?”
“Oh, Tad. I could never fire you.” I pat his cheek. “You’re just too pretty.”
My assistant beams. “I love working for a woman who appreciates my strengths.”
I dash into my office and shoot Mr. West a quick text.
Sorry. Running late. Will be there ASAP.
I watch for signs of a response, but when nothing happens, I swipe my tablet off my desk, slide it into my bag, then head for the door.
