Bliss Brothers: The Complete Series Boxed Set, page 12
He takes a fortifying sip of his cocktail. “I was hoping you’d have seen it yourself, or that someone else had told you, but here I am, sacrificing myself for the greater good.”
“Beau...” I’m ten seconds away from losing my cool completely.
“Okay.” Beau stands up straight and takes a deep breath. “Your dick is on the internet.”
I almost forget I’m holding the beer and catch it at the last moment. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Listen, at some point last night, and I don’t have all the details...” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
“My dick is not on the internet.”
“It is, though.” He’s scrolling in staccato stabs through his phone, and with a sinking feeling I realize he’s not shitting me. He’s getting proof. “This is not a joke.”
I study his face like I’ve never studied anything before, but there’s not a single hint he’s kidding at all. The blood drains from my face. Each moment stretches out into eternity. And then Beau turns his phone toward me.
It’s our company Instagram account.
The top photo in the feed is a picture of the Bliss waterfall.
It’s...just the waterfall.
“That’s not my dick, you fucking idiot. That’s a waterfall.”
Beau angles the phone so he can see it. “You have to click...” He clicks on the photo and it gets larger on the screen. The editing is good on this one, making the water and the moonlight look romantic as hell and more gorgeous than they looked that night. I scan over the photo and open my mouth to tell him to go sleep off whatever he’s high on when I see it.
Me.
In the corner of the photo.
My right shoulder is out of the frame, but you can still see my right hand. I’m standing tall, pulling my swim trunks on, looking at something to the left.
Beau’s right. My dick is on the internet. Full. Fucking. Display.
The secondary truth of this scenario hits me like a wrecking ball. There’s only one person who had access to these photos, and this account.
My brother clicks off the phone, shoves it into his pocket, and raises his glass. “I don’t know what to say in this situation, so...cheers.”
I woodenly clink my glass against his, then drain the whole thing. Beau sips from his glass.
Running footsteps sound outside the door, and Jenny catches herself on the frame.
She’s a mess. She’s wearing lounge pants and a camisole with no bra, and her hair is wild. The chalky white of her face tells me instantly that she did this.
“All right,” says Beau, nodding like we’ve just closed a deal. “This is—I’ll—” He rescues himself with another drink from his cocktail. “Hey, Jenny.” He gives her a half-bow, then scoots out the door behind her and hustles through the bullpen.
Her breath is ragged in the quiet of my office as she steps inside, hands spread in front of her. “It was a mistake.” Her green eyes glisten beneath a sheen of tears.
“Do you fucking think so?” I shove the empty beer glass down on my desk and run a hand through my hair. “How did you do this? You don’t double-check the images before you send them?”
“I do,” Jenny says, the words running close together. “I do. I do. This was really and truly a mistake. I was trying to do the right thing—”
“So you posted a nude picture of me on our company account?” I hiss the words to keep from shouting them. Then her words sink in. “What do you mean, you were trying to do the right thing? Are you saying that posting appropriate images was the wrong thing?”
Color flashes to her cheeks. “I might as well come clean, now that—oh, god.” She buries her faces in her hands.
“Jenny, tell me what’s going on before my brain shuts down.” The things she’s saying aren’t making sense. Coming clean? About what?
She lifts her face and meets my eyes. “Okay. Okay. I...I didn’t come here just to show off my new look. That was part of a misguided revenge, but—”
“Part of it?” What the fuck? What the fuck?
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
“It’s worse than I think if you’re posting this kind of photo to get back at me—”
“I didn’t. I did not do that.” Sincerity shines from her eyes, and I almost believe her...but how can I? “I thought that was a photo of the waterfall. But before that, I was only letting you choose from run-of-the-mill photos for the account because...” She hesitates and I hold my breath. “My old PR firm hired me to run defense for another company.”
That...makes zero sense. “What does that mean?”
“They hired me to come here and work for you and post things that would make Bliss look less attractive than their client.” She bites her lip so hard I want to tell her to stop, but I say nothing. “Not to make you look bad. Just to...make the other place look even better. More luxurious. I was supposed to be here for a month and then quit.” She shakes her head, looking up at the ceiling like something there will help her. “You have no idea how bad it was in New York. A piece of my ceiling fell into this soup, and then a bunch of bugs crawled out—”
“Just stop.” I can’t process this. I can’t believe that Jenny, my Jenny, the Jenny who has been in my bed every night, who cried at the thought of other people judging her for wanting to be different, did this.
“I needed the money,” she whispers. “I’ll give it all back. And I swear, Roman, I would never have done this. It was late, and I was tired, and you had just gone—” A ghost of a smile skips across her face and disappears. “I fucked up. I know it. But I didn’t mean it.”
It won’t end here. It won’t end here for me, or the resort. I yank my phone from my pocket and toss it on the desk between us. “Delete the photo.” It’s already too late. I know that. Still, it can’t stay up.
“Okay.” Jenny picks up the phone with trembling fingers. “What’s—what’s your passcode?” I wrench it back from her and type it in. “It’ll only take me a second. There are a couple of apps...” One look at me, and she presses her lips together and says nothing.
I let the silence sharpen as she clicks and scrolls.
“It’s done,” she says a minute later, putting the phone carefully back on the surface of the desk. When she looks up at me, there’s such a painful hope in her eyes that it nearly guts me. Her lip trembles.
“You’re done,” I tell her, my voice as level as I can make it. “Get your things and get out. Don’t come back.”
Her chin quivers and she opens her mouth. Closes it again.
Turns on her heel.
Goes.
23
Jenny
I haul the last box of stuff up the last five stairs into my new apartment, wrestle it in through the front door, and let it drop to the floor. Nobody downstairs will care about the noise. The only thing below me is an art gallery that’s only open three days a week even during the tourist season. It’s probably a tax shelter for the owners, but I don’t care. The only thing that counted was the minuscule rent.
It’s three steps into the center of my new living room. This place has a minuscule rent because it’s a miniscule apartment wedged above the art gallery, accessible only by a narrow staircase. Eventually, I’m sure the owners will figure out that if they did a little updating—okay, a lot of updating—they could rent this place by the night during the week of Summerfest in Ruby Bay and make a killing.
For now, it’s mine. A month ago I would have cared deeply about the cobwebs lining the corners of the tiny combination living room and kitchen. Now that my heart is dead, I can’t find it in me to be afraid of the spiders.
I took most of the day to sort things out into anything resembling a situation under control. First, there was the walk of shame back through the bullpen. Everyone’s stares felt like daggers in my skin, but Roman’s anger was the body blow. No—it was worse than anger. It was betrayal. I could hardly breathe from the weight.
I deserved to get fired.
I get the brand-new Swiffer I bought from the hardware store on the edge of town, put a cover on it, and start with the cobwebs. Evening light comes through the single window in the living room. Hopefully I’ll have this place in order by the time the sun sets. Not that anything fun will happen when the sun sets. I’m not positive I’ll be able to sleep.
Everything’s still rattling around in my head. It’s an echo chamber of shame, and not the fun kind. I hoped that Roman would change his mind against all the odds, even as I threw my things into the boxes and shoved them into the backseat of my car. Half of me wanted him to come after me and confess that even though I did something terrible, he couldn’t bear living without me. The other half wanted to be gone before he had the chance.
He never showed, so I guess I count that as half a victory.
It’s a ridiculous hope. Nobody gets over an accidental dick pic on the internet in ninety minutes.
As soon as I was off Bliss property, I pulled over in a residential neighborhood and logged into my banking app. I sent every Penny of Connor’s money back to Global via an e-check that will be printed and arrive in seven to ten business days. The money’s already out of my account, and it makes me feel lighter. Not happier, just...lighter.
Bliss pays every two weeks, however, so the gap significantly reduced my bank account. I’m not expecting another check from them. One hard look at my bills and loans told me the truth.
I don’t have enough money to get back to New York.
Even if went there, I wouldn’t have enough for a deposit on a place to stay. There’s no telling how long it’ll take me to save up that kind of cash again, and I don’t relish the thought of crashing on people’s couches indefinitely.
Once I’ve cleaned the cobwebs, things begin to look up in the apartment. I do the kitchen next. The one box that’s not in hopeless disarray is the box of cleaning supplies from the hardware store. That makes it easier to clean, but the cleaning doesn’t shut my brain off.
I deserve that, too.
There’s a thin layer of dust over everything, and I buff and wipe and spray until I reveal the kitchen’s true self. A dull pride flits by when I finish with the stove. It looks old, but the gas turns on well, and now it’s shining...
I have a clean stove. That’s it. A clean stove and a dead heart.
I spent the rest of the afternoon looking for a place to stay. The hotel rooms around town are already going for their summer rates, so that was out of the question. This apartment was in the classifieds. I bought a physical paper to find it, and the ad reminded me of a secret code. 1 BDRM DTWN RUBY BAY. STEEP STAIRS. GAS INCL. The editors had wedged the one-liner down toward the bottom of the page, too close to the margin. Perfect. I’m always living too close to the margin.
The bathroom is in surprisingly good shape, so it doesn’t take long to soak it all in cleaner and scrub it down. It’s clear someone cared for this place until recently. What happened to them? Any other day, I might have asked more questions. Today I only had it in me to call the number and fill out a sparse rental form at the small party store on the corner. That’s where I’ll pay my rent, too. The guy there had the keys behind the counter.
I save the bedroom for last. Somehow—and I can’t fathom what kind of effort it took—the owners have wedged a full-size bed and frame into the narrow space. A chair with a wicker seat fits between the bed and the wall, doing double duty as a place to sit and a nightstand. There is a single closet, about a foot wide. You can only open the door by standing as close as possible to the chair.
I can’t complain.
I clean out the dust, load my clothes in, and shut it again.
The sheets are another story. The only way to make the bed is to climb all over it, so I push my already rolled sleeves up another inch and get to it. A comforter will only bunch up on the top, so I top it off with a throw blanket and call it good. There’s another narrow window here and I open it halfway.
That window is the real gem of the apartment. It looks out over the next building, which is a story lower, and beyond that is the downtown park. In the distance, across the park, I can see the corner of Bellissimo.
The pain in my chest catches me so off-guard I raise my hands to my breastbone on some instinct. Maybe I’m holding my heart in.
I guess it’s not dead at all.
I stand perfectly still, letting the pain come. I wanted him so badly. I know I shouldn’t have entertained even the slightest possibility, but I did.
Roman.
It’s cruel and unusual punishment not to be with him, but anybody would say it was only fair.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I fish for it with one hand, swiping blindly at the screen. “Hello?”
“Hey, Jen.”
My sister.
The bed creaks beneath me as I sit down.
“Hi. How’s it going?”
The background noise seems...breezy, and at first it carries her voice away. “—breakdown in communication at the collective, and—out.”
“Sorry, Tia, I didn’t catch that.”
“They kicked me out,” she says, louder this time. “So I have to find a new place to stay. The only problem is—”
“I can’t.” It’s another kick to the gut, because even when everything else is going wrong, I still want to help my sister. “I can’t help you, Tia. I’m sorry. I don’t have the money.”
“Are you okay?” The noise behind her fades. Maybe she stepped into a doorway. I don’t know.
“No.”
“What happened?” There’s nothing but true, genuine concern in her voice. “Tell me what happened, Jenny. It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” I blubber, and then the whole story comes out—all of it. Connor. The sabotage. The accidental dick pic. I hear a snort when I get to that part of the story, but she covers it well. The breakup. I finally fall silent, and my sister takes a deep breath.
“Wow. That’s...a story. What are you going to do?”
“I guess stay here.” I gesture at the tiny bedroom, though she can’t see me. “I don’t have the money to go anywhere else. Or the will.” I fall back against the bed. “My heart is dead.”
“It’s not dead,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice. “It’s just...dormant. You’ve been through a shock. Is there anything I can do?”
“You want to come visit for a week? Hop a bus and come stay on my couch? I have the world’s smallest apartment.” A tear slides down my cheek. “That’s all I can offer, really. I’ve got nothing else.”
“Oh, Jenny.” There’s a muffled scraping sound. “You have so much to offer. You just have to let people see it.”
“Yeah, well...if they see what I have to offer, they’ll see how badly I’ve fucked up, too.”
“Everyone fucks up.” She’s so sure of herself. “But it all works out.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Not for me. I—” I can hardly bring myself to say it. “I really loved him. That sounds stupid, but it’s true.”
“It doesn’t sound stupid. It sounds human. Nobody can blame you for that. Those Bliss brothers are hot. And they’re nice.”
“That’s why it’s so awful.”
“It was awful, and now it’s over, Jenny. There’s nothing you can do but move on.” She pauses. “Or try to get him back.”
“No chance of that.”
“Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right,” my sister intones. “I mean, it could have been worse, right? You could have burned the place down or embezzled money. He’ll laugh about it later.” I doubt that. “I’ll call you in a little while, okay? Once I book my bus ticket.”
That makes me smile for the first time all day.
Oh, it’ll be the worst, surviving without Roman. When the line goes dead I toss my phone onto the nightstand chair.
I’ll do it one breath at a time. I have no other choice.
24
Roman
I’m working my way through a blessedly mind-numbing pile of resort paperwork when one of my brothers clears his throat.
“Can I borrow a minute of your time?”
I raise my eyes from the one thing that’s saved me from falling into a deep depression to find that Beau didn’t come alone. He brought Charlie with him.
Beau looks…good. Surprisingly good.
I check my watch for show. It’s nearly three o’clock. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” I take a second look at Beau. “There’s no drink in your hand.”
“Sick burn,” says Charlie, and Beau shoots him a withering look.
“Early to bed and early to rise makes you a boring-ass—” Beau stops when Charlie raises his eyebrows.
“What’s going on?” The two of them rarely attend meetings together. There’s also the small fact that I haven’t called a meeting. They take my question as an invitation and step into the office, each twin taking a chair.
Beau shakes out his shoulders. “The first thing I should say is that this has nothing to do with any kind of illicit photography.”
“Get out.”
“He’s serious,” Charlie chimes in. “It has nothing to do with—” He presses his lips shut at the look on my face, but I can’t help noticing that the amusement doesn’t quite fade from his eyes.
I look back to Beau. “What’s with the getup?”
He looks down at his clothes. Dress slacks. A collared shirt. It’s ironed. “I wanted to look my best when I came to make my case. Our case,” he says with a meaningful look at Charlie.
“What case is that?”
The twins look at each other and give simultaneous nods, which I find both endearing and stupid all at once. Beau makes confident eye contact. “You need to stop with this ridiculous approvals process.”
“No.” There’s paperwork to do, and a lot of other shit besides. I don’t have time for this.
