I sounded curt and businesslike. I had wanted to sound confident and strong, instead I realized that I came off as dismissive and apathetic. Shit. Would she even call me back after a message like that? I sure as hell hoped so. I missed her more than I could say — more than I'd ever missed anyone.
Chapter Thirteen
Kayla
I was exhausted by the time I got home at the end of the day. Twelve hours on my feet, posing in skimpy outfits with five inch heels that pinched my toes. The end results were well worth it, though. The digital proofs I got to see looked fantastic and were just what the director wanted. They'd make an excellent addition to my growing résumé of experience. Plus, I walked out with a hefty bonus in addition to my promised paycheck.
When I got to my crappy car, I was disappointed to see that it was full of the boxes I had picked up from Mick's place before work. For a brief moment in time, I'd forgotten they were there and wiped out the awful memory of our morning encounter.
He'd set the boxes outside of our apartment building by the dumpster, but my name was clearly emblazoned across them with a bold Sharpie pen, so I knew they were mine. Some homeless people were already digging through them and they ran off with a plastic garbage bag full of my clothes before I could stop them.
"It doesn't matter. They need the clothes more than I do," I muttered aloud as I searched for the boxes that really mattered to me, the ones full of my photo albums and memorabilia.
"Want some help carrying that to your car?" a familiar voice said, and I whipped around to face Mick.
"No, thanks. I can take care of myself." I hefted the heavy box and started carrying it across the parking lot to my car just to prove it.
"Yeah, I see that. Looks like you've managed to do just fine yourself. Got yourself a car and a place to live, all thanks to the job I got for you. You wouldn't have anything it weren't for me, you slutty tramp; but you keep telling everybody how fine you’re doing and see if anyone believes your lies. Aren't you going to ask how I'm doing without you?"
"No, Mick. I don't care how you're doing without me." We got to my car, and he tried to block me from being able to get to my trunk. He was already drunk, though, even at that hour of the morning, and I pushed past him easily. I put the box next to the others I'd already loaded in the trunk, since my backseat was already full, and slammed the lid shut.
Turning on him, I said angrily, "I stopped caring about you the moment I found you cheating on me with my best friend. I have a feeling you stopped caring about me long before that. It's been years since you treated me the way a real boyfriend should. It just took me long time to realize it. Now leave me alone. I never want to see you or my former best friend again."
"It's funny you mention Samantha because she's doing alright, too. In fact, she's moved in with me. Out with the old and tired, and in with the new and exciting. She turns me on in ways you never could, and she brings home way better money than you ever did from her tips at the bar."
"I'm glad. I hope you two are very happy together. I can't think of two people who deserve each other more," I said with a hostile edge even Mick couldn't miss.
"I'll give you what you deserve, you fucking bitch." He grabbed me hard on the arms and tried to kiss me. I kicked him in the balls with all my strength, and he doubled over in half, letting me go instantly before he puked on his own shoes. I jumped in my car, locked the door, and fumbled for my keys, shaking all over. He was shouting at obscenities at me as I started the engine and drove quickly away.
I was still rattled from the encounter by the time I got to the photoshoot, but I was a professional and they never knew. After a little while, I was able to immerse myself in the process and forget all about Mick and the ugly encounter — until I was once again faced with the boxes filling my backseat and trunk.
I lugged them into my apartment one by one and left them stacked in my living room. Then, I crashed into bed and just slept. It had been an exhausting day and I just couldn't face them.
The next morning, I awoke feeling refreshed, and after a hearty cup of coffee, I was ready to take them on. Going through the boxes one by one was strangely therapeutic. Dressed in jean shorts and a turquoise blue tank top, with my hair piled high on my head in a sloppy bun, I dug into the boxes like an archeologist on a site, exploring objects I hadn't seen in weeks, sometimes months, some of them even years.
There was the lease from our first apartment together when we had just moved to L.A. I was a kid of 18 back then and believed every wild tale he told me about how easy it would be to make all our dreams come true in the City of Angels. There was the dress I wore to my first modeling job. Too bad the bums didn't take it; talk about ugly! I had learned to dress much better since those days and could actually afford to buy decent brands now that Mick wasn't draining all my savings.
Here was the cheap ring he had given me after our first big fight. I had thought it was beautiful and had forgiven him instantly, then a week later it turned my finger green and I had to take it off. I was too sentimental about the gift, though, and refused to throw it away. Instead, I kept it in this jewelry box. I was over such delusions of love now and had no trouble throwing the cheap trinket straight into the garbage can, along with all the other crap that reminded me of him.
Very few of the memories from my years with Mick were good, but many of them were bad. I was surprised to see just how much of a struggle life with him had been. It was easy to be blind to the misery when I was stuck living in it every day, but with a little time and distance, I had finally gained some perspective and I could truthfully say I was glad to be done with him.
A huge sigh of relief escaped my lungs as I threw the last of the boxes and unwanted objects into the dumpster behind my new apartment. I felt several inches taller from being rid of the burden of my past and moved with a lighter step. As I walked back into my apartment, I heard my cell phone ringing on my table and picked it up.
It was a message from Ethan, and my heart instantly stuck in my throat. I had secretly been hoping that he'd call me one day, even though I was the one who had slipped out on him while he was sleeping. I claimed that I didn't want him to, that there was no hope of a relationship between us, and that it was best to leave things as a one-night-stand; but it was all a lie. Inside my innermost heart, I had been hoping he would miss me as much as I missed him and call me, begging me to be his girlfriend.
I held my breath as I pressed one on my cell phone to listen to my voicemail messages. Instantly, my hope deflated into disappointment. He sounded so businesslike and official. It was almost as if he were being forced to make the call by some P.R. agent, or possibly even Keith Wilkes, who had been very nice to me.
He had probably bragged to them about having slept with yet another model, and they told him they wanted me at the launch party since I was cover girl for their magazine that month. They must have told him they thought it would be best if he made the call, and from the sound of his voice, it was obvious he hadn't wanted to.
My eyes were stinging, and I was forced to angrily blink back my tears. It was funny, I had been dry-eyed the entire time I was throwing out five years of memories with Mick, and the moment I got a call from the man I only spent one night with, I was falling to pieces.
The realization made me angry. I'd just gotten my independence, and here I was handing over my heart to another callous asshole and letting him determine my happiness. No more. I'd been in a relationship since I was 16 and let a man tell me what to do, where to go, and how to live my life.
Now that I was finally free of that, there was no way I was going to let Ethan Colson think that he could just snap his fingers and I would come running to any company function that he wanted just so he could show me off when it suited him, and he could toss me aside like a wet rag when it didn't.
I dialed the number for his private cell, but instantly turned it off before it started to ring. I didn't just want to tell him off privately so he could put any spin on it that he wanted to. I wanted to march into his office and make it clear to everyone at Speed Motorcycles that this was one model who wasn't going to be taken advantage of. If he wanted me to show up at another press event like this launch party, I was willing to talk business, but if he thought he could just use and abuse me, he was in for a nasty surprise. Just the kind that Mick got this morning when I kicked him in the balls.
Fired up and ready to go, I grabbed my purse and my keys and headed for the door. Only my reflection in the mirror on the living room wall made me pause. Covered in dust and sweat, with my bun half-undone and pit stains on my tank top, this was not the scene I wanted to make. A look at my watch told me I had time for a shower and change of clothes. Glancing at my closet, I knew just what I'd wear. This was going to be a meeting to remember.