Incendiary (36 page)

“Oh, please. Sloane was jealous. Five days isn’t enough time for anything.”

Silently agreeing that Sloane didn’t like Sam around me, I don’t address Abby’s speculation. I tell her about the tutor Grandma got for me. I failed then, too.

Her face falls. “Georgie, pleeaaassseee,” she whines. “The pressure won’t be on
you
. It’ll be on me.” Her eyes light up and she snaps her fingers. “Oh, I know! Why don’t I get a GED study guide? Obviously, I need to refresh my memory on certain topics. Do you know what I mean? Then, we move on to the SAT book.” She claps her hands. “Let’s make up rewards for ourselves?”

“Rewards?”

“If I’m going to put myself out there for this SAT, why don’t you think about doing it, too? If we pass, we can go to Monaco for a girls’ getaway.”

“Monaco? As in the
country
? The one bordered by France on three sides and the Mediterranean Sea on the other.”

“Jesus, Georgie? You know that shit?”

“What shit?”

“Geography. Hello?”

“Oh. Well. I just remember how tiny it is. Besides, I read up on it in some book.”

“See? You’re perfect to help me!”

“I think I’d need to have a diploma or a GED to take the SAT.” Oh my goodness! An idea strikes me. “Ummm, do you think I could study for my GED?” I ask timidly. “I mean I’d be helping you. Maybe, I’d retain some of the information.” My face heats in embarrassment at Abby’s blank look. She squints at me and I bite my lip.

“Could you do it, Georgie? Whenever you put that type of pressure on yourself…” Her voice trails off. “Ah, fuck it,” she says breezily. “Why not, right?”

“Do you think I’ll pass?”

Abby shrugs. “Maybe, if you have it in your mind you’re helping me, instead of thinking about studying for your GED, you won’t feel pressure, so you’ll pass.”

Excitement gathers inside of me, and I nod. “Okay. I’m in.”

“Awesome!” Abby chirps with excitement and bounces to her feet, full of energy as usual. She grabs her bags. “I have a date.”

“When don’t you?” I ask with a smile.

“You should go on one,” she says casually. “I have this great guy to fix you up with.”

Zelda and I exchange glances before I glare at Abby and lift my hand to show her my wedding set. I never take the rings off. Sloane never had one.

“I’m married. Remember?”

“Georgie, love, I’m not telling you to sleep with another man. Just get out of the house and have fun. You’re getting your figure back. You have all these pretty clothes. And you have nowhere to go and nothing to do.”

“I have wedding gifts to get to.” As much as the media has pointed fingers at me for the damage I’ve done, I receive
gifts
for Bryn and me from around the world. Fashion designers and famous models. Movie stars and music people. CEOs and COOs, and their wives.

Abby is teaching me the proper protocol about a lot of things. For instance, with the gifts, some people I
personally
called—yes, she really has famous people’s personal phone numbers—others I sent handwritten thank-you notes with a nice message. And then, others, it was a quick, typed thank you note. My signature was scanned into a computer and added to this last group, which comprises three-quarters of a very long list. “And baby gifts, too.”

“Think about my suggestion,” Abby persists, ignoring everything else. “You’re wasting away in here.”

“No. I’m being Bryn’s mother and Sloane’s wife. As soon as he gets security, he’ll send for us,” I say sullenly, my attempt at conviction in Sloane’s reasoning not believable. I sound hurt. I blink at the opened cookbook, the words blurred by my tears. The dire words Grandma spoke on the day of my wedding wreaks havoc with the fairness I should offer Sloane.

Clucking and putting her bags down again, Abby hugs me, but I stay rigid, afraid to let go. If I do, I’ll fall to pieces.

“Just because he’s sleeping around, doesn’t mean I have to. It isn’t as if I’m some innocent little girl. When we met, I had a lover. If we hadn’t exchanged vows, I’d take another one,” I lie with defiance. To sleep with anyone else, I’d have to fall out of love with Sloane.

“It’s all right, babe,” she swears. Her phone rings and she grabs it from her purse. A look I can’t place crosses her face as she stares at the screen and uneasy laughter escapes her. “You’re right,” she says, no longer meeting my eyes. “Sloane loves you. You understand why he’s doing what he’s doing.” Her phone rings again and she flushes. “I have to take this call.”

She leaves so fast she forgets her packages. Glancing in Bryn’s direction, I find her still peacefully asleep, so I stand and reach for Abby’s stuff.

“Found anything you’d like to have on the week’s menu?” Zelda asks me.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Would you sit for a minute?”

I give her a quick glance, then look away. “Abby forgot her things, so I want to bring them to her before Bryn wakes up.”

It’s so hard being a good mom and a good wife. It’s even worse when I’m married to an idiot. Sloane needs me to trust him, and believe that we’ll be together in the end. But it’s hard seeing so many different women around him. To me, he’s acting no different than before we married.

Zelda’s kind brown eyes study me and a smile tips her lips up.

She hugs me. Unlike with Abby, I break down and sob against the cook’s shoulder. She lets me, humming to me like I do to Bryn. Just knowing she’s here for me gives me strength. I don’t have to do this alone, until I have my husband back with me.

“He doesn’t have to be seen with all these different women.”

She walks to the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of lemonade, then gets two, tall glasses and returns to the breakfast bar. She pours both of us a glass. I drink deeply, not realizing I’ve cried so much I’m nearly dehydrated.

“Mr. Sloane needs a Come-to-Jesus moment. Whatever he’s doing right now, you’re letting him slide. Standing by your man is well and good. When your man’s a jackass? Don’t do it. He needs to put up or shut up. If you want to give him a pass until your birthday, just do it. Block out whatever you hear or read and have it in your head, you’ll straighten things out then.”

“He always wanted me with him before.”

“Before was then. This is now.
Then
is never coming back.
Now
is here and is all that really counts. Be the lady of the house and plan your attack.”

If only I knew what that should be, I’d happily proceed. As it is now, I’m at a loss.

“Sloane!” The girl yanks her bikini top off and jumps into the swimming pool, squealing my name. I’m at another party. This time it’s hosted by the band’s old music producer. We’re trying to get him on board for the album. I’ve worked to mend fences with my devotees and record execs, as we put together the short-tracked new album.

“Come in with me,” she yells, splashing around, laughing when three more people jump in—two of them fully clothed.

Smiling at her, I light a cigarette and release the smoke. “No can do.”

“Pretty please?” she pouts.

Someone touches my back and draws my attention away from Pool Girl. I glance over my shoulder and discover Silver, completely naked.

“Hi, Sloane,” she purrs.

I smirk. “Silver.”

She brushes past me and I spot Rhea emerging from the pool, as nude as Silver.

“Sloane!” Rhea yells, stopping at the bar set up at the edge of the patio. She rubs her pussy.

“Sorry, babe. Not interested.”

She throws me a disappointed pout as if I’ll care and change my mind about taking the pussy she keeps offering me. She should be fucking happy I let her hang all over me for photographs. As
my
onstage dancer, we’re stirring up publicity and anticipation for Rhea and I performing together at my concerts.

Of course Georgie doesn’t believe me.

Monogamy is easier than I expected, although I’m still amazed that my entire attitude has made such a three hundred sixty degree turn. My cock lives in a state of shock, too. We’ve gone from fuck machines to almost fucking celibate. No, to
completely
fucking celibate. Counting my own hand jobs is out.

Sometimes, I feel as if I’m losing my manliness, especially when she questions me, then dismisses my explanations as lies. Then, I remind myself her lack of trust has been hard-earned. The only way to help her is by offering her patience and understanding. And, even if answering her questions tempts me to say
fuck it
and fuck another woman, I can’t betray Georgie.

Grabbing a drink from a passing waiter, I head inside, so fucking restless. It’s quite crowded in the house and noisy as hell. I don’t want to be here, so I finish my brandy and head to the car I’m using during my stay here. In forty-five minutes, I arrive at the mansion we’re renting. It’s silent and dark when I walk in, so I flip on the lights just as my phone rings.

Seeing Abby’s number, I answer immediately as I walk to the living room. “What’s up?” I ask as I head to the bar and pour myself another drink.

“The sky. The moon. The stars. The sun.”

“What do you want?” I snap. “Is that more fucking understandable to you?”

“You’re in a lovely mood.”

I down the scotch. “Abby—”

“If Georgie asks about me being in college, tell her I didn’t go.”

“Why the hell should I do that? And why the fuck would she ask that?” Outside of questioning me about the women I’m photographed with, she barely asks me anything anymore. “What are you concocting now, Abby?”

“Besides your complete romantic downfall and financial ruin because you’re such a jackass?”

“Yeah,” I return sarcastically. “Besides that. Why wouldn’t you tell Georgie you have a bachelor’s degree in art history?”

“She needs to study without pressure,” she explains, her voice slightly lower.

“I beg your pardon?”

“For her GED.”

I’m still not following the convoluted brain of my aunt. “How is you not going to college important?”

“If she’s helping me study for the SAT—”

I grab the crystal decanter and stalk to the couch. I may need to find another fucking bottle to figure this out. “And? You scored eighteen or nineteen hundred on the test.”

“My God, Sloane. For someone so smart, you’re completely fucking stupid,” she hisses. “No pressure on Georgie if she thinks she’s doing it mostly for my benefit. You wouldn’t fucking imagine the stuff she knows. Everyone has crapped over her for so long, she’s bought into it.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“I know,” she says haughtily. “Now, anything else?”

“You called me.
Is
there anything else you need to tell me?”

“Got your credit card statement recently?”

“Yep.” Not giving her the satisfaction of knowing how she pissed me the fuck off, I guzzle from the bottle. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

“When’s one for Georgie arriving?”

More guzzling for me. “When I get one for her.”

“When is she joining you?”

“In a few days.”

“She doesn’t believe it’ll ever happen.”

“She needs to trust me,” I retort, frustrated with my nosy aunt’s interference.

“Why the fuck should she trust you? I wouldn’t trust you either with your history.”

“Do you have anything else to say?” I ask crossly. “Otherwise, this conversation is over.”

She disconnects without answering. I stand and head to the music room, where I’ll spend the night with my scotch and my guitar.

Although I hate to create even more drama, a week after Abby suggests a date, I take her suggestion, though I don’t mention it to Sloane during our daily calls. Stubbornness interferes with me mentioning joining him. If he wants me there, he’ll send for me.

The press is tearing me apart because of what
he’s
doing, speculating that I’m turning a blind eye to his cheating because I’m too young to know better.

For a few days, they stopped bothering me. Then, boom, they’re staking out the house again.

Emory Lawson is a blond like Abby—this family has a fucking thing for golden hair. He’s tall and he’s a businessman. Not quite my cup of tea, but it beats sobbing my eyes out over my dickhole husband. I’ve pumped my milk and changed my mind about going a dozen times. I haven’t let Bryn out of my sight since we arrived in Denver. Even when I’m taking a shower, Abby is in the bathroom at the vanity with Bryn in her arms.

Not healthy for me or my baby. My attachment to Bryn makes Abby even more insistent on the importance of my date. But the intruder hasn’t been caught. Sloane’s mansion is secure, especially entry to the second floor, unless someone manages to get through a window or one of the patio doors. Only Zelda, Sloane and me have access via our finger scans onto the second floor from any of the inside staircases.

Now, as I sit in a downtown restaurant, my depression starts to settle into me. No matter what Sloane has done or who he’s doing, I miss him so much.

Glum, I gaze out the window at the photographers waiting for me to exit. They were right outside the gates of Sloane’s mansion. Only two cars followed Emory and I. I don’t think they were sure it was me. Apparently, the others called their posse, though. It’s ridiculous outside.

“Georgiana?” Emory calls my name in a sing-song voice.

“Sorry.” My chin rests in my palm as I lean on the table. He’s been talking about his bottom line and projected forecasts and shit I really don’t understand even with the studying Abby and I do. It’s fun and takes up two hours of my day, every afternoon. She’s doing fantastic. Surprisingly, I am too, so I’m still excited about my plans for my GED.

However, tonight, I’m on a date and he deserves my attention.

“Do you like to read?” I ask, to start up the conversation.

Another thing Sloane and his family like are blue eyes. Emory’s eyes are bright blue and they’re twinkling now.

“Financial reports,” he answers.

“Oh.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Do you know how old I am?”

Not caring, I never asked. I agreed to Abby’s plans out of hurt and betrayal and loneliness.

“You don’t, do you?”

Flushing, I squirm in my seat. “I’m sorry,” I blurt. “I’ve never been on a date,” I confess. “Nor have I ever had an actual boyfriend, so I don’t know what to do or what to say. The financial stuff you were talking about? I don’t understand it. If you want to talk about my daughter, or how many lines I’m capable of doing, or places I’d like to visit, or how much I adore Sloane, then let’s go for it.” I’m on the verge of crying again. Everything I’ve said is pathetically true.

For the first time in months, the urge to do coke slams into me. When Kiln offered it to me and I thought about it, it was more the power of suggestion. Now, it’s just plain need.

Away from Bryn and without Sloane, I feel so lost. Sloane
does
know me and his idea of a new pregnancy is good. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life having babies to stay clean. Doing it for Bryn is responsible, but it’s only when I do it for myself will I succeed.

The day Sloane took me out in the rain marches through my mind. He implored me to continue fighting. I wasn’t ready to listen then. Now, I am. I’m ready to fight for my future.

“I hear you’re a fan of action movies.”

His words startle me. “What?”

“Action movies,” he repeats.

“I mean…I mean I heard you. But where would you hear such bullshit?”

“You’re all over the place,” he explains.

Oh my God. The facts of my life are being as erroneously plastered all over the media as Sloane’s.

“I like horror movies,” I say grouchily.

He nods. “I enjoy both horror and action movies. Have you ever seen the original version of
The Exorcist
?”

“Oh, God, yes! I didn’t sleep for a week after I saw it.”

“Wimp,” he teases.

I giggle. “You never did tell me your age.”

“Thirty,” he says. “In all fairness, I didn’t realize
your
age or who you were until I got to the house.”

“That’s Abby for you. She means well.” She does, too. I know that, but she loves to piss Sloane off. He’s never told me she makes him mad. However, her never ending shopping on his dime is bound to infuriate him. “Which action movies do you like?”

Another flash glares through the window and I roll my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why Abby would make reservations for this fucking table when so many dickholes are lurking.”

Emory laughs and stares at me for a moment. “I think the reason will reveal itself very soon. Now, are you ready to order?”

Fuck, but my head is pounding as I sit up after Maitland barges into my room.

“What?” I growl, hanging my head and holding it between my hands.

“Your wife, fucker.”

He shoves a tablet in front of me. The other time he used a phone. Now, Georgie’s photos are staring at me on an electronic tablet that’s almost ten fucking inches. I get to see more of her as she sits at a small fucking table with Emory Lawson, Abby’s male counterpart in terms of fucking. He fucks anything that moves. Fuck, if Helen gave him the time of day, he’d fuck her.

“What the fuck is Georgie doing with him?”

“What do you think, asshole?” Maitland scoffs. “She’s obviously out on a date.”

“Out on
what?
” As far as I know, Georgie hasn’t ever been on a fucking date.
That’s right, dickhead.
She’s just been an afterthought to almost everyone.

Wide fucking awake now, I shove the covers aside and ignore my hard cock.

“You look like shit.”

I grunt. I feel like shit, too. I never quite gave up drinking, but I
had
stopped binge drinking. Walking around Maitland, I head to the living room. Kiln is standing near a window and a girl is on her knees, sucking his dick. There are two naked girls asleep on the couch, another is curled up in a chair, an upside down bottle of champagne clutched to her. Quint’s eating a bowl of cereal, and Adam is focusing on a sheet of music. I’ve awakened to similar scenes every fucking day for the past weeks, with minor variations.

“Kiln!” I call. The loudness of my voice stirs the girl with the champagne bottle. She rubs her eyes and sits up. Immediately, she looks at my hard dick.

Maitland brushes past me and heads to the sideboard, grabbing an orange.

Kiln ignores me until after he comes in the girl’s face, then he lifts a brow.

“Get these girls out of here and get a crew to clean this place up.” We don’t have staff because we’re hardly ever in residence. One reason I didn’t give a fuck when Jaeger let it slip Dad got this place for us. My trips to Denver allowed me to miss him coming and going, too. He’s back in Houston, aware that I don’t want him around me. “I can’t wait any longer to get Georgie’s team in place. Call in whoever we’ve already hired. I want weapons at the ready when she’s being escorted anywhere.”

“Georgie’s flying out?” Quint asks around a belch.

“Yes.” I ignore Kiln’s scowl and wait for other questions. When none are forthcoming, I head to my room, slam my door shut, then get my phone to call my wife and my pilot.