Ким Карр - Mended

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White linen tablecloths embroidered with gold threads dress the dining room of the downtown Marriott Hotel. Soft lighting sets the tone for intimate conversations and the distance between the tables lends itself to privacy. We’re escorted to a secluded table in the corner and served coffee right away. Sipping his coffee, Damon is explaining to me how to answer the interview questions in order to fast-track my career. That’s the bottom line; he needs money and for some reason he sees me as his golden ticket—although he didn’t quite put it that blatantly. He finessed the words—but I think it’s more. I wish Xander and I would have kept our reunion between ourselves, but we didn’t, so I’m doing what I have to to protect him.

Damon keeps talking and I easily distract myself from the monotony of our conversation by staring at the magnificence of the high ceiling. Its beautiful tinwork catches my eye and the molding is truly a work of art.

“Ivy, are you listening?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer. “You want to get a single out right away to help launch me back on top of the charts.”

He pushes his cup away. “I’m hoping to have one of the songs selected by the end of the week. That should make you happy.”

I nod. I just let him go on thinking that I’m fine with our bargain—that trading Xander’s career for money is my motivation. My mother called him even after I sent her what she asked for. I guess it wasn’t enough, because she told him I was suffering from financial difficulty. From that conversation he got the perverse idea that I’m getting something out of our arrangement. As if the money ever mattered to me. I guess he really never knew me—all I wanted was to earn enough to help my sisters finish college.

A beautiful petite woman approaches us. She pulls her wavy blond hair back and fastens it with a clip she fishes out of her purse. Greeting us, she extends her hand and I scan her outfit. She’s wearing a pale gray suit, all buttoned up with a hint of black lace peeking from above the lapel of her jacket. Her high-heeled pumps scream “I’m a corporate bitch.” Right away I know she must be one of Damon’s “Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir” lackeys and I try not to roll my eyes.

“Ivy, this is Aerie Daniels. She manages Sound Music Magazine for me.”

“Aerie Daniels?” I question. “You’re the niece of Ian Daniels, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She smiles. “I’m also a music journalist.”

“Oh, yes, of course. It’s just I’ve been following the movie reports on the progress of the planning of the No Led Zeppelin film. And I can’t wait for it to start filming and then for its release.”

“Ivy, Ms. Daniels is here to interview you, not the other way around.”

“Of course. I’m so sorry, Ms. Daniels.”

“Ivy, it’s fine,” she replies.

Damon’s phone rings. “Excuse me one moment, ladies.” He scoots his chair back quickly, nearly knocking it into the waiter. “Yes,” he answers, then pauses for a few seconds. “I’ll call you right back.” He hangs up. “Ladies, I have to return this call, but please carry on without me. Hopefully it won’t take very long. Johnny is right over at the next table if you need him.”

Damon bends to kiss my cheek and I feel the tip of his tongue on my skin. His mouth actually repulses me, but he doesn’t notice as he quickly leaves the restaurant. I absentmindedly wipe my face with my napkin and catch Aerie staring. The look on her face tells me she knows what I’m doing. Women pick up on stuff like that. I should have been more careful. But I watch her face as she stares at the doorway where Damon breezed out moments ago. The crease in her brows and the pucker of her lips tell me I might be wrong about her. The look on her face seems to perfectly match mine. It’s a look of distaste and disdain. Maybe she isn’t the savagely ambitious “Yes, sir” journalist I thought she was.

In the next moment it’s like a switch is flicked and she yanks her laptop from her oversized bag and turns it on. A grin dances across her face.

“What?” I ask.

“I’m just proud of myself. I wasn’t wrong,” she answers.

“What do you mean?”

She moves the bud vase and two votive candles from the center of the table and then turns her computer around so I can see what she’s looking at. It’s the picture of Xander and me in Niagara Falls and it’s flashing across a gossip magazine Web site. The caption reads, “Ivy Taylor moves on to a new love.” A huge smile that I can’t contain crosses my face as I remember my body snug against his muscles, his face so close to my ear that I could feel his warm breath, and the way his arm curved around my shoulder protectively when the woman jumped out in front of us and snapped the picture.

Aerie turns the screen back around and says, “I told Jagger I knew there was more to this picture. But he laughed it off.”

“Who’s Jagger?”

“Oh, sorry. Jagger is Xander’s cousin and my boyfriend. He’s also the lead in the movie about my uncle.” She has a sparkle in her eye that softens her demeanor when she says his name.

“You know Xander, then?” I ask, surprised.

She laughs. “Yes. Not well, but I know him. Not only am I dating his cousin, but his brother is married to my best friend.”

The waiter approaches. “Can I start you both with a drink?”

Aerie glances at me and I nod. “Absolutely.”

We both order a glass of wine and my comfort level continues to increase as she fills me in on her friendship with Dahlia Wilde. I ask how she’s doing during what must have been a hard time for all of them. I wish I could have been there for Xander. I also ask her questions about her boyfriend and the movie.

The waiter brings a basket of Brie with crackers and two goblets of Chablis.

“So am I wrong about the picture?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” I start to feel nervous, so I drum my fingers on the table. She notices right away.

“You can trust me, you know.”

My eyes search hers and I stifle a laugh. “You work for Damon, my husband. Of course I can trust you.”

“That’s not what I mean. Look, Ivy, you don’t have to tell me anything, but I get the feeling that something isn’t right. That today’s headlines stating you’ve reconciled with your true love don’t reflect the real story.”

I stay quiet. Damon warned me not to say a word. The deal was simple—Xander’s career would remain untarnished as long as I cooperated. Otherwise Damon threatened to dismantle the band and ruin Xander’s future. I have to put out an album and keep quiet about our real reason for the reconciliation. Six months I have to give him—I can do that.

“Do you love him?” she asks.

“I married him,” I answer, not wanting to lie.

“I know. It’s just that the look you’re giving Xander in the photo looks like love. The look you gave Damon when he walked away looked more like disgust.”

I look at her, stunned, and before I can stop them the words tumble out. “Damon threatened to ruin Xander and the band’s career like his father did to Nick Wilde . . . unless I married him. I couldn’t let that happen to Xander or the band. So I did what he asked.”

“Really? Nick didn’t stop touring because Xander’s mother, Charlotte, got pregnant?” she asks, and I quickly answer.

“No. Damon said his father fired Nick for poor sales performance and that the Wilde Ones’ sales have been anything but stellar, so he could do the same.”

“From what I know, Josh Wolf is a decent man. I can’t imagine him killing anyone’s career unless the sales were nonrecoupable. And I’ve actually seen those sales reports not too long ago, and I don’t think that was the case.”

“You have? How? Why?”

“I have them in my possession. My uncle never married and I was his sole heir. When he died, all his possessions were willed to me. I was going through his stuff a few months ago to help Jagger prepare for his audition and I came across the sales reports. I thought it was strange that they were in with his things, but then, my uncle was a silent partner with River and Xander’s grandfather’s store, Avery’s. So I figured the documents just got placed haphazardly in the wrong stack. I did look at the numbers out of curiosity and remember thinking they were actually phenomenal.”

I look at her, trying to figure this all out. My head is spinning. Why would Damon lie about that?

She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I can help you. Do you trust me?”

I nod. “How?”

“I know a freelance writer who specializes in financial investigation. Can I contact him? Ask him to look into this? Maybe he can find something you can present to Damon as a counter, a way out, who knows?”

Again I nod. A counter—the word sounds so strange, but then again, my situation is anything but normal.

She sets her phone on the table and hits CONTACTS. I watch her as she selects BEN and texts, I have a job for you. I’ll e-mail you the details later.

“There, done.” She hands me her phone. “Give me your number and I’ll let you know if we find anything. And, Ivy, if you need to talk, just call me.”

I type in my contact information and slide the phone back across the table. “Thank you.”

“Listen, it’s none of my business and I don’t know Xander that well. But from what I do know, he seems like a tough guy. I think he can handle Damon.”

“Who can handle Damon?” his voice inquires from behind me. His lips are on my cheek as he pulls up a chair. The spot where his mouth touched my face feels damp and clammy, and I want to wipe it away.

Aerie doesn’t stumble in her response. “Ivy’s security.” She smiles and looks over at Johnny. “I was joking about having a glass of wine”—she raises her glass—“while conducting the interview and asked if he”—she points to Johnny—“would get in trouble. Then I corrected myself when I looked over at him again and said I think he can handle you.”

Damon isn’t amused. “Well, are you ladies finished? I have a lot of pressing business to attend to today and I want to get my wife back to the bus.”

“I think we are,” Aerie says, closing her laptop. “I’d like to send Ivy the questions and responses before I publish, though. If that’s okay with you?”

Damon seems extremely distracted. “Of course. Just run them through my assistant and she’ll see to it that Ivy gets them.” He scoots his chair back, reaches for his wallet, and throws a fifty-dollar bill on the table like it’s confetti. Then he takes my hand and tugs me to my feet with a smile, as if I’m a child not following directions. More disgust flows through me.

I extend my other hand to Aerie. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Daniels,” I say as nonchalantly and as formally as I can.

“Mrs. Wolf, it was my pleasure. Damon, thank you for the opportunity.” I’m so sickened by the sound of his name as mine that I can feel the bile rising in my throat.

“Good afternoon,” Damon says for the both of us before placing his hand on the small of my back and guiding me forward. She glances down when her phone beeps with a text and I hope it’s the information she was talking about.

My disgusted reaction toward him only grows with every touch, and again I question what I ever saw in him. We reach the waiting car as Johnny trails behind us. On the way back to the bus, Damon says nothing while he reads e-mails on his phone and I relish the silence. Looking out the window as we approach the two tour buses in the parking lot, I see Amy boarding the Wilde Ones bus. The pit in my stomach grows, and I start to wonder if I am strong enough to do this—even for Xander.

Xander

Damon Wolf has been here for two days. I can’t get near her and it’s killing me. I have to find a way to get past his security—I need to know if she did this because she wanted to or because she had to. Either way, I don’t understand her actions but I’m not ready to give up. Hatred has been consuming me and I exhale his name as a curse before mustering the strength to get out of bed.

Slowly sitting up, I turn my phone on—too many messages to check right now. My head is pounding and I feel like shit. The bus is unusually quiet. No one seems to be around. I tack up the daily before hitting the bathroom. Then I jump in the shower, slip a pair of jeans on, and head back to the galley, where I lie back down and close my eyes, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do next.

“Xander, there you are. I’ve been calling you. Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Amy calls from across the room, holding the daily sheet in her hand.