Insta-Hate (Instant Gratification #1) Page 3

  She took a deep breath and her dark eyes rolled up toward the ceiling as if the right words might drop down onto her face. And, three...two...one...

  “It’s just that Evan is always gone for work, and it’s so hard having three kids with that much energy,” she exclaimed, swinging an arm toward the still-writhing mass of children in the next room. “You’re never around and I have no one over the age of eight to speak with during the daylight hours. It’s exhausting.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” And I was. I couldn’t do much to help her, but I was sorry she was freaking out. If the roles were reversed, I’d keep used tissues in my pocket, too. And I’d use those sons of bitches until they were lacy slivers of nothing.

  “Look, I’ll finish dinner. Go get a hot bath.”

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the tissue. Cringe. Snot face alert. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.” Please for the love of everything holy, go wash your face and throw the shredded germy tissue in the waste basket.

  She blew her dark bangs off her forehead. “Thanks.” The woman sure was fast when properly motivated. Meg blew through the living room and down the hallway so fast, the kids didn’t even notice her. They only looked up when her bedroom door slammed and the lock was engaged.

  “Mom?”

  “Mama?”

  “Mommy?”

  Three dark-haired heads popped up from the frenzy and looked toward the sound. Before they could run to the door and start trying to beat it down, I snapped, “Okay, no more of this tonight. Chase and Will, set the table. Tally, you’re with me.” Grumbles followed, but the three went to work. “Your mom needs a break. Now, you’re going to give it to her and be on your best behavior during dinner. Anyone throwing food will answer to me. Got it?”

  Three sets of wide eyes stared back, each of their bodies held stock still. It was one thing to make mama lose her shit, but making aunt Lexie mad was another ball game, one they did not want to play. And they knew it. I smiled maniacally. “March. Get the silverware.”

  “Yeth, ma’am,” Will said with a salute. He ran to the silverware drawer and did exactly as he was told for once, without being told twice.

  “You’re staying for dinner?” Tally asked, her bright brown eyes shining. They had the prettiest dark green around the outer edge.

  “Yeah, I think I will tonight.” Her shoulders sank. “What’s wrong? Don’t want me to stay?”

  “That means I have to behave.” I ruffled her hair and laughed.

  “Yeah, you have to behave. You should behave for your mom every day.”

  “It’s so hard, though,” she admitted. True that, kid.

  ***

  Dinner was nothing short of miraculous. The combination of nice, well-threatened children, a more relaxed mom, and delicious food equaled a lovely time. After feeding the trio of hobbits, I helped Meg bathe the kids and herd them into their bedrooms. Then, it was glorious bedtime…which meant that overdue quality time with my big sis could commence. She poured two glasses of wine and we sank into her couch to sip it. “Tell me about you. What happened at your fancy meeting today? Did you sign the big contract?”

  “They offered what Margaret told me about. I declined.”

  Meg sat up straight, placing her glass carefully on the coffee table. I stared at a nonexistent speck on my pants, hoping she would let it go. “What? Why would you do that? I thought you wanted Hansel?” Dash my hopes. She continued, “What about the money? I thought it was going to be amazing?” Her wide eyes and wrinkled forehead meant she wasn’t going to let this go easily. So…

  “Hansel wanted something I didn’t want to give them.” My soul, I wanted to say. She motioned for more. “It’s just too much. I have twenty-three books out now. I’ve hit number one on the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today. It’s time I write what I want, when I want to write it.” I sat up then. “And you know what? Right now, I don’t feel like writing at all. Isn’t that insane? And sad?”

  She pulled me into a hug, squishing my neck and all of its vital bits. “It’s really sad, Lex. Writing is your passion.”

  I managed to wiggle out of her grasp and take up my wine glass. They needed to make these bigger. Cabernet should come in bulk. Always. “It was.” Writing had saved me when nothing else could. I had no memories, so I lived through the characters that came of age in my mind.

  Will and Chase giggled from the bedroom just upstairs and Meg snapped, “Shut it!”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. God help those kids. “I need a break, Meg.” My voice didn’t sound like my own; it sounded old and weary. I wasn’t weary. Okay, I was weary. Damn it.

  Meg surprised me. Money had been an issue with her and Evan forever. I helped them out of a few tough spots, but she refused to take much. So when she said, “So take one,” I gulped the rest of my wine and nodded.

  “I think I will.”

  “You’re young, single, and don’t have as many responsibilities yet. Go meet up with Ren someplace exotic and take a vacation.” She said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world, and as though people who didn’t have children had no responsibilities at all, nothing to do here... Take a vacation. Take a break. Go do your thing. Then you’ll be fixed. But what if I wasn’t? What if this writer’s block was permanent? They said the brightest bulbs burned out the fastest.

  Another sip. Another admission. “Ren’s out of the picture.” For now. Maybe for good. So are his genitals, thank God.

  “Since when?” she asked, mouth agape.

  “This morning.”

  “You dumped him over the phone?” Meg was a romantic. That was her first problem. She expected too much from the opposite sex, so she existed in a state of perpetual disappointment. Her husband worked long hours like everyone else in this city, but he was still supposed to come home bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to be her Prince Charming. That included taking care of the kids while Meg melted down.

  “It’s not like I can drive to his house and have a heart-to-heart Meg, so when he called this morning I told him it was over.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  Pffft. I’d show her harsh. Unlocking my phone, I found the latest offending picture and handed the device to her.

  She squinted, tilting the screen to the left. “What is that in the picture?”

  “His testicles.”

  Her eyes snapped up to mine. “What?” she said on a giggle.

  “His balls. It’s some sort of weird European fad, or maybe just a Ren fad: nut-scaping. I told him to take his nuts somewhere else.”

  “They’re really hairy. I don’t blame you.” I threw my hands in the air in thanks that someone else got it. “Is it an Australian thing?” she asked curiously.

  “Maybe. I don’t know, and I don’t know if a vacation is really what I need. The deal with Hansel is good for six months, so I still have time to make a final decision.” I held the Cabernet in my mouth for a moment before swallowing.

  “Sounds like enough time to do something for you and see what you want to do next,” she offered, finally sounding like my sister. “Take a trip, take a class, do something fun. You’re only twenty-six. You’ve never been to college. You’ve never seen the west coast. Go.”

  I was twenty-five and a half, but Meg always rounded up. It drove me crazy, but crazier still was the fact that maybe she had a point—and that I’d experienced my own miniature meltdown today, mirroring my sister’s regularly dramatic antics. Maybe I should do something crazy, shake things up a little bit.

  “Oh! I almost forgot!” She handed me her glass, jumped up and ran to the kitchen, returning with a white ceramic mug. You know Mary Poppins? She said a spoon full of sugar helped the medicine go down. It was true. Several teaspoons of sugar and a funny mug made coffee much more enjoyable. Maybe it was psychological… “Close your eyes!”

  “What are we, ten?”

  “Yes, now close ‘em!”

  I closed my eyes and held
my hands out. I’d do anything for the precious. Giggling when I felt the cool glass hit my hands, I opened my eyes. In glittery, bold black font were the words, ‘Starter Fluid’.

  I laughed, squeezing her neck. “Thank you. I love it, Meg.”

  “Duh. Who’s the best sister on the planet?” Her smile wobbled. Dang it. I thought the bath had helped.

  “You are.”

  She looked at me and grabbed my hand. “You need to call Mom. She’s been hounding me about you coming to see her.”

  I pulled my hand away. “I’ll call her.”

  “Liar.”

  FOUR

  July 15

  Arsen

  The amber liquid formed a wide funnel in the tumbler as I swirled it around. Two sharp knocks on the door and Cody ducked his head into my office. His brow furrowed when he saw me sitting in the dark. Cody was like a little brother. We met our freshman year at NC State. After we graduated, we moved to New York and formed this business together. He was the computer genius and leader of the techies, while I was the psychologist slash matchmaker and face of the company. “You okay?” he asked.

  The liquor would call me on this lie, but... “Yeah. Long day.”

  He scratched the back of his head. For some reason he told his barber to buzz all of his “tousled”—his girlfriend’s word, not mine—red hair off and now it was itchy. All week he’d moped around because Tracey was mad at him, and all week he’d dug at his scalp like a monkey after lice. “I was going to head out, but if you need me to stay...?”

  “Go home. I’m good.”

  He paused for a beat, bracing his hands on the doorframe. “Call if you need me.”

  I nodded and watched him slowly retreat, disappearing behind the door. Click. The city’s lights glittered through the wall of windows in front of me.

  It’s her birthday.

  Another sip.

  I loosened the knot on my tie and filled the glass again.

  When I’d had enough to throw caution and all my fucks to the wind, I fumbled for my phone and dialed the eleven digits that were branded into my head. The numbers were all I had left of her.

  “We’re sorry. Your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please check the number and dial again.”

  FIVE

  Zero Foxes

  Alexandria

  I sipped from my newest coffee mug. It had a cute little orange fox on it and a single word atop the little guy: Zero. Zero Fox. Yes. Because this girl was ready to throw all the fucks in the air! I. Was. FINISHED! Typing the words, “The End” on a novel made me do a happy dance Risky Business style. Every. Single. Time. Today was no different. The book I’d been dragging ass on for two months was finished for now. This was the last book I owed to anyone but me. I could squeal, but the biddy Mrs. Turner who lived in the apartment below me would call the landlord and he would “have words with me”. Edits would be due again soon, but I was free for a time. Skidding down the wooden floors of my hallway in my thigh-high socks again: priceless.

  My bought-and-paid-for golden hair spilled down from the loose bird’s nest on my head, flopping into my face. I tried to blow it away, but the tresses were stubborn on their best day. Killjoy. I piled it back up and wrestled it into submission with the elastic. My stomach growled, reminding me that it was noon-ish and I’d fed it nothing but coffee this morning. Grabbing my cell from the kitchen table, I texted Margaret. BOOK IS FINISHED. SENDING TO HARDWAY.

  Her response: FINALLY. HAVE YOU RECONSIDERED HANSEL’S OFFER?

  NO. That shut her up.

  Another ding. Another text from her. It didn’t shut her up. Damn.

  WHY AM I REPRESENTING YOU IF YOU DON’T WANT THE DEALS I NEGOTIATE?

  I thought about her question. It was bitchy but fair. I DON’T KNOW. I APPRECIATE ALL YOU’VE DONE. MAYBE IT’S TIME TO SEVER THIS RELATIONSHIP WHILE IT’S STILL AMICABLE. Meg’s sappy face floated through my mind. Another break-up via text-message.

  My phone rang immediately. “You can’t be serious,” Margaret snapped, her voice booming through the speakerphone. Maybe it wasn’t amicable. She never let me call her Maggie. That had always bugged me. And until this moment, she’d been bitchy but never unprofessional.

  “I think I am serious. I’m not taking the deal. I’m going to take some time off. My books are selling like hotcakes and I can afford to do it. In fact, I need this. I need a break.”

  “You’ll go stagnant in a month. You’ll be a nobody, just like you were when I found you.”

  “Um, I clearly remember that I queried you. You ‘found’ me in your slush pile, and also on the stagnant thing... I call bullshit.” The book I just finished wasn’t even out yet and wouldn’t be for nine months at the earliest. I had two releasing in the meantime. That meant I had a year to mess around before anyone realized I was taking a time-out. That was what it was: a time-out. Time to catch my breath. Time to soak up some sun. And I knew exactly what to do. Margaret prattled on in my ear something about how I needed to think about what I was doing, how it could negatively impact my career, how I couldn’t sell to publishers myself, how I needed to put my big girl panties on and deal with life like an adult, and how it was in my best interest to take the Hansel deal. The thing about big-girl panties? Sometimes they chafed, and my ass was redder than a hot plate right now. The last thing I wanted was to put on my big girl panties. In fact, this chick needed to go commando. Stat.

  “I’ll e-mail my intention to terminate our contract. The deals you’ve already negotiated won’t be impacted, only future deals. Thank you, Margaret!” Margaret’s contract was special, just like her. It wasn’t book-specific like most agents offered. She wanted everything, all of my future works. It was definitely time to nix this arrangement.

  That enraged her. She was all but screaming as I hung up the speakerphone. Meh. It was a good feeling not to have to listen to all of that noise.

  Take a break from Ren. Check.

  Take a break from toxic people — my literary agent being one of them. Check.

  Take a break.

  She answered on the first ring. “Julie Bowles, Premier Travel Group.”

  “Julie, It’s Alexandria. I need to get away.” Jules was a hoot. Ava and I saw her on weekends occasionally during our girl-night drink-fests.

  A maniacal giggle came from the other end of the line. “Where to, Lexie?”

  “Somewhere I can get cold drinks and a great sunburn.”

  “I know just the place.”

  Check.

  ***

  Near the equator, the sun scorched the sandy beach and my far too-pale skin. But I’d take lobster-red over pasty-white any day of the week. Ava groaned beside me. “I need to turn over but I don’t want to move.” The feeling was mutual. We’d been laying in the same position for more than an hour. I was probably going to regret it, but moving meant that I’d have to exert myself and that the delicious, much-needed warmth would go away. The warmth was my new best friend. It was like wrapping a towel, fresh from the dryer, around your shoulders and burrowing into it.

  “I’m so glad you decided on this trip. I’m even gladder that you brought me. And despite the fact that I feel like a freeloader, the sun is magnificent.” Ava wasn’t a freeloader at all. Believe me, everyone became a friend when you had money. Before that, before one of my books was given some lovin’ from a major blog and people had never heard of me? Crickets. Friends and family members would smile and pat me on the shoulder for carving out time for such a “hobby” as writing. They would tell me about the new Danielle Steele book that had hit number one on the New York Times Bestseller list and how they were so intrigued by her ability to set a scene and keep them turning pages. They would say, “Good for you, hon,” and dismiss me like I was a silly girl with a pipe dream.

  Now, the same people who were condescending at the beginning of my career were the first to stand in line to get a signed paperback, saying how they’d known all along that I would make it big in the industry. They�
�d plaster social media with pics of us in high school. I didn’t go to college like Ava, and I didn’t meet her in the park or library where I frequented when I first moved into Manhattan. I met Ava at the last place one might expect to meet a bestie. We met at the shrink.

  “You aren’t a freeloader. And besides, I owe you.”

  She shifted, which made me look over at her and tip my sunglasses up. Ava was all dark hair, long legs, and toned abs. Three quarters of the year, her skin was bronzed to perfection. She worked at Columbia in the admissions department and when I told her I was having a miniature life crisis, she suggested that I go to college—not full time (as too much pressure makes a volcano blow), but just for a class or two. Meg said the same thing: “Take a class.” I’d always been curious, and my sister and bestie were right. It might help keep my mind off of the major crazy going on in my life and in my mind. It might even spark some sort of inspiration. I was zapped. The well was dry. And that bitch needed to be filled to the brim again...after a semester, or one class, which is all I decided to take.

  “You don’t owe me anything,” she said dismissively, waving her hand into the warm, salty air.

  “You pushed my application through.”

  “Psssh. You’d have done the same for me.” I would have. I’d walk through hot coals for that girl. Speaking of hot coals....my throat was dry and sandpapery and our drinks were empty. Sad face. And it was my turn to get refills. “Ava?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Pina colada?”

  “Hell yeah,” she said on a sigh, sinking back into her lounger. The umbrella above us had no synthetic material. It was bamboo and thatched with palm leaves, which had long since dried. The curled fronds waved in the wind, lightly scraping against one another in a hypnotic rhythm as calming as the sea washing upon the sand. The locals called the structure a ‘palapa’. “You’re burning, sweets,” I told her, pushing myself up.