Worth the Trouble (St. James #2) (25 page)

Mom,

I’m treading water. That’s all I’m doing. Going nowhere, aiming nowhere. Just treading. No shore in sight. Almost as adrift as I was in the weeks before you died.

Do you think Hank misses me as much as I miss him?

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE

C
at tugged at her robe while the final touches of eye shadow and liner were being applied.

“Stop fidgeting,” Angela, the makeup artist, ordered, her thick Italian accent softening her English.

Cat’s butt hurt from sitting in the chair for the past ninety minutes while hair stylists and makeup artists poked and prodded her from every direction. She wanted to move. To scratch the itch on her nose. Mostly, she wanted to be alone. Thank God this was the final day of the shoot.

“You’d look sexier without that dark shadow in your eyes, Catalina,” Angela said. “I know that look. Man trouble. What did he do? Cheat? Use you?”

He loved me and I pushed him away
. “No man troubles,” Cat muttered. Not entirely untrue. After all, Hank was no longer her man.

Cat had never before made such a gut-wrenching sacrifice for someone else’s benefit. Since she’d last seen him in the airport, she’d felt cold. Cold to her bones, as if she’d been walking naked through midwinter sleet.

They say sacrificing for others feels good.

They
are wrong.

All it had done for her was leave her empty yet filled with yearning, doubts, and selfish regret. Not to mention totally preoccupied by an overwhelming urge to run to Hank and beg.

“All done,” Angela announced.
“Bellissima!”

Cat stared at herself in the large mirror. Dramatic gray, green, and plum eye makeup extended well beyond her eyelids. The contours of her cheekbones and jawline were enhanced as well. She barely recognized herself. Just another mask people would see—dark and ugly to match her frame of mind.

She slid off the chair and proceeded to the wardrobe area to retrieve the outfit she’d be photographed wearing next. A young woman handed her high-heeled black sandals, a straight black velvet skirt, and a sheer black silk top with velvet leaf-shaped appliqués that barely covered her nipples.

The woman helped her into the clothing, and then directed Cat to the lavish set. The walls were swathed in deep red wallpaper. Smoky mirrored squares, sprinkled in rose petals, covered the floor. Gold brocade drapes hung on the false walls, and a glass table sat in the middle of the floor.

How fitting that, like much of her life, this was all make-believe.

“Oh, gorgeous, Catalina,” Neil, the photographer, cooed. “Let’s start with you lying on the table looking at the ceiling. Jean-Paul will kneel by your head and then we’ll take it from there.”

Neil snapped his fingers and a dozen other people positioned themselves behind lights and diffusion panels.

Cat stretched out on the table. The hairstylist quickly teased and fanned out her hair while Jean-Paul stood receiving his last-minute touch-ups.

“All set?” Neil asked.

Cat arched her back slightly and manufactured her best lusty stare as she looked into the eyes of the stunning, yet gay, Jean-Paul, whose face loomed over her own.

Not long ago this environment charged her. Beautiful clothes, beautiful people, a world of make-believe. For years this had been a heady experience. Now she simply felt numb. Each camera click stole another piece of her soul.

Just a few more hours
.

That evening, Cat flopped onto her hotel bed and scanned the room service menu. Maybe something decadent—something chocolate—would lift her spirits. While she eyed the desserts, her phone rang. Her heart squeezed, as it had each time her phone had rung this week.

Please be Hank.
She held her breath. Elise.
Shoot.

She blew out her breath and answered. “Hello, Elise. Checking in?”

“Shoot wrapped up?”

“Yes.” Cat sat up against the pillows and picked at the hem of her shirt. “No surprises.”

“Good. Your professionalism is always appreciated.” Elise paused. “Have you finished reviewing my notes to the jewelry contract, because we should respond sooner than later?”

“I have.” Cat retrieved it from the nightstand.

She couldn’t confess how any enthusiasm she might’ve had for this job was diminished by the loss of her relationship with Hank. Nothing filled the void he left behind, not even a shiny new contract.

It wouldn’t look at her with love. It wouldn’t race to her side at the first sign of distress. It wouldn’t hold her all night.

“It looks okay.” Cat thumbed through the pages. “I know you don’t necessarily agree with me, but thanks for negotiating an exception to the exclusion. Let’s keep our eyes out for another opportunity that doesn’t conflict with this one.”

“That won’t be easy,” Elise replied. “It’s a very limited exclusion.”

“I know. But you know me . . . never say never.”

“So the furniture business is kaput?”

“Practically speaking, yes. Technically I haven’t dissolved it yet.” Cat frowned, realizing she’d been procrastinating. In fact, she hadn’t done anything since boxing up the exhibit. Not a tweet, not a website modification. For all intents and purposes, Mitchell/St. James still existed. Had Hank noticed? Did he wonder why she hadn’t taken down the site or made any announcements? “I haven’t had time to deal with the legal issues of unwinding everything.”

“Well, at least you didn’t invest too much time or money in it. No lasting harm.”

No lasting harm, unless you counted the damage to her heart.

Now her entire life felt offtrack, like she was speeding in the wrong direction. She didn’t want to be alone, but she was too afraid to risk what little she had left and fail. Her head ached from the mental ping-pong.

“Let’s talk when I return.” Cat sighed, rubbing her temples, unsure what to hope for anymore. “I’m worn out tonight.”

“Okay. When will you be home?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps we can meet on Monday?”

“I’m free for lunch.”

“I’ll come to your office first.”

“See you then.”

Cat tossed the phone on the bed and rubbed her face. Her appetite had fled. Not even panna cotta sounded appealing.

She fingered the gorgeous silk-and-cashmere blue, orange, and white Fendi scarf she’d bought Vivi as a birthday gift. Like the wedding earlier this summer, she’d be dateless for Saturday’s birthday dinner. Whatever happened next, she didn’t want her family peppering her with unwelcome questions about the business or Hank, or to treat her with kid gloves because of her infertility.

After Chicago, she’d let everyone believe that Hank’s mother’s crisis had been the reason they’d pulled out of the expo. Vanity wouldn’t let her admit her failure to her brothers so soon, especially given their pessimism. She doubted Hank would’ve made things more awkward by disclosing the truth to Jackson, so she should be safe from too much scrutiny this weekend.

She laid back and closed her eyes.
Hank
. She missed his voice, his blush, and that dimple on his left cheek. More importantly, she missed the way he’d made her believe in herself, and the way she’d relaxed around him.

She slunk down into the pillows, closed her eyes, and hugged herself. Her skinny Kermit-the-Frog arms weren’t nearly as comforting as his arms. The only moments worse than those she spent missing him were the ones when she imagined him moving on with a new woman—flashing his dimple at her, holding her hand while walking around town, or making love to her.

Her stomach burned from jealousy, yet the images kept coming.

She grabbed her purse from the edge of the bed and popped open the bottle of Ambien. How many refills would she need before she could fall asleep on her own?

Cat turned on her phone as her plane taxied to the gate at JFK airport. A message! Sadly, just a voice mail from David.

“Cat, please call me as soon as you land. There’s a change in plans for Vivi’s birthday dinner. Need to give you a quick heads-up.”

Cat hit the Callback button, curious about whatever surprise David had cooked up for Vivi. Her brother’s recent romantic streak had been quite astonishing, really. Since taking up with Vivi, he’d been acting more like Jackson, who’d been a wild romantic until Alison left him.

“Hello, Cat,” David answered. “You got my message?”

Cat smirked to herself at his no-nonsense communication style.

“Yes, sir. I’m still on the plane, but I called you immediately, as instructed.” Her light teasing didn’t elicit any response. “So what’s the big change in plans?”

“First, I thought you’d like to know that the restraining order against Justin is in place for another year. I wish you’d reconsider pressing charges. He needs to receive a strong message.”

Part of her would love to see Justin face some jail time, but she had neither the energy nor time to push for it or deal with more fallout from that day. She just wanted it behind her.
All
of it. “No. If I push, it will just incite him further. Let’s not enrage him. As long as he can’t come near me, I’m fine. He’ll move on by next year.”

“I hope so.” She heard David sigh.

“So, what else? Your message mentioned something about a change in plans for Vivi’s birthday.”

“I need your word you won’t say anything to anyone.”

“Oooh, I’m all ears now.” Cat grinned for the first time in days. “This sounds big.”

“It’s about Jackson.”

“Jackson?” Her eyes widened.

“Yes.” David paused. “I guess you haven’t spoken with Hank?”

“No,” she replied. “You know we had to shut down the exhibit. With his mom being so sick, everything’s on hold. We may even disband.”

“Sorry.” He sounded sincere, but abruptly returned to the point of his call. “Jackson’s in trouble and it’s past time we stage an intervention. Vivi agreed to use her birthday dinner as the time and place. I’m not including Dad and Janet because I don’t want Janet involved, nor do I think Dad’s nonstop comparisons between Jackson and me would help matters. But, Cat, if you warn Jackson, he won’t show up. I know you two are pals, but you must trust me on this.”

Her thoughts scattered in multiple directions like the threads of a spider’s web. She’d admit Jackson should ease up on his drinking, but an ambush didn’t feel like the best way to help him. “I don’t want to gang up on Jackson just because he doesn’t play by your rules, David.”

“Surely you don’t deny noticing him drinking excessively this past year? Hank shared some business concerns with me earlier this summer, but I dismissed them until this week, when Jackson’s former employee filed a lawsuit for assault, harassment, wrongful termination, and other claims. Hank was hurt in the fray, by the way. Considering the mounting evidence of how Jackson’s choices are affecting his life, I think we’ve got to intervene
before
things get worse.”

The lawsuit stunned her, but her first concern was Hank’s well-being.

“What happened to Hank?” She pressed her hand against her chest, preparing for bad news.

“He broke his wrist when he tried to break up an argument between Jackson and the employee. He needed surgery and is facing a lengthy recovery.” David waited for her response, but she couldn’t think.

Hank had needed surgery, but he hadn’t called her. He was moving on without her, just as she’d assumed. Reality weighed on her like a lead blanket. Hank’s sisters must hate her even more for the physical and emotional pain she and Jackson had inflicted.

“Cat, I need you to share your concerns when the time comes to speak up.” David’s sober tone cut through her thoughts. “He won’t listen if I’m the only one talking.”

“Won’t this make him feel more isolated? He’ll just become more defensive and be more at risk.”

“Then come and say nothing, but don’t defend him or make excuses.”

“You really think this is necessary?” She squeezed her eyes closed while pressing her fingers to her temple.

“Yes. This lawsuit proves he’s out of control. Jackson was never violent. He never let personal problems affect his business. That’s no longer true. Plus he looks like hell. He’s drinking all the time. Let’s catch him before he hits absolute bottom and hurts himself or anyone else.”

“Okay.” Cat bit her lip. “Have you thought about including Hank in this lynch mob?”