TROUBLE, A New Adult Romance Novel (The Rebel Series) by Elle Casey
Colin leaves me to gather them up, handing them to me when I reach the safety of the ground floor.
“I was serious. I don’t need your help anymore.” His voice is gruff. He looks off to his right like he’s going to leave me standing there.
I put my hand on his forearm to keep him by me. “I want to apologize.”
“For what?” He looks down at the ground.
“For being rude. For turning my back on you guys. I want to help.”
He takes a step back, pulling out of my grip. “Why the sudden change of heart?”
I force myself to keep looking at his face instead of at the floor like I’m tempted to. I’m reminded of my earlier scare, when I was freaking out thinking that Charlie was stalking me. It’s because of my friends here that I have a safe, anonymous place to live, far removed from my old life. I owe them so much.
I wish I could explain all of that to Colin, but I can’t. I do my best to convince him I’m serious, though, because I really want to work for him and help him with his career. He really is so talented. “I just … opened my eyes a little, I guess. I want to help.”
“You’re busy with your own stuff. The baby. Your life is about to really change. You don’t need a job right now.”
“I know my life is about to change in a major way. And for that to happen in the best way, I need to be working. Please let me work for you. No one else is going to hire a pregnant girl. I don’t even know why you want to … or wanted to, but I shouldn’t have said no.”
He grits his teeth together and stares off into space. His profile is stunningly handsome, even with the scar I can see in his eyebrow and upwards, stretching from forehead to hairline.
I wait for him to respond. I don’t want to push him too hard and have him rebel against me. I can see he’s right on the edge of blowing me off and telling me to get lost forever. Just the thought of that makes me feel sick to my stomach.
“Fine.” He walks away and leaves me standing there.
“Fine? As in, I’m hired?”
He goes around the side of a car he’s working on and disappears.
I wait at the stairs to see what he’ll do next. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe he’s never going to speak to me again. Do I have time to make it to the bathroom so I can vomit there instead of on the floor?
When he comes back around with a file folder in his hands, I breathe out a huge sigh of relief. My body tingles with the release of stress.
He stops in front of me and holds it out. “Here. All the info is inside. Do what you want with it.”
I frown first at him and then at the folder. The outside of it is covered in greasy fingerprints. I take it from him and attempt a smile. “I don’t understand.”
He walks away, waving carelessly over his shoulder. “Just do whatever.”
I could probably push him into giving me a better answer, but I don’t. I’ve hurt his feelings and now it’s time to pay my penance. I can do this. I can make him happy without getting instructions on how to do it. Now I just need to figure out how I’m going to get home.
Like a knight in shining armor, Mick walks through the office and out into the main repair area, jingling his car keys in his hand.
“Mick!” I say brightly.
“Hey … Alissa.” He looks at me with suspicion, stopping before he gets too close. He looks over at his brother who’s ignoring both of us, and then he’s back to staring at me with a funny look on his face.
“Can you give me a lift back home by any chance? Or are you too busy right now?”
He shrugs, some of his suspicion sliding away. “Sure. Not a problem.”
As we’re walking out to the car, he looks over his shoulder at me. “You feeling okay?” he asks.
“Yes, why?” The sun is out and it hits me in the face. I feel like a cat must when it wants to lie out on a porch and sleep in the light. I stop outside the passenger door and shut my eyes for a brief moment, smiling as the warmth seeps into my bones.
“Because. You seem … happy.”
I think about that statement all the way home and the fact that Mick was obviously shocked by the very idea of it. I can’t be mad at him; he has a point. I have been unhappy for way too long. My life is what it is, and only I can change it or at least change how I look at it.
As we drive along, and I try to figure out what’s stopping me from actually doing that, I come to the conclusion that there is nothing stopping me. There’s only someone. And that someone … is me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I DON’T KNOW WHY I resisted Colin so hard before finally capitulating and becoming his assistant. This work is easy, easier than anything I’ve ever done for money before. The summer jobs in my father’s office, the part-time employment I had at a frozen yogurt place … they don’t even compare. I feel like I’m finally a part of the adult business world, arranging shows, calculating commissions, planning out his year. It’s not only easy, it’s fun. I’m actually using some of my college education, something I wasn’t sure I’d be doing much of once I left last semester.
Colin is going to be so excited when he hears about my progress. Okay, maybe not excited, but perhaps he’ll smile for a second and not be so distant with me anymore. And soon he’ll have the money he’s promised to loan to Teagan to help pay for some of her legal expenses.
After only five days, I’ve arranged for a showing of his latest work at one of the biggest and best galleries in the city and a private showing for a very important client in another. The gallery owner sponsoring the show three weeks from now told me she already has expressions of interest in three pieces. Colin’s been too busy to hear my updates, and I wanted to wait and give him the news once everything was confirmed.
The only thing getting in my way of doing more is not having transportation. Thank goodness there’s email. I open up the laptop I’m borrowing from Colin and sign onto my account, just to be sure I haven’t missed anything. The lunch break I give myself is short, but I still hate leaving messages unanswered for any length of time, and I’ve been waiting for confirmation of the show coming up and it’s killing me not to see it in my inbox every day.
I clap with excitement when I see that there’s a fresh new message from the gallery owner Geraldine with an attachment. I click to open it up and read hungrily.
“Thought you’d like to see the mailing piece I sent out a couple days ago (postcard). I felt this was the best piece after seeing what was in Colin’s new studio. We’re all set to go. Cheers, Geraldine.”
I double click on the attached advertisement piece to open it, a little nervous because it’s the first show I’m actually responsible for arranging, but knowing that the postcard is going to be beautiful; after all, she’s using one of Colin’s paintings as the centerpiece. Now I finally have something solid to report to Colin. I’m going to forward this to him and soon as I verify it’s all okay.
The attachment opens, and for a moment, I’m not sure what I’m looking at.
And then I realize …
Oh my god … he didn’t!
“Oh, no,” I whisper, as I take it all in. My hands fly up to land on my cheeks. I press them in, making my lips go into a fishy-face.
Seeing the postcard is not like looking in a mirror. Not exactly. I mean, the image has detail to it, and the face is unmistakable. But then again, it’s not what I’m used to seeing in the morning when I wake up and in the night before I go to bed as I’m brushing my teeth.
This person staring back at me from Colin’s painting is obviously pregnant; even though there is no skin showing, the baby bump is unmistakable. She’s me, but she’s a different me. I feel both flattered and sick at the same time.
My hands shake just a little as I grab the disposable phone Colin bought me and press the button for his saved number. He doesn’t answer, so I leave him a message.
“Colin, it’s me. Alissa. Um … I just got the postcard from Geraldine for the show I set up … and it’s … it’s?
I hang up and stare at the computer some more. Why didn’t I know he did this piece? Why didn’t he tell me? What else is he doing up in that attic studio of his? And why did I let Geraldine select the picture for the promotional piece without checking it? I should have done it myself, but I was at a doctor’s appointment so she went into his studio without me. I seriously want to cuss right now. I grit my teeth together to keep myself from doing just that.
I slam the computer lid shut and leave my room, going right for the stairs that will take me to Colin’s inner sanctum. He’d better not have any more paintings of me up there. I’m pretty sure he has to ask for permission before painting me like that. Like that … Madonna or whatever she was supposed to be.
I push the feelings of flattery away in favor of my indignant emotions. It just feels too strange to have someone take a piece of me like that and put it in paint on a canvas for people to gawk at. That girl … I’m not even sure she is me. She looks too sad or scared or lonely. Do I look like that? My heart sinks as I examine the probable answer. I feel … exposed. Vulnerable. Maybe even a little betrayed because he did it in secret and he’s been ignoring me for days.
The door is locked. I stare at the tumbler and wonder if this is one of those that a bobby pin could pick.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MY PHONE RINGS AND I look down at it, hoping to see Colin’s name popping up. But it’s not him; it’s Charity, which is probably a good thing because the things I want to say to him right now are not fit for human ears.
“Hey, Charity,” I say as I descend the steps, making a mental note to find a bobby pin later when I’m done speaking with her.
“Hey, Alissa. Do you have time for a quick soda or something?”
“Sure. But I don’t have a car, still.”
“No big deal. I’ll come get you. Are you home?”
“Yep.”
The doorbell rings. “Hold on a minute, Charity, someone’s at the door.”
“I’ll hang up and see you in a second,” she says.
I close my phone as I race down two sets of stairs and then peek through the curtains next to the front door. Charity is standing on the porch with a big grin on her face.
I fling open the door and smile. “Wow, that was fast.”
“I was really close and thought, what the heck … I’ll go see if she’s home.”
I swing the door open wider. “Come in. We can have something to drink in here if you want.”
“Great.” She comes in and stands in the foyer. She suddenly seems nervous.
“What’s wrong?” I put my hand on her elbow. She looks so vulnerable standing there with her big belly protruding out. I swear she’s even bigger than she was last week, and before I would have said that wouldn’t be possible. I’m not even going to look at her ankles, because if they’re anything like mine, it’s going to be scary.
She gives me a watery smile. “I have something to show you. I need your advice.”
I take her by the hand and lead her into the kitchen. “Sit,” I say, pointing to the kitchen dining set. “I’ll make you some herbal tea.” I put the kettle on and busy myself with getting mugs, milk, and sugar out on the table. I’m purposely stalling a little, mentally preparing myself for a big job. When a pregnant, unwedded teen girl says she needs your advice, to me this means I really need to be ready for just about anything.
When the kettle starts whistling, I grab it and bring it over to the table, filling the teapot with the hot water and adding some tea bags. As I lower myself into my seat, I smile encouragingly at my friend. “Okay, shoot. What’s on your mind?”
She pulls a folded up piece of paper from her pocket and puts it on the table. “Look what I found.”
I can tell it’s been folded and unfolded a bunch of times. It’s well-worn on all the corners and the paper has gone soft with handling. It’s not big, maybe half a piece of regular paper. Opening it, I find a hand-written note inside, in very careful, pretty script.
“To the girl I met who was here with her friend. I am the lady in the blue headband with the minivan, and I would like to speak with you. Here is my number …”
I look up at Charity, confused but hopeful. “Is this what I think it is? Where’d you get it?”
Charity grimaces; I think it was supposed to be a smile. “I went back to that grocery store. I don’t know why. I tried to stay away, but I couldn’t.”
“And?”
“And this was there, on the bulletin board by the front door. I don’t even know why I saw it. Maybe because I’m always checking them these days looking for those ads by people searching for babies to adopt.”
“She left this for you,” I say in a soft voice. “That’s her.”
“I know.” Charity starts to cry. “I think so too. What should I do?”
I reach out and put my hand over hers, patting it a few times gently. “Just take a breath and let’s talk about it. You don’t need to decide anything right this second. You can decide in five minutes, five hours, five days …”
She sniffs loudly and wipes her nose with the tissue I hand her. “I don’t have a lot of time left. My doctor says I could go at any day now. My cervix is starting to dilate.”
“Oh. My. Well, you still have time, okay? This is a big decision.” I pull my hand back so I can pour her some of my brew. “Tea will help calm your nerves. Sugar?”
She nods. “Five please.”
I raise an eyebrow at that, but dutifully scoop out five teaspoons of the sweet stuff and dump it into her mug. “Milk?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Is it good with milk?”
“That’s how the English do it, or so I read.” I add a bit to both of our cups. “Let’s try it.”
We both take a sip and nod at the same time. I smile over my cup. “What is your first instinct?”
“Fear. Just bold fear, that’s it.” She lets out a deep sigh. “I was going to ask Julio what he thinks, but I’m afraid he’s too young to understand.”
“Julio?”
“You know … the guy that was here at your place the other day. He’s a friend of mine.” She smiles shyly.
“A friend, huh? That’s nice.” I’m so happy for her. Not many guys would want to be a friend to a pregnant girl like that. “He must be special.”
“He is. He’s not like other guys.” She laughs. “He actually volunteered to be my birth coach. I told him what you said about that stuff.”
I grin along with her. “That is really sweet. What did you tell him?”
“I told him no, that they probably wouldn’t even let him in the room with me.”
I shrug. “Maybe they would. Might as well ask, if that’s what you want to do.”
Charity pushes the paper on the table a little, flicking it with her finger. “I can’t do anything until I deal with this.” She takes a careful sip of her hot tea. “I’m scared to death.”
“What are you scared of exactly? Tell me.”
“That she’ll say she was just kidding. That she’ll be a crazy person who wants to hurt my baby. That she’s not what she seems to be, I guess. I know … I’m being ridiculous.”
I shake my head. “I think you’re being what anyone would be in your situation. Cautious.”
She shrugs, looking sad.
“Are you sure you don’t want to keep the baby?” I ask.
“Yes. Positively. I want my baby to have all the opportunities he can. He won’t get that from me right now. Maybe someday he can meet me and I’ll explain, because I really do think it’s for the best.”
“I just wanted to be sure so I’m not giving you bad advice.”
“Which is?”
“To call her. Just see what she has to say. What can it hurt?”
“Nothing, I guess. But what if
“Then you agree to meet. Do it at her house so you can see her place and get to know her as a person a little.”
“Like a social worker’s home visit?”
“Exactly.”
“Will you come with me?”
I answer without a second thought. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.” Now that I’ve got this whole be-a-better-friend plan in action, decisions are getting a lot easier to make. Besides, no pregnant girl should be alone when she’s making this kind of plan for her life. There’s just way too much at stake.
Charity pulls her phone out of her purse.
“You’re going to call her now?” I ask, panic hitting me in the chest like a pile of bricks.
“Yes. Is that a bad idea?” Her fingers freeze over the buttons.
“No, no, go ahead.” I scoot my chair closer to hers. “I want to hear.” I shake my head a little to get the nervous feelings out of my brain. I need to be strong for my friend so she has someone to lean on.
She presses in the buttons and connects the call, leaning towards me so I can put my ear near the speaker.
“Hello, Gentry residence, Barbara speaking.”
“Uh … uh …” Charity yanks the phone away from her head and presses the red disconnect button. She stares at the phone for a couple seconds and then drops it on the table. Her hands are shaking like mad.
I pick up the phone with one hand and take her shoulder with the other. “You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she whispers, staring at the table. “Just panicked. I’m sorry.” She finally looks up at me, her eyes as big as saucers. “Holy freak-out. Did I just hang up on her?”
I laugh. “Yes. But we can call her back. Do you want me to do it?”
Charity nods. “Would you please? I can’t. I just can’t. I’m about to bust out with some pre-eclampsia or something.”
I arrow down to the last number called and press the green button. Charity does not lean forward to hear the call. Instead, she stares down at her belly as her arms rest on the tabletop.