Epic (Fierce) Page 8

  Instead, I did whatever I could to stay out of Sonny’s way, which was easy enough during the day while I was schlepping all around Las Vegas to find another apartment in a more suitable neighborhood. The only criteria I really needed to adhere to was staying the same school district. I figured I’d meet the least resistance from Diego if I didn’t disrupt his life too drastically.

  Truth was I rarely interacted with Diego at all. He had been made aware of the changes that were forthcoming, but the only thing he said to me about it was, “Makes it easier to go home to some mansion in the Hollywood Hills, I guess.”

  He wasn’t far wrong.

  There wasn’t any way I’d be OK with sleeping in a multi-million dollar home while knowing the woman who gave birth to me was living in abject poverty a mere five hour drive away. I couldn’t solve all her problems, but what I could solve I knew I should.

  Otherwise I’d be every awful thing that PING had ever called me.

  If I was waiting for them to change their tune, I was in for a long wait. Their snoops had unearthed my apartment hunt in Las Vegas, which made it to the headlines.

  DIVA SEARCHES FOR VEGAS GETAWAY! IS THERE TROUBLE IN PARADISE?

  FIERCE FINALIST MISSES NEW SEASON PREMIERE! HARD FEELINGS DIE HARD?

  I sighed every time I turned on my computer. I was never going to engender myself to the likes of PING. They had their teeth in my jugular and they weren’t about to let go.

  It made me consider, briefly, one of the many offers I received from companies devoted to weight loss. They wanted me as the face of their product, but Maggie had always discouraged my participation. “Do it on your terms,” she said. “For your own reasons. Otherwise you’re destined to fail.”

  Though I knew she was right, every now and then, at my weakest especially, I was tempted to take one of the offers just to feel I was finally addressing this problem once and for all. There was one main dieting rule I’d learned as an obese person: The more drastic the method of weight loss, the more sincere the effort. Plus, having a program hand-crafted for me was one less thing to worry about when my plate was already overflowing… no pun intended. I didn’t have the time or energy to worry about how much I ate or why. If I could take a pill or have a surgery that would take that choice out of my hands, maybe I could better serve all the other obligations I had.

  I glanced around my hotel suite, where my room service orders had grown more and more shameful. On days I had to deal with Sonny in particular, I found myself turning to the food I could order and eat in secret. These were my lifelong comforters, meant to salve all those residual wounds torn deep in my psyche by Shane.

  Sitting in that big king-sized bed all by myself night after night with only late-night TV to keep my company, it was easy to be seduced by the products that promised to solve at least one of my problems.

  Are you fat? Have you had trouble losing pounds of unsightly fat, and diet and exercise alone have not helped you? Try our pill, product, book, or DVD… beat the fat once and for all!

  For a three-letter word, “fat” could still pack quite the punch. It was a harsh little word that could convey such contempt with the right inflection, which all these pitch people had down to a freaking science.

  After a handful of commercials, I had nothing but contempt for myself and all my fat. And I was feeling fatter and grosser by the day. No wonder I was unhappy and struggled so much for my success. I would never deserve it until I got serious about losing weight. I had to lose the fat otherwise everything else was a hollow victory.

  By that following Friday, when I was at the local drug store to refill Maya’s medications, I succumbed and purchased a bottle of supplements that promised to help me lose a little extra weight than I could lose on my own. With that, and a few trips to the gym over the weekend, surely I’d be ready to face Maggie again.

  I just had to undo the damage I had done during my unintentional vacation.

  Final result? I went to the gym exactly once, where I walked for twenty minutes on the treadmill before I remembered a hundred other things I had to do, which made the idea of walking in one spot for another half hour seem redundant. I was ovaries deep in getting Maya moved from her dinky, depressing hovel of a house to a brand new place. The new apartment was gated and secure, which I liked. I would have liked it better if Sonny didn’t have the key or access code, but I was willing to accept baby steps.

  The three bedroom townhome had a master bedroom on the ground floor, so she’d never have to worry about exerting herself. It also came with every modern convenience, even a washer and dryer in the unit. I spent the better part of the week furnishing the place. Anything would have been a step up from the second-hand furniture in her old place, but I wanted to make it as pretty and cheerful as I could. What I wanted more than anything was to foster an attitude of hope in Maya, something I suspected was long ago buried under all the struggles and trauma she had endured. If she lived in a nicer place, maybe she could believe she deserved a nicer life. With that revelation, she could cut anything that didn’t serve that vision of herself right out of her life: namely Sonny.

  And maybe, just maybe, by doing this while Diego was still so young, maybe he would feel worthy of something better for himself, too.

  By move-in day, however, Diego was even angrier and more sullen than before. He hated the new place, despite the pool and the game/workout room in the complex clubhouse. He hated his new room, even though it had a view of the mountain range west of the city. He ended up bringing all the old, run-down furniture with him from his old room, covering the windows with black sheets and his walls with blacklight posters.

  I had no time to worry about it. Instead I organized the move for Maya and didn’t leave Vegas until she was properly settled in to her new home. She had tears in her eyes as she hugged me from her brand new recliner. “You have been too good to me, Jordana,” she said as she kissed my cheek.

  I shrugged. It had cost well into five figures, but it was worth every penny. In fact, I felt extraordinarily guilty I couldn’t do more. I hated leaving her behind in Vegas, but it was time to return to the real world. My email inbox was bursting at the seams, I couldn’t even respond to them all. Finally Iris called me directly and told me I had to get my fanny straight to Hollywood. Tempestuous, the plus-size clothing boutique who had contracted me as their spokeswoman, would be opening up new stores around the country, and wanted me to be on-hand to cut the ribbon and model the clothes.

  First stop was Hollywood, and within two weeks of that Manhattan.

  I still had to finish my album. I had hoped that Griffin would complete his tracks while I was in Vegas so I didn’t have to work with him again. After two weeks of binge-eating, I was even more insecure than usual, and even less prepared to stand in front of music’s leading ladies’ man and sing a song of shameless seduction.

  It made me feel like an even bigger phony than I already did.

  So I bought Maya a cell phone and a computer, directing all the bills to come to me personally so that no money was ever left around for Sonny to get his mitts on. I still didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but he remained a minor, manageable problem for the time being.

  I finally left Las Vegas nearly three weeks after I got there. By the time I got back to the house I shared with Jace, it didn’t even really feel like home anymore. It looked the very same as when I left it. There were photos of Jace and I scattered in pretty fames along the walls and bookshelves. There was a nice blend of his sensibilities and mine throughout the décor. His was stark and masculine, mine soft and feminine. It was my last known sanctuary where I could totally be myself and be accepted for it.

  But now that I looked at it, I saw instead that wretched little hovel Maya used to call home. Five of those boxy little shithouses would have filled this house tucked high on a hill overlooking Los Angeles, which now seemed excessive for two people. I thought about her new apartment, which was certainly a step up from what she had know
n before, but still shades more modest than the house that Fierce built.

  I couldn’t even imagine her sitting there on that long, white sofa. She would have been overwhelmed by the opulence, much like I was as I stood at the threshold, staring at the other reality of my life.

  I felt torn completely in two. I went on this journey to find myself, but I had no clue who I was anymore.

  I shut the door behind me and headed to the studio. I needed music more than ever.

  If I thought I was going to get a warm welcome, I was sorely mistaken. The engineers were busy working on another project – of someone who “wanted” to work. That someone was Griffin Slade, who tore through his session like a pro, which seemed to impress his eye candy of the day who watched him from the booth.

  He caught sight of me as I turned to leave, which made him bring his own session to a halt as he chased after me down the hall.

  “Nice of you to finally show up,” he commented as he caught up with me. “Next time remind me to get our calendars in sync.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I got delayed in Vegas.”

  His eyes were hard. “I don’t need your excuses, love. I need your focus. You’re bloody talented but your work ethic sucks.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Look, I know I missed a recording session…”

  “It’s not about one session. You’ve blown all our sessions like I have nothing better to do than play backup for you until you finally decide you want to show up. In case you haven’t noticed, Jordi, your star has fallen out of the sky. Your sales are tanking. Your reputation is shit. You coast on this diva crap, but it’s killing your career even before it starts. You need to grow up, love. And fast.”

  Tears beat against my eyes but I refused to let them fall. “You have no idea what I’ve been going through.”

  “Suck it up,” he stated plainly. “You think you’re the only one with problems? This is rock and roll, sweetheart. Not some hand-holding daycare. You get tough or you get eaten.”

  “What do you care?” I spat. “You don’t even want to be here.”

  “Yeah?” he questioned. “Then why am I here? Why am I putting up with this bloody bullshit?”

  “You tell me,” I retorted.

  “Because I think you’re amazing,” he finally said. “When you show up,” he added before he spun on his heel and stalked down the hall.

  My eyes hardened as I watched him disappear back into the studio. He wanted me to show up? Fine. I stomped my way back down the hall. His eyes widened when I joined him in the booth. I didn’t say a word as I put on my headphones.

  He turned to one of the producers and signaled we’d be doing my song. Griffin and I glared at each other as the control booth scrambled to get everything set up. The minute I heard the first note, I owned that fucking song. He wanted to question my work ethic? I’d show him the very same passion, drive and balls-to-the-wall ambition that got me to the Fierce finale; the same hunger and determination that drove me from small-town Iowa to the scary streets of Los Angeles. The song ceased being about some sexy siren who was out to shamelessly seduce her man. It was about me… Jordi Hemphill or whoever the fuck I was now… shamelessly taking my spot in that studio and this industry. No one wanted me here, not PING, not Miles O’Rourke… maybe not even Griffin Slade. They saw me as inferior and less than, an easy target to hate.

  My only sin was that I still believed them, even after all this time. I was angry at all of us, which showed in my eyes as I locked Griffin in my gaze and never let him go while I sang. I growled the sexy parts. I tore the roof off in the booming chorus. And when my last note faded, I tore of the headphones and stalked from the booth.

  It could be great. It could be trash.

  But it was all they were going to get from me.

  I called Graham on my way back to the house and told him I was finally through recording the album. I had too much to worry about to focus on re-recording the same old songs again and again. At some point, we’d have to trust they were good enough. He assured me he’d review the tracks and get back to me, but he felt confident that we were ready to move forward.

  He wanted to know what I found out in Vegas, but I wasn’t ready for that conversation. I promised I’d come over for dinner in the following weeks or so, and we’d catch up then.

  I had the store opening midweek and I was off to New York the week after that. Any pity party would just have to wait.

  When I got back to the house, a trail of bright pink rose petals greeted me on the stark white tile of the entryway. I glanced into the house, which was illuminated with dozens of candles. The scent of roses filled the air as I walked further into the house. I could see arrangements in every color spread out over the tables and even onto the patio. When I turned toward the kitchen, I spotted Jace standing in the entryway, leaning up against the frame, wearing his best tuxedo.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  He straightened and walked toward me. “It’s a homecoming,” he said as he took my hand in his and pulled me close. All stress and aggravation melted away when his warm lips covered mine, parting them possessively as he deepened the kiss immediately.

  I swooned against his hard body. He effortlessly picked me up and carried me over to the sofa. He laid me out before positioning himself gently on top of me. His mouth captured kiss after hungry kiss until I could stand no more. I peeled away his jacket and shirt until my hands spread out across his solid chest. Likewise he pulled my shirt from my body, baring me for that warm, talented mouth I knew was staving for the taste of me.

  I pushed his head toward my chest and he captured the hardened peak of my breast between his gentle teeth. I couldn’t help but gasp as my legs parted, pulling him into an even closer embrace. I could feel how hard he was for me, so I ground against him until he moaned against my skin. I slipped my hands in between us to unfasten his pants and release his raging erection. When I curled my fingers around that solid shaft, his whole body shuddered against me. “Jordi…” was all he could manage.

  Furiously he peeled away my clothes until I was naked beneath him. We didn’t even speak as I opened myself up for him and he disappeared inside of me with one powerful, dominant stroke. I arched my back with an imperceptible purr as he staked his claim masterfully. He caught my bottom lip in between his teeth as he rode me harder than he had ever dared. But it was exactly what I needed. I needed him to need me. So I encouraged him further. I begged him to go deeper, using my fingernails dug into his ass to guide him.

  I got lost in his eyes as the intensity inside my body began to build. I couldn’t even speak as the feelings overtook me. My mouth opened in a silent scream as each deep thrust sparked the pleasure center hidden deep inside me… a place only he had been able to find… hidden far below the shame and insecurities that plagued my sexual identity.

  Every kiss… every touch… liberated me. At the tips of his fingers I was perfected.

  The orgasm was so explosive I couldn’t help but cry out. My body trembled underneath him until it tipped him blissfully over the edge. He was breathless as he collapsed against me with a lopsided smile. “Welcome home,” he quipped before he kissed me long and slow.

  I closed my arms and legs around him as I kept him deep inside my body. “This is the only home I need,” I whispered. “You’re my home, Jace.”

  He brushed the side of my face with his finger. “You’re my life, Jordi.”

  A tear slipped from the corner of my eye. I pulled him down for another kiss.

  While our first tussle was raw, hungry and explosive, we took our time with round two. We kissed slowly and deeply, our fingers freed to trail along our sweaty, bare bodies as we rediscovered one another. I never let him slip from my body; instead I squeezed and caressed him until he grew hard for me again. We luxuriated in every sensation, big or small, as night fell over our darkened living room. The Los Angeles night life sparkled just down the hill, but there was no world for us outside of the sacred
embrace that we shared. I knew nothing beyond the taste of his kiss or the silky softness of his touch. It was nearly nine o’clock before we untangled ourselves. We ordered Chinese, we shared a bath, and we continued our reunion in our king-sized bed he had also covered in rose petals.

  “You make me feel like a queen,” I told him as I stroked his hip with the tips of my fingers.

  “You are my queen,” he said softly, before he pushed me back on the bed and slid down my body until he disappeared between my thighs.

  By morning I was reluctant to let him go. I had enjoyed our little cocoon, but it was far from self-sustaining. Fame demanded hustle. The more you had of it, the more you had to do to hold onto it. He was preparing for his tour now, auditioning musicians and dancers to bring to life his vision for his first solo concert. He urged me to come with him, but I was still browbeaten over the last tour. I remembered all too well how it felt to be the opening act the audience endured to get to the headliner they really wanted to see.

  I didn’t think I could do that again.

  The people who loved Jace didn’t necessarily love me. And I had to learn to be OK with that.

  So I sent him on his way and concentrated on my own career. A stylist for Tempestuous arrived with another full wardrobe of clothes I could wear to the different store openings I was booked to attend. I checked in with Gwen Perry, my west coast agent with Schuster and Beckweth, who ticked off any new offers I had. The diet industry was gunning in force to get their mitts on me, which I figured had to do with my high-profile image. They wanted to take the unhappy, highly public failure I had been while fat and turn me into their triumphant before-and-after story, and they were willing to offer me millions to do it. Even Pilar Forrester, who had made quite a name for herself trashing me in the press, had extended a public “olive branch” to start over because she “genuinely cared about me.”