KENDALL
M
y cell had been on silent since before we even left for Bimini. Periodically throughout the day, I'd check it to make sure there wasn't anything vital I needed to reply to-aside from responding to the texts from my family and Charlize. I kept it in my purse on the far side of the bedroom, away from my line of vision, ensuring I wouldn't be distracted by the notifications.
But something woke me up at two in the morning, and it wasn't my quieted phone or the breeze coming in through the open balcony or the feel of Dominick's arms around me. It was something in my gut, telling me I needed to look at my phone.
And it was strong enough to make me rise out of bed and hurry across the room.
Daisy: I need to talk to you. It's important. Whenever you see this, call me. I don't care what time it is.
Since Dominick was still asleep, I walked into the living room and out to the back porch, taking a seat in one of the large, overstuffed chairs that faced the ocean.
The way she had worded the text caused so many questions, each of them circling, nagging, tightening my body from the inside.
I didn't like the feeling in my stomach.
What could you possibly want, Daisy?
Dominick would tell me not to call her, that she had already done enough. I was in the Bahamas to stop hurting, and all she did was cause pain.
But he wasn't out here.
And he wasn't related to my sister.
With tension pounding through my muscles, my hands slightly shaking, I found her number in my Contacts and held the phone up to my ear while it rang.
She answered, "Hi."
Her tone was ice, as though she were in the middle of something much more important than me.
I shouldn't have been surprised.
But still … I was.
"Hey, Daisy. I just got your text. I know it's late-I guess not as late there as it is here."
"Here?" she asked. "You're not in LA?"
"No."
She cleared her throat. "I'm not shocked you fled. I mean, the entire world is talking about you right now and saying-"
"Daisy," I interrupted, not needing the recap, "you asked me to call. What is it that you want to tell me?"
She sighed. "I'm sure your attorney boyfriend is going to be investigating, so I thought I'd throw you a bone."
My stomach clenched, the knots inside grinding together. "Okay."
"I was at a bar a few weeks back, hanging, whatever, and after a couple drinks, this guy started telling me he works for Happy Lite-you know, the studio that owns Glitzy Girls."
Our perfect dinner began to churn in my stomach.
"Well, come to find out, he works in the studio's editing room. How ironic, right? And he has access to all the shows and their footage and yada, yada, yada."
I could sense where this was heading, and I suddenly felt like I was on fire, my lungs screaming to breathe, so I stood and paced the patio.
"The next thing I knew, we were on a date, and he asked about you. I told him the truth-how you wronged me, how you shouldn't be my competition but that you were ruining everything for me. How you took the team I'd worked so hard for, the team I deserved-not you."
I felt sick.
"Daisy … no."
"I had three glasses of wine, and you know that third one makes me extra chatty." She paused for several seconds. "Anyway, a few days later, the Celebrity Alert came out, and once it aired, the guy sent me a text with a copy of the photos he'd submitted to the site along with the confirmation that they were going to share them. His next message asked if what he'd done would score him a second date." She laughed. "Can you imagine? He actually thinks he's good enough for me. Seriously, I can't even with some people."
I didn't know whether to dry-heave or start sobbing.
But my entire body was now shaking, even my feet as they stepped over the tiled floor.
"You're disgusting," I whispered, my throat not allowing me to speak any louder.
"Hold on. I came to you out of the kindness of my heart, and I'm the disgusting one? I didn't have to help at all. I could have let your ridiculous boyfriend spin every one of his wheels and come up empty-handed, but I didn't. I helped. And now, you're turning this around on me?"
"Kindness?" I snorted, but not a single bit of this was funny. "You think you're showing me kindness? Kindness would have been asking how I was doing the moment you answered the phone. Kindness would have been standing by my side when this media storm erupted. Kindness would have been not talking shit about me to a complete stranger, not dropping nuggets in his brain, so he couldn't do something this horrific to your sister." I stopped pacing, holding the wooden pole at the end of the patio, clinging to it like the ground was falling. "But there isn't a fucking kind bone in your body."
"I literally can't believe what I'm hearing right now."
"Were you the one who sent the photos? No. Were you the one who tried to ruin my life? Not directly. But you're not taking a single bit of accountability here. You're throwing the facts at me like you're doing me a fucking favor and washing your hands of this mess. Well, guess what. You don't deserve to walk away innocently; you don't get the fucking medal of honor for reaching out to me."
Something was tearing through my chest, and I couldn't stop it. This wasn't a PMS beast that reared its claws every month. This was years of frustration that had peaked since I'd moved to LA, and I couldn't hold it in any longer.
"You're a jealous brat-that's what you are. I've done nothing but support you, to the point where I even came to work for you. And the moment I got even the tiniest bit of attention, you lost your mind. If you were secure, if you weren't dripping in self-doubt, then you would have realized I was never trying to hurt your career or compete with you. But you saw me-someone who loves you more than anything-as an enemy and turned this into a contest. That doesn't only make you a fool; it makes you pathetic." I released the pole, pushing my back against the wooden banister.