Page 61 of Jagger
I narrow my eyes. “Blackmail?”
His eyes widen. “Pardon?”
“Cliff, we both know you do this shit. Don’t pretend you’re a blushing bride. Dig up shit on her boyfriend or agent. I don’t care what you do—just do it.”
Cliff looks affronted, but I know how he really feels—proud that he can pull strings to get me what I want. I haven’t modeled in a long time—Molly won’t have much choice but to work with me. She’s the hottest girl around in the fashion world right now, and I can keep her there.
Or not, depending on what I want.
But all I want to do is talk to her. Well, it will do for starters. I know beggars can’t be choosers.
“Fine. Why this girl, Jagger? Sure, she’s hot stuff, but she’s with that sleazy photographer. Why are you wasting your time?”
Translated: his time.
“Just do it,” I command.
I leave his room and take the elevator to my penthouse suite, wondering which hotel Molly is staying at. She’s not in the same one as me because I’d know—I have an instinct for her presence. Like some kind of sick fuck, I am aware when she is near—I can sense her. I drink the whiskey while gazing out at New York City from my balcony, wondering if this is it for me.
I was a success—I had more money than I knew what to do with; I had friends—real ones—but they didn’t know what I’d done to Molly. Only Wolfe, and I’m pretty sure he’s done badthings in his past to Nicole. I don’t want to know, to be honest, but it meant I could tell him without too harsh a judgment. Not that judgment bothered me—a rapist is evil, the scum of the earth—the end. But I want Molly to know that I didn’t do it for power or control.
I don’t think she’ll give a shit either way, but once she knows, I can go. I can move on with my life.
Maybe I’ll buy a beach hut and live out my days drinking whiskey and eating fresh fish. Maybe I could learn to fish.
The wind whips around me and I close my eyes, allowing myself to imagine what might’ve been. I try not to give in to this fantasy too often, but right now, I have to.
In this fantasy, Molly is wearing one of my shirts. In bed, her tanned legs are crossed against the white sheets. She’ll moan with delight as she bites into one of her favorite cookies, and then her eyes will meet mine.
“I love them,” she’ll tell me, crumbs escaping her lips. “Like I love you.”
I stiffen, my eyes flying open as I stare into the city below.
Molly would never tell me that. She’ll never wear one of my shirts or eat anything I’ve bought her. She’ll never be in my bed.
I drop my head and wonder what the fuck possessed me to rape her. Why didn’t I beat Lawson to death and save her? Then he couldn’t have taken her again, and she would’ve been mine.
But I know the answer. I would never have been able to be that man, and maybe even now, given the chance again, I probably still can’t do it that way. Because I can’t love. I can’t love anyone, and Molly deserves love. I would’ve taken her home with me and destroyed her because I couldn’t love her. She’d have loved me, because she’s that kind of person, and I would never have been able to give it back.
I’m not capable of loving.
But I am still going to tell her the truth, and after that, I’m done.
“She what?” I stare at Cliff, who taps his finger on the white cloth-covered table between us.
It’s mid-afternoon some days later, and I’m having lunch with Cliff. It’s a fancy restaurant, of course, because I’m paying.
“She said she will meet you,” Cliff repeats, waving down a server. “Can I get another bottle, please?” He lifts the empty champagne bottle from the silver bucket on the table before turning back to me. “She said she will come to your room tonight at eight p.m.”
My mouth dries. Molly is coming to my room? My brows knit together, and I stare at him.
“Are you sure?”
Cliff harrumphs and downs the last of his champagne. “Of course, I’m sure. Eight p.m. she said.”
I stroke my chin as excitement builds in my stomach.
Molly is going to hear me out.
