Page 109 of Perfect Composition
I just feel antsy. I don’t know why. Maybe having my things spread around the space will make me settle down a bit.
I’m not sure how long I’m unpacking before I hear Steve call, “Dr. Kensington, the cable guy needs you a moment.”
I squeeze past the box in my closet. Hurrying on bare feet down the stairs, I almost run into two other guys carrying boxes up to Austyn’s room. “Oops, sorry, guys.”
They both call back, “No worries.”
I skid to a halt next to the cable guy. “What’s up?”
“We’re all set: downstairs television, computer in the office, and router for whole-house Wi-Fi. That is, unless you have a second television you want to hook up?”
“No, that’s everything. Do I owe you anything?”
“It will be charged on your next bill. I do need to run through some things to make certain they work with you.” He begins to drone on about logins, default passwords, and how to change them. In the middle, I have to stop him because Steve and his crew finish, and I do have to pay them. I give them all an extra tip plus bottles of water.
Offering one to the cable guy, which he gratefully accepts, we continue. “So, once I change all of that, my high speed is up and is secure for me to work from home.”
“Yes, ma’am. You paid for the full-package support, so if you have any difficulties, just call.” He hands me a card, which I slip into my pocket. “Now, let’s just do a quick check of the television, and you’ll be good to go.”
He walks me through the steps to turn the television on and off using my new remote before calling it a day. I offer my hand and say thank you. “No, thank you. Welcome to Collyer, Dr. Kensington.”
Soon enough, it’s just me.
And sooner till, it will be us.
With that thought, I dash up the stairs, intent on getting my bras and panties in the wash with undue haste.
Later that night, I’m laughing over a comment on a new show on HGTV when my iPad pops up with a new notification about the Grammys.
I reach for it, laughing. “If I’m going nuts, Beckett has to be going crazy. He’s already been on the Best Dressed lists, been speculated about with his relationship with Austyn enough to drive him batty, and has half the world wondering what his “news” is. If they knew it was me, they’d…” But my words trail off when I get an eyeful of what I’m seeing.
I blink, certain my mind is playing tricks on me. I refresh the page.
It’s still there.
“This can’t be possible,” I whisper to the empty room.
Empty, because Beckett’s on the opposite coast where according to this news alert, he’s been spending quality time with Erzulie at his place in LA. It alludes to the fact she’s always been special to him. Judging from their state of dress—or undress—I guess that’s one way to interpret it.
I try not to jump to conclusions as I suck air into my lungs, but the picture blurs beneath me as the first tears plops onto the screen. It obscures their faces, but not those of his security team—particularly Kane, who looks grim to the point of angry.
I grab for my phone.
He answers on the first ring. “Hey, baby. We were just—”
I immediately go on the attack. “Who? You and Austyn? Or you and Erzulie?”
“What? Erzulie? What the hell are you talking about, Paige?” Beckett’s voice, so warm when he first answered, angers.
“I’m looking right at it, Beckett!” I scream. Then I begin quoting, “Is rock god Beckett Miller carrying indie goddess Erzulie away from the scene of the crime so his newest lover won’t know? Shh, we won’t tell. #tryst #lifewithbeckett #grammys #tsk #wewouldtoo -@LFrederickShadowOfficial”
I hear him ask Austyn for her phone. “Paige, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
All I can process is the tsunami of lies trying to suck me under one last time. I’ve been told so many by so many men, I feel battered by them. I can’t find a way of separating them anymore. “I have to go.”
“Paige! Don’t go. Let’s talk about this—”
I disconnect the call and race for the bathroom where I immediately vomit the baguette and brie I ate for dinner not a half hour before. In the distance, I hear my phone ring and stop before it starts all over again. I know it’s Beckett trying to call me back, but I can’t talk. I’m too busy crying and holding on to something solid, even if that solid is a piece of porcelain.
