“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. The minute I step to your side, it’s about us, and me.”
“If it’s about me, let me handle my problems.”
“If you’re taking control, I won’t, but you’re going to have to talk to me, Mia. You’re going to have to tell me what you’re doing and why you think it’s failing.”
“Okay, fine. I talk. You listen. You let me handle my own problems. Is that our deal? No one else dies.”
“We aren’t talking about death. We’re talking about life. Tell me what you’re doing to control yours.”
It’s not the answer I want, but it’s the only answer he’s going to give me. “Fine,” I concede. “I went to the attorney meeting with my parents to talk about my father’s patent negotiations. They really believe Big Davis is the biggest, best bidder that ever rocked their world.”
I can almost see him frown as he asks, “The guy fromLion’s Den?”
“Right. That asshole. They actually believe him being the highest bidder, which is what I’m told he is, to be a good situation. My parents and their attorneys can’t see he’s setting them up. Big Davis wants to make the offer on live TV.”
“And we all know how Big Davis and your father went down on live TV last time.”
“Exactly. He’ll demolish my father. This product my father created competes with one of Big Davis’s products. If he humiliates my father and devalues the product, he doesn’t pay my father, and he kills myfather’s future.” My lips press together. “And maybe him in the process. I was strong in the meeting, Adam. I didn’t even recognize myself. But it made no difference.”
“Let me ask you this: Before you and I started talking, would you have stood up and fought for your father or sat back and watched?”
“I’d have talked to my father,” I argue. “I’d have tried to convince him to do the right thing.”
“By attending the meeting? By arguing with his legal counsel about what is right or wrong for him? Or by passively standing in the background, speaking only when spoken to?”
“Passively,” I concede. “But my point is that there is no difference in the outcome.”
“You don’t know that yet,” he points out. “And on that note, you have to shift your viewpoint, Mia.”
“Meaning what?”
“You changing you doesn’t mean others change with you. The fact that you do everything you can to make a difference instead of just sitting back and watchingis youbeing in controlof you. No matter what happens with your father’s business dealings, you willnotregret your actions or question yourself about if you could have done more. You can never fully control others, not even your parents.”
It’s terrifying to me that Adam is starting to make sense.
“You take control, Mia,” he repeats, “and I won’t. Just talk to me. Work through things with me. We all need someone to talk to, and for you, you’re going to figure out that person is me. I’m that person who offers you unconditional support. You can tell me anything and not be judged.”
“Sometimes we all need and deserve to be judged.”
“And sometimes we deserve the freedom to say what we think and feel, and not be judged. I know more happened today than you’ve told me. I know we have more to talk about, but you need to rest, and so do I. We both have work tomorrow. Wear the Gucci tomorrow. You’lllook like a stunner in it. And go to the eye doctor. Get rid of the glasses, though I must say you pull off the librarian look with a certain je ne sais quoi.” He pauses a moment. “Good night, Mia.”
With the French remark that basically means I have some unexplainable quality, a beauty I would only call appropriate to describe Jess, he disconnects.
Chapter Seventy
I wake the next morning with a numb sensation.
The tears, anger, and terror of the evening before are shoved somewhere in a deep, dark place inside me, no doubt my mind using my slumber to transport me to a place where survival instinct rules yet again. And, surprisingly, Ididsleep. It’s as if I’d simply reached a point of complete, utter mental and physical shutdown. My body and mind united and said: no more.
Once I’m fully up, moving, and showered, coffee in hand, I’m still in the same place.
I’m still numb.
I do as Adam has commanded.
I dress in the Gucci outfit, and while style hasn’t exactly been my “thing,” I lived with Jess long enough to know a few things about the big brands. Gucci is a bit eclectic, often designing with bright flowers, colors, and unique styles I typically find over the top for me. Remarkably, the dress Adam bought me is more classic, black of all colors, considering my rather goth wardrobe he’s trying to replace. It’s a fitted cotton material, with long silky sleeves, and accented with olive-green piping around the wrists, neck, and edges of the black, thin, rather elegant belt. I choose to pair it with the Chanel boots I wore yesterday rather than the Gucci high heels Adam has provided, which feel a bit delicate(translated as uncomfortable) for my active library job, as well as my walk to and from work.
The dress also comes with a $2,400 price tag. The tag itself has the price detached, but I google it via the Saks website. Who buys a woman he has no real relationship with dresses and shoes that cost as much as the items presently on my body and in my possession?
