Dirty Little Secret [EXCERPT]

BAILEY

A shiver ran down Bailey’s spine as the cold air crept in. She watched him, the man, as he dressed himself, knotting his tie. She pulled the stark white sheets around her brown skin, trying to ward off the chill.

“Are you leaving?” Bailey rested her cheek against her knees, her voice soft and resigned.

Eric adjusted his cufflinks, glanced at his reflection in the mirror before turning his gaze to the young woman.

“Yes, Hailey.”

She said nothing, pulling the sheets tighter around her in a futile attempt at modesty.

“When will you introduce me to your family, Eric?”

He glanced over at her, a smirk playing on his lips, his tone dripping with condescension.

“Soon, sweetheart. Very soon.”

Bailey let out a sigh, heavy with sadness.

He’d been promising that for two years.

“Late, Hailey!” He called out, just as the door closed behind him.

“It’s Bailey!” Her voice fading out, as he closed the door on her. Her eyes stung, as she put her face between her knees, squeezing them shut.

She heaved a heavy sigh, she rose from the bed, scrubbing her skin until it felt raw. She was his dirty little secret.

She felt dirty.

After cleaning up and changing, she decided to get some fresh air. As always, she took the stairs, keeping her gaze low as she passed through the lobby.

She knew what she would see if she looked up. Pity. Disgust. Disappointment.

Could she really blame them? They had watched her repeat the same pattern for two years. She was even disappointed in herself.

Her teachers used to tell her, You have so much potential, Bailey.

You’re a bright kid with a promising future.

You can do anything you set your mind to.

And she did. She became wealthy doing what she loved, she made a name for herself. She won awards, had buildings named after her.

But the fact that these people knew, that she knew how she let herself be treated?

That fact overshadowed all her accomplishments. Any success was twisted into a mockery.

The biting New York air brought her back to reality. Her nose turned red, goosebumps prickled her skin, but the cold air filled her lungs, cleansing her.

Bailey walked the streets, doing something she had done since she was a child. People watching.

As a child, she would spend hours at her window, watching the people on the streets. She would give them names, create stories for them. She would make them fall in love, take them on adventures they would never know they had.

Some of those adventures were later published, making her a bestselling author.

Due to the cold, the streets were mostly empty. People huddled in shops. Starbucks was packed, as was another nearby cafe.

One man caught her eye on her way home.

He stood in front of an old cafe, looking frustrated. His phone was pressed to his ear, and he was cursing loudly.

Apparently, fucking Vince had lost something, and he was ready to shove some things in some very uncomfortable places.

She laughed to herself. He was certainly expressive. As he ranted on the phone, his arms moved in exaggerated gestures, making his tattoos come alive.

Suddenly, he stopped talking and looked up. Right at her. He looked at her with a sort of cool curiosity, his lips parting slightly.

Tattoos snaked up his neck, disappearing under his leather jacket.

She gasped, quickly looking down and quickening her pace.

With each step she took, she could feel his smirk, his gaze burning into her back.

Deciding to ignore it, she climbed the three flights of stairs to her apartment.

Bailey walked as much as she could. As a writer, she spent most of her time in her comfortable writing chair, munching on ‘inspirational’ junk food.

Bailey locked her door behind her, collapsing onto her couch. Writer’s block. She had writer’s block. She couldn’t afford writer’s block, she was a writer. She groaned, her mind roving over her current circumstances.

Her fridge was empty, she didn’t have a good coat, because she couldn’t go out in public without being ambushed by her agent!

Sighing, Bailey pondered her next move. Just as she was about to give up and take a nap, her phone rang.

It was her mother. Oh, great, she groaned internally.

“Hello?”

“Darling,” Her mother drawled, her tone dripping with disapproval.

What else was new?

“Yes, Mother.”

“Have you been sitting on your couch so long, you forgot what day it is?”

Bailey winced at the jab. Before she could respond, her mother continued.

“I assume so. It’s Friday. Your brother and sisters have been waiting for you.”

She clenched her teeth, holding back a groan.

“I’m not going to be able to—”

“We’ll see you at six.”

The line clicked. Bailey pulled the phone back staring at the end call screen. 

She tossed it to the other end of the couch, letting out a groan as she banged her head against the back of it.

Portia Williams was always rich in mind. Not in terms of knowledge, of course not. She was just a snob. She had an air about her that just screamed:

I’m-Better-Than-You-Why-Are-You-Still-Breathing-My-Air

Naturally, she only bred the best. Expected the best. Only accepted the best. Only tolerated the best.

Portia Williams did not understand that not everyone can be the best.

There are about nine billion people on earth. It’s unreasonable to expect each of them to be the best at something.

There aren’t enough ‘somethings’ for everyone to have a specialty.

But Bailey had lived with her mother for most of her life. By now, she knew that when her mother said best, she meant perfect.

Bailey wasn’t perfect. She was too fat, too tall, too smart, too awkward. Too Bailey.

~No one can be perfect,~ she repeated to herself as she applied makeup she hated.

No one is perfect, she muttered, pulling on ridiculously high heels.

You can be perfectly imperfect, but it’s perfectly impossible to be perfect, she recited, slipping into a dress.

There are too many versions of perfect to be perfect.

And even though she repeated these words, the same words she’d been repeating since third grade, she still did everything she could to be her mother’s version of perfect.

Of course, she failed.

“Bailey darling, don’t you know that dress is too tight for your...figure?”

Her mother’s opening words. As she stepped into the house she had bought for her family, she felt the urge to turn around and run.

Lorelei, her sister, was snickering, acting more like a five-year-old than a twenty-five-year-old.

The dining room was the first room you’d see when you entered the house. It was a display of perfection, a stage for her family to perform on. Her brother, two sisters, and her parents were all there.

Even the number of family members was perfectly even. She briefly wondered what would have happened if they had one more child.

“Princess!” Her father stood up and pulled her into a tight hug. She hugged him back, breathing in the familiar scent of his bakery.

“Hey, Sis!” Peter, her brother, greeted her with a smile and a hug.

“You’re taller than me now!” She looked up at her younger brother in surprise.

“Yeah. I grew this summer,” His voice was deep, “But you weren’t here so...”

She ruffled his hair and gave him a sad smile.

“I know. I’m sorry Pete.”

I’m sorry, but I’m not coming back.

“Sis!” Her youngest sister, only seven, ran up to her and hugged her tightly, grabbing her her jeans

“Save me from dresses, Bailey. She won’t stop putting me in dresses,” 

She laughed and kissed her sister’s forehead. “I wish I could.”

Her sister, Lia, fell back in line, returning the room to its tense atmosphere.

Her other sister and her mother stood there, their faces etched with disapproval and smugness.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, holding back tears. Her own mother wanted her to fail, just so she could laugh and say I told you so.

I told you you were worthless.

“Are we eating or what?”

She shot Peter a grateful look.

This is about to get a whole lot worse.

Bailey poked at her salad with her fork. She hated salad. Everyone else was enjoying meatloaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, and rolls.

You need to watch your figure, her mother had said.

“What are you wearing?” That was Lorelei, her other sister.

“A dress,” Bailey replied softly, trying not to give Lorelei any ammunition.

But do things ever go Bailey’s way?

“It’s so last season,” Lorelei sneered. “I’m wearing Prada. It’s trending? Everyone’s wearing it. Do you live under a rock or something?”

Of course not.

She pushed a piece of wilted lettuce around her plate, trying not to engage.

“That I bought.” She mumbled into her plate.

She hadn’t said it quietly enough, because Lorelei whipped around her face pinched in anger. Everyone but her mother snickered.

“Mother,” Lorelei whined, her eyes filling with fake tears.

Great. Here come the waterworks.

“Why are you so jealous of your sister?” Her mother scolded, her perfectly lined lips curling into a sneer. “Is it because she’s skinnier? More beautiful!”

“Mother!”

“Portia!”

Bailey ignored Peter and her father’s protests, knowing they’d die out under her mother’s withering glare.

“No! I’m tired of her picking on my Lorelei!”

Bailey zoned out, doing her best to distance herself from the situation.

What’s Cynthia doing right now? She thought with a mental snort. Nothing. Thanks to writer’s block, Cynthia is currently frozen mid-argument with her husband.~

Damn. I’m failing at this too.

Failure. It felt like an iron fist was gripping her throat, her stomach churning as if it were being whisked.

“Portia, she is our daughter!”

“I don’t care.”

“She won’t stand for this forever, y’ know.” Peter drawled, his baleful glare directed at his mother and sister.

“Eventually, she’s gonna snatch this—her house and all her money from under your manicured feet and I’m going to laugh.”

Portia, Lorelei, and Charles turned pale.

“This worthless daughter you talk down to, provides everything. For all of us.”

She stood, and looked over the faces of everyone at the table, flashing her siblings a grateful smile.

“I think it’s time I go home. I have…writing to do.”

Eric was leaned against the doorway when she arrived, his face falling when he caught sight of her.

“Hey where the hell were you? We were supposed to be meeting tonight.”

She furrowed her brow. “I had dinner at my danily’s place, didn’t you get my message?”

“Yeah but you had plans with me,” he stressed, as she fumbled for her keys.

Why was he so anxious to get inside? He was never—

He pressed against her back, his hands around her hips. 

“I was waiting for you.” He murmured.

Bailey rolled her eyes stepping away from the door. 

“That’s what this is about?”

That was what it was always about, wasn’t it?

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Go home, Eric.” Bailey sighed, her body limp from exhaustion. She’d had a hard enough time with family and now this? It was just too much.

“No, you told me we were hanging out, so open the door. I don’t have time for your dramatics!”

Bailey frowned, putting her purse on her shoulder. “Dramatics? Are you serious?”

“Hailey, open the damn door—“

Bailey’s eyes widened as Eric was swallowed up by a large, but somewhat familiar shadow. The smell of cologne and smoke swaddled the pair.

Eric’s voice stopped dead, as craned his neck up to see the imposing man, glaring down at him. 

A gasp escaped Bailey’s lips despite herself. It was him. The guy from the coffee shop? What was he doing here?

“Is there a problem?” He asked calmly, his voice echoing in the hallway.

Eric shook his head. “No, I was just—I was just—-“

The man cocked his head, waiting, his arms flexing as he did. 

“—Leaving. It sounded like you were just leaving, right?”

Eric scrambled away leaving Bailey and the strange man. He extended his hand. Bailey glanced at it, the steadiness of it.

“Spencer, I live across the hall from you. What’s your name?”

She took it and smiled. “Bailey. Thanks for the…” she motioned to where Eric had been, her skin heating. What a way to meet someone, especially someone who looked like him.

Spencer scoffed before smiling brightly. “What a piece of shit. If he comes back just knock on my door.“

Bailey grinned. “I will.”