Aberration (3 page)

"There are only two ways that money could have disappeared," says Dad. "If Cam made a mistake, or if Jaime took it."

When I glance to Cam, he raises his hands into the air. "Don't look at me. Four-point-oh in accounting from an Ivy League, and I fucking earned those grades.
”

"Language!" cries mom.

"I didn't make a mistake,
”
Cam says. "Trust me. I double checked my numbers every day while I was interning."

"Let’s say Jaime made a mistake," I offer. "Say he was wrong in his calculations."

"That still doesn't account for the fifty thousand dollars that went missing," Dad says.

Suddenly, I'm not hungry anymore.

"I'm looking into it," he assures me. "But honey, I don't think I'm going to find anything that gets Jaime off the hook. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

As I study the sloppily-made sandwich in front of me, out of the corner of my eye, I can sense Cam staring at me. And I know exactly what he's thinking. Why the sudden investment in Jaime? Cam is right... I loathed Jaime in high school. He was the cocky, sexy boy who tormented the fuck out of me, hanging my underwear on the fence, pushing me in the pool, stringing my tampons up outside my window. Jaime Rivera was the sore on my side, the arrow in my ass. I try to lessen Cam's curiosity by saying, "He just seemed really dejected is all. Like, I don't think he wants his job back. I just think that he wants to make amends with our family. He loved you guys." I add the last bit on for effect. I mean, I'm sure Jaime
did
love my parents, but he never told me that exactly.

"I know, honey," says Dad. "And I will look into the data. I promise. Hopefully, the situation will turn out for the best of all of us."

I guess there are perks to being Daddy's little girl. Who knows if he really would have looked into the data unless I asked him to. I think of the camera Mom and Dad gave me for my nineteenth birthday, the memory card tucked inside and all of the filthy fucking images on it.
Hot
images. Images that are going to make me a shit ton of money.

I let the conversation drop, but as I'm eating, I think about how the dynamics with my parents would change if they knew what I did for a living
—
why I haven't spent a penny on my inheritance. They've been prudes since the day I was born. I was taught a life of abstinence and modesty. That's how little girls grew up successful. Smile sweetly and keep your legs shut. For being native Californians, my parents are stuck in the 1950s. But they claim that's why they are so successful. Modesty. Hard work. Modesty. But I don't even know what their definition of modesty means. Our house sure isn't modest. Our living expenses aren't.

I'm stuck in my thoughts all through the rest of lunch, and finally, Cam pulls me out of it when I'm walking across the marble floor and back to our wing of the house. He lays a hand on my shoulder and I turn to face him.

"What's up with you and Jaime?"

I should have been expecting this question, but I'm not prepared for it. To stall, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"You just seemed really defensive about him is all." He scowls and shakes his head. "How did he even end up modeling for you in the first place? You fired his ass, right?"

Evan has met Cam once. She said that, other than our signature McCulley blond hair, we only look like we could belong in the same family when we're both scowling. Our eyebrows point like Vs, and our green eyes are more fiery than they are when we're laughing.

I sigh, thinking of the best way to drag this conversation away from me and Jaime and our relationship. "He misses you, dude," I say. "He feels betrayed, I know he does. How long were you best friends?"

Cam crosses his arms over his chest. "Twenty fucking years, until he stole."

"Okay, so what if he didn't? Theoretically speaking, what if he had nothing to do with the missing money? Suddenly he's fired from his job, loses his best friend..." I trail off, remembering how Jaime kept the firing a secret from me, and how I found out from Cam. I quickly shake the thought from my head. "How would you feel?"

Cam thinks for a moment, pursing his lips before sighing. "I guess you're right. Dad fired him under circumstantial evidence, and Jaime couldn't legally fight it considering he was only an intern." He clasps my shoulder with his hand
,
and a relieved smile breaks across on his face. "Jesus, Brit. Honestly? I thought you suddenly cared about this situation so much because you started fucking him or something."

He laughs, and I feel the tips of my fingers grow numb. I manage to suavely cock an eyebrow. "Please," I say. "You know me. Have you ever taken me for easy?"

"No!" he cries. "That's why this whole thing has been kind of confusing."

Guilt twists in my stomach. Actually, the only reason why I care at all about the situation between Jaime and my father's company is because Jaime and I have fucked. A thought arises in my mind. Maybe that's the only reason why he cares too. I mean, he’s had years to confront my father, to ask Dad to look into the data that doomed him, but he never did. Did Jaime not care about his and Cam's relationship enough to fix the issue right when it happened?

I push the problem from my head when my big brother pulls me into a hug. "It's good to see you, by the way. I think Mom and Dad are going to want us to do this every single year until one of them dies, or they both do."

I think of my tight photography schedule with my new storybook gig and inwardly groan. Two months out of the year where my parents want me to stay with them? I mean, the accommodation is nice, but this isn't the easiest place to shoot porn.

I think of all the shit I have to do for them while I'm here, too. For example, this weekend, Dad and the CEO of the company he's hoping to merge with are holding some fancy-ass tea and crumpets brunch for their employees, and Cam and I are supposed to attend. I can't tell them I'm too busy for that shit and I have work to do. They'll ask what kind of work, and I'd really like to not open that can of worms for the time being.

It's like Cam can hear my train of thought. He pulls away from me and asks "So how's the naked people business going?"

I look over his shoulder out of instinct, even though I know Mom and Dad are still in the kitchen. "It's... a rollercoaster," I decide on. "A learning experience. I was doing so fucking good with my indie zine, lost it to a big company, and got picked up by another big company." I shrug. "I love my editor, but I feel like I can't trust anyone."

"Welcome to the world of business, little sis."

I roll my eyes as Cam smiles.
“
Speaking of business," I remember what my schedule looks like and pull my phone from my yoga pants pocket. "Fuck. Got a conference call in seven minutes."

"Ohhh, conference call. Big man on campus."

I punch him in the shoulder. "Shut the fuck up." I grin stupidly before turning on my heel and leaving for my room. Truth be told, it does feel pretty elitist to hold a conference call with my team, especially while living at my parents' stupid-expensive
,
southern California, Latin-American inspired stucco estate. In fact, it practically
screams
douche.

But a bitch has gotta do what a bitch has gotta do to get shit done.

I close my bedroom door behind me and lock it, turning on the mounted television and launching the software to host my Skype conference call. When I log in, I see that Evan is online. I request a connection with her while waiting for Andrea and my editor to log on.

Her face appears on the screen, and she looks about as put together as I do. No makeup, glasses, and hair piled on top of her head. She's wearing sweatpants and a cut up Harvard t-shirt that's falling off her shoulder. "Bestie!" she yells way too gleefully, reminding me of Delilah.

I haven't hung out with Evan since the October shoot. I miss the bitch. I mean, I have Delilah, and I'm friendly with the other models who work for me, but Evan and I always understood each other in a way that no one else got. We're weird...
fucking
weird. And painfully sarcastic. Which is probably why I don't have many friends other than her.

"Dallas was wondering if he could listen in and see what we're getting ourselves into, or if this is just
like, you know, a girl's Skype call."

"Yes, a girl's Skype call. We're going to talk about menstrual cycles and nail polish and which guys have the biggest dicks."

Dallas plops himself on the bed next to Evan. They must be streaming from her laptop.

"Hi, Britain."

"Hi, dumbass. You can listen in, as long as you guys, you know, don't interrupt the ed too much with groping or making out or what not."

"Don't worry," says Evan. "We did enough of that today. Had a day off from lab and school work."

Dallas looks as disheveled as Evan does, and he's still wearing his sweats too. I check the time
—
it's late afternoon where they are. "Lazy, horny bastards."

Evan shrugs, and I sigh. I guess if I was as good looking as Evan and had a steady boyfriend as hot as Dallas, that's exactly what I'd be doing all day too.

I try to push the thought of Jaime out of my head when I see that Andrea and my editor, Beatrice, have logged on. "Behave," I tell Evan and Dallas before adding them to the video chat.

My editor is not what you'd expect an editor out of New York to look like, and I love it. Her hair is short and sticks up everywhere, dyed black with streaks of pink and blue. She has a fat ring through her nose. But since the call is from her office, she's dressed business-like, wearing a fitted button-down blouse. "Well hello, my lovelies! She says, squinting at the screen. "Wow, you guys are pretty hot in real life too. I thought that was just Photoshop doing its magic."

I know she's talking about Evan and Dallas and is probably just trying to butter them up. Of course Evan doesn't buy it. She scoffs. "Us? Please, we look like shit."

Andrea, who's taking a gulp of Diet Coke, nearly spits out her drink, but Beatrice grins. "Let's get to business, shall we?"

"Let’s," I say. "I'm at my parents
’
house for two months, and if they catch me in a business call about porn, I'm going to have to explain myself. And I really don't want to do that."

Beatrice scrunches her nose and grits her teeth. "About that."

I can feel my eyes widen. "What?"

"The publisher wants me to quicken the schedule... have at least one storybook written and shot by the end of summer so we can get a move on production. Apparently Amora Acquisitions is coming out with a fat issue
East Park Exposed
, which they've so tactfully shortened to
Exposed
considering it’s not run out of the school anymore. They already have the following of your old fans, and I've gotten the inside word that they plan on using the same format that we are with the storybooks."

My blood is near-boiling. "Fuck A.J. Harrison!" I hiss, forgetting that I'm on a call with my boss. But she doesn't seem to mind. Actually, she looks kind of amused.

A year ago, Amora Acquisitions, a huge erotica company, bought the rights to
East Park Exposed
and planned on making it a national magazine. I idiotically signed the contract thinking that they were going to keep their word about allowing me to stay in charge of overseeing the issues and remain lead photographer. What I didn't know was that A.J. Harrison, CEO of Amora, planned on turning EPE into some raunchy hardcore mag. When I refused to shoot the tasteless penetration he wanted, he fired me. Then Evan quit, and all the other models quit, and Amora Acquisitions was left with nothing other than the rights to EPE.

"Okay, let's think this through logically," Dallas pipes up. I raise an eyebrow at him and he holds up his hand. "Hear me out. We can easily ride off Amora's coattails with a better storybook than their shitty magazine, right? If they shatter the ice for this new kind of... err... porn... we'll get a ton of interest and an influx of fans who've read the
Exposed
issue and want more."

"We're going to be doing that anyway," Beatrice says with a frown. "They're releasing their issue next week."

Andrea winces, and Evan and Dallas start whispering to each other.

Crap. If we want to be successful competition with EPE
—
now
Exposed
—
the magazine that those Amora fucks stole from me, then Beatrice and the publisher are right. We've got to get the ball rolling.

"My studio is in northern Cali, near my old college," I tell Beatrice. "I'm with my parents in Malibu right now."

"You're there for two months," says Evan. "Can't you take a couple of weeks and head back to the studio? We can meet you there and balls-to-the-wall it to get everything done.
”

“Pun intended,” says Dallas. Evan elbows his arm.

I grit my teeth. This is one part of my life that Evan doesn't get. No one really does, except for Cam. "My family is incredibly
—
close. When I make a promise to stay with them, I have to keep it, especially if I don’t have a good excuse as to why I’d be leaving them. They’ve already bought me a countless number of luncheon and benefit dinner tickets for all of their summer rich people activities.”