A Very Dirty Christmas Read online

  The thing is that I'm not sure about anything, and Gaige most of all. And I'm definitely not sure Gaige feels the same way about me.

  "You will get on the next flight back to Manhattan," my mother says. "I've hired someone who fixes these things, someone who will do damage control. You're ill and you're going to rehab. And you're never going back to your father's place again. You will not see that boy again. Do you hear me?"

  I can't help but hear her. Her voice sounds unreasonably loud on the phone, ringing in my ear as I stand there motionless. A couple passes me, the man and woman holding their young daughter's hands. "That's not going to happen, mother," I say. "I'm not coming back to Manhattan. I'm not going to rehab. And I'll see whoever I want."

  My mother screeches and I hang up the phone, feeling strangely disconnected from everything, as if I'm having an out-of-body experience. In the cab on the way to my father's house, I feel oddly numb as I watch the scenery fly by in a blur.

  When we arrive at the house, I don't even register the location for a moment. I'm tempted to tell the driver to leave the car running, because I may be back out the door in a few minutes. Fired and probably disowned.

  But I don't. I walk numbly down the hallway, and one of the housekeepers greets me with a terse look. "Ms. Marlowe," she says. "We weren't expecting you until tomorrow morning."

  "I'm back early," I say. As if that offers an explanation for everything. "Is my father here, or at the office?"

  Teresa shakes her head. "It's not so good," she says. "He's in the study, but you shouldn't - "

  Crap. So he's heard, and if the staff already knows, that means it's even worse than I thought. I smooth the fabric of my skirt as if doing so will make me somehow presentable and professional.

  As if that will somehow erase everything that's happened.

  I walk down the hallway to my father's study, resigned to my fate, and knock on the door.

  "Come in," he says, and I can tell his voice is strained even before I pull open the door. He's sitting in the corner of the room in his leather armchair, drinking a glass of scotch. Just sitting there. No work, no book, no computer, nothing.

  My heart sinks. This is a lot worse than I thought.

  "Delaney," he says. The way he looks at me, disappointment and pain in his eyes, makes my heart break. I've never seen him look at me like this.

  "I know you've heard what happened, but I can explain," I say, my voice rushed and rambling as I step inside the office. As soon as I open my mouth, my words gather momentum, spiraling out of control. "Chelsea set us up, told Akira-san something, I don't know what, that we were sick maybe, because she wanted a job with him, I think? I'm not sure. She hates me. She's hated me since the beginning and I didn't want to say anything because I wanted to stand on my own at Marlowe. Even if it's your company, and you're my father. And then we walked off the elevator and Chelsea and Akira were right there and it was –"

  My father holds up his hand, halting me. "I know," he says. "Gaige told me the whole story already. He explained everything."

  "He did?" I ask. "But – I don't understand. He's still in Tokyo. Or…on a flight. I came back early."

  "He sent an email," he says. "It was all in the email."

  "Do you hate me?" I ask. "You hate me, right? You hate Gaige."

  Beau sighs. "Of course I don't hate you."

  "But you're – you're sitting here in the office, with the lights out, drinking scotch, and you're – not happy, obviously."

  Beau looks at me as he takes another sip of his scotch, his face tired. "Anja left," he says. "We're divorcing. I finally told her to leave."

  "Oh my God." I stand there, motionless, my heart pounding in my chest. Shit. It's our fault. "Because of Gaige and I?"

  My father's brow furrows. "What? You and Gaige?" he asks. "Don't be ridiculous."

  "But – it's not because of us."

  He waves his hand dismissively. "She left last night," he says. "I didn't even read Gaige's email until this morning."

  "But…what happened?"

  Beau looks at me, his head cocked to the side. "It was obvious, wasn't it? It's been coming for a long time. She was an alcoholic, and…well, not a very good person at all, as it turns out. She'd been cheating on me. With the yoga instructor. Who's twenty-three."

  My hand flies to my mouth. "Dad. I'm so sorry."

  Beau smiles sadly. "I sure can pick 'em, can't I?"

  "Dad, I – I don't know what to say."

  He clears his throat and shakes his head, standing up to set his empty glass down at the bar, before walking over to me and drawing me into a hug. I stand here, my head against his chest for a moment, feeling like a kid again. Then, his big hands on my arms, he pushes me back and takes a long look at me. "My problems are not your problems," he says. "Your mother called here, by the way."

  I exhale forcefully. "I know," I say. "I got her phone call."

  "I tried to make her see reason," he says. "But you know how she is. I can only imagine what that call was like for you."

  "I don't know if we're speaking anymore," I say. "Dad, I ruined everything. How can you not be angry?"

  He waves his hand. "Akira Ito can pull out of the deal if he wants to," he says, shrugging. "There's a morality clause Gaige very well could have broken all on his own anyway. There will be other sponsors."

  "You're not mad about the deal," I say.

  My father walks over to his bar and takes out a cigar. He clips the end of it slowly, looks at me like he's about to impart the most profound wisdom ever. But he just shrugs. "You win some, you lose some."

  "That's it?" I ask. "It's millions of dollars."

  "Honey, there will always be more money to make. It's replaceable. Besides," he says, with a sly smile, "I had an insurance policy on Akira-san. And your boss Chelsea won't find she has the employment opportunities she thinks she has."

  "What?" They sell insurance for this kind of thing? My father is having Chelsea black-balled?

  "Not literal insurance," he says. "I had a back-up sponsor, someone waiting in the wings. Just in case. It's Gaige we're talking about here."

  "But Gaige and I –" I start. "It's all over the news, the tabloids, supposedly. You're not upset?"

  "I'm going to smoke this," he says, holding up his cigar and pointedly ignoring my question. "Come out onto the terrace with me."

  I follow him outside and stand with him on the terrace that overlooks the grounds, while he lights his cigar, slowly and methodically, like some kind of ritual. He takes his time with it, and I wonder if he's even going to answer me. Finally he turns. "I've not been so lucky in the love department, you know."

  "Dad, I – " I start, but he puts up his hand.

  "Hush," he says. "I'm not asking you to reassure your father, or some such nonsense. I'm just stating the facts. My point is that I'm in no position to judge anyone else's relationship."

  "We're not in a…" Relationship, I start to say. "Wait. So you don't care?"

  Beau puffs on the cigar and then looks at me. "Let's not go that far," he says. "You're my only daughter. I'm not going to shoot off Gaige's kneecaps when he walks in the door, if that's what you're asking. Even though I could."

  Relief washes over me, and I can barely suppress my giggle. Okay, that might have been exactly what I was thinking. "I'm glad you're not going to murder him," I say.

  "Are you happy?" he asks.

  "I think so," I say, nodding. "Yeah. I'm happy. Or, I was happy. I don't even know if we're anything, or – I mean, Gaige is Gaige. I'm not sure he even feels the same about me, or –"

  "The printout of the email is on the desk," Beau says. "I'm going to finish my cigar. Take it with you, and then you can decide."

  "Are you sure everything's –"

  "Go," he says. "It's on the desk. Read it. I didn't peg Gaige for being so goddamned sappy, but if that's what you like…"

  Sappy? I think. Gaige is anything but sappy. "Thank you, dad."

  "And De