By Degrees

  “That’s not dedication,” I say loudly. “That’s stalking. Is she stalking you on social media too?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t handle that stuff. My publicist does.”

  “Maybe you should be more in touch with what’s going on in your life,” I say, moving around the room some more, my gaze drawn to his bed. I try not to look, but it’s impossible. I stare at it, wondering how many poor girls looking for love and acceptance have had their hearts broken there.

  “Why? That’s what I pay other people to do. It’s supposed to leave me time to create.” He says it bitterly like it’s a joke.

  “I guess if you were creating something, that would make sense.” I can’t help delivering the barb. I’m still pissed at him for what he did today, and that picture of him with Austin has me unnerved.

  He sticks a wet and soapy head out of the doorway, thankfully keeping the rest of his naked body behind the wall. “This would be a lot more interesting if you were in here with me, you know.”

  I turn my back on him and his slippery charm. “Tarin, the day I’m in a shower with you, naked, will be the day Hell freezes over, okay? Just get it out of your head.”

  “Most girls think I’m irresistible.” He sounds confused.

  “Most girls obviously don’t know the real you,” I say, moving towards the bedroom door.

  “Damn, girl. That was cold.” He hesitates. “Wait … where are you going?”

  “Downstairs. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes. Don’t be late or you’ll be eating cereal.”

  Now he’s mad again. “Jesus Christ, Scar … you’re harsh, you know that? Anyone ever tell you that you can catch more flies with honey?”

  “Nope,” I say as I walk out the door. “And don’t call me Scar.”

  “Well I’m telling you …!”

  I shut the door before his last word makes it out.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE DOORBELL RINGS AS I’M walking towards the kitchen. I hesitate in the hallway and listen as Ricky greets the arrival. The second her bubbly, fake-happy voice reaches my ears I cringe. Jelly. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through dinner tonight without choking someone. I take a deep breath and continue on my mission.

  Walking into the kitchen, I see Josh plating-up the food. The display on the dish nearest me looks like a work of art with its bright colors and interesting, varied textures. The smell coming from the stove is mouth-watering good.

  I know which is Tarin’s plate by the portion sizes. He’s supposed to be bulking up, so he’ll eat about twice as much as the rest of us will. The mound of meat and the sweet potato puree next to it makes my stomach growl in anticipation. Josh is so good at mixing savory, salty, and sweet flavors. It’s almost like a symphony of food. I feel cheated whenever one of our jobs is done and I have to go back to eating my own boring meals. He calls me a closet gourmande.

  “All set?” I ask, walking over to stand by him. He smells like the food he’s been preparing for the past couple of hours. It’s comforting, with Jelly so close in the other room. I need comforting in order to deal with her; I have a feeling she’s going to make a scene. Josh is all about creating meals, and Jelly is all about creating drama.

  “Yep, almost done. Just have to garnish these last few plates and we’ll be ready.” He picks up a frilly little piece of purple and green kale and puts an artfully carved radish and carrot sculpture inside its curved interior. I want to take a picture of it, it’s so dainty, colorful, and pretty.

  “Can I carry some of them out now for you?”

  “Sure.” Josh picks up a white kitchen towel and wipes off some brown sauce that dripped onto the edge of the white china plate. I tell him all the time that little drips won’t change the way things taste, but he insists on perfection for his employers and their friends and family. “Start on your end there,” he instructs, pointing at the plate nearest me. “By the time you’re back I’ll be done and you can take the rest.”

  I carry dishes covered in delicious healthy food in several colors out to the back patio where a table is set with crystal and candlesticks. Someone made sure Tarin has pretty things that he hasn’t yet managed to destroy, and I silently thank whoever it was, glad to not be drinking out of plastic cups. That had been the case for the first few nights at Jack’s place, almost year ago, before Scott had managed to get new glassware delivered.

  Jack was notorious for his glass-shattering temper tantrums before I met him. I smile with the memory. Seeing him now being so relaxed and in control makes me feel like a million bucks. I’m so happy that I’ll be seeing him tonight. I need a reminder of the good I can do; it will help smooth over the feelings of failure and frustration I’m suffering right now with Tarin.

  “Looks delicious,” says Zach, appearing on my left as I put down the first two plates.

  “I know, right? Josh is a wizard in the kitchen.”

  Zach helps me bring the rest of the plates out, and by the time we’re done, the remaining members of our dinner party arrive. The only one missing is Tarin.

  Jelly has been escorted through the house by Ricky and is standing across the table from me, the space beside her at the table empty. Randy, Dave, Leonard, and Scott sitting on my right, take up the remaining places. They’re all exchanging small talk, oblivious to the tension between Jelly and me.

  I do my best to smile and be polite. “I like your dress, Jelly.” It’s black and short, but at least it’s not as tight as she normally wears them. Her clunky platform stilettos make her almost six feet tall, so I have a good view of her thighs above the table. Her makeup is overdone, as usual. It makes me wish we had the kind of relationship where I could tell her that she’d be prettier with less of it. She really is a beautiful girl. Why she works so hard to look plastic is a mystery to me. Tarin might be all Hollywood now, but I have to believe that he appreciates a fresh-faced girl, being from the mid-west himself.

  “Thank you,” she says, a fake smile plastered on her face, making it look a little twisted. “I didn’t realize this was such a casual dinner.” She looks me up and down with disdain.

  I glance down at my t-shirt and jeans before shrugging. “I’m still on the clock. I’ll get dressed up later.” I pull out my chair and maneuver to get in front of it.

  She follows my lead and sits down in her seat. “Later? Are you going somewhere? Like out?”

  I want to smack myself in the forehead for being so stupid. “Maybe. Not sure yet.”

  She keeps her hands in her lap and tilts her head a little, acting like she gives a flying hoot about my life. “Where are you going? Anywhere fun?”

  “Nowhere special.” I shrug again, trying to put her off. No way do I want Jelly showing up to rain on my parade. Pulling my linen napkin out from under my silverware, I feign great interest in the food on my plate. I nudge Scott at my right. “Delish, right?”

  Scott nods enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah. I love duck. It’s one of my faves.”

  Jelly frowns at her plate, a look of disgust replacing her fake smile. “This is duck? Who eats duck? That’s like … cannibalism.”

  “We do,” says Scott. “And since I’m not Daffy or Donald, it’s definitely not cannibalism.” He quacks a couple times for good measure, maybe to confuse her, I’m not sure. Whatever the reason, it’s bound to piss her off, and I’m pretty sure that’s the whole point. I elbow him in the ribs.

  Trying to diffuse the situation, I say, “If you don’t want to eat it, I’m sure there are more of the side dishes in the kitchen you could fill up on.”

  She leans back in her chair, not looking appeased at all. “No thanks. I’ll have something different. Where’s that cook guy?” She looks over my shoulder, squinting in the direction of the kitchen.

  I grit my teeth together to keep from saying something I’ll regret. Luckily for all of us, Tarin makes it easier for me to control myself by choosing that moment to appear on the patio. His hair is wet and flopped around his head careles
sly, and he’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt like me. All the heads around the dinner table swivel in his direction.

  Ricky breathes a sigh of either relief or stress at his employer’s arrival. It could easily be either. Our gazes meet and we exchange a couple of rueful smiles.

  Jelly jumps up and runs over to her Tarin. “Tarin, baby!” She throws herself against him, chest first, wrapping her arms around his neck and effectively smothering him in boobs and big hair.

  Scott snickers but quits immediately when I turn and glare at him.

  Tarin puts his hands on her waist and pushes her away. “Easy, Jelly. Let a guy breathe, would ya?”

  “What’s the matter, baby? Are you okay?” Her baby-talk simpering is curdling the creme in my puree. I pick up my fork and poke at it, waiting for this awkward moment to be over and hoping I’ll get to eat my duck before it gets too cold. It’s one of my favorites too.

  “Just a little sore from my workout.” He holds his arm out to keep her from rushing him again. “I just need a little space to breathe, okay? Go ahead and sit down so we can eat. I’m starving.” I get the impression he’s annoyed but trying to act like he’s not.

  I have to give him points for being somewhat nice to the alleged mother of his alleged child when it appears he’d rather she not be here. Or maybe I’m just imagining that. Wishful thinking. I’m instantly irritated with myself for giving a crap about them as a couple. They deserve each other. Two self-centered jerks. Their baby’s going to be born with the biggest head ever recorded.

  “I would love to sit down, but I can’t,” Jelly says, pouting.

  Tarin walks over to his seat and pulls it out, saying nothing in response to her obvious open invitation.

  “Wow, this looks great,” Tarin says, picking up his fork. He’s ready to stab some thinly sliced meat when he realizes the entire table is silent, waiting for him to catch on.

  He looks up. “What?” He scans the faces at the table, and finally stops when he gets to me.

  I look at him first and then behind him at the angry girlfriend huffing out her frustration at the back of his head.

  Tarin rolls his eyes and turns around. “What’s your problem?”

  “I can’t eat that … poison.” She pokes her acrylic nail at her plate.

  Tarin turns back to his plate and frowns. Then he looks at her plate. “Poison?” He scoops some sweet potatoes up on his fork and puts them in his mouth. He nods and swallows. “Delicious. What’s this?” he asks me, poking his meat.

  I answer, keeping my tone even. “Duck. Otherwise known in certain circles as poison.”

  He winks at me, and my heart flips. Stabbing several slices onto his fork together in a stack, he grins as he lifts it to his mouth. “Looks amazing.” He shoves it with zero finesse, making his cheeks bulge out with the effort of keeping it all in. After a few chews he moans and his eyes roll to the sky. “Mmmm, my Gob.” He still has a mouthful when he speaks again. “Viff iv ah-may-ving.” He points at the plate with his fork over and over before waving it at the people around the table. Finally swallowing, he’s able to speak like a normal human again. “Eat, eat! Don’t let it get cold … Jesus.” He eats a forkful of sweet potatoes and spears some more duck for his next go-around, but only has it halfway to his mouth when he’s bapped upside the head by his angry girlfriend.

  He drops his fork and twists in his seat. “Did you just fucking hit me?” Some sweet potato falls out onto his lip and he swipes it off absently with his napkin, waiting for her to explain herself.

  She backs up a step, her anger shifting to misapprehension at his tone. “I told you I can’t eat that poison, Tare. I want something different.”

  I raise an eyebrow as he turns to face me. “Help me out here, would ya?”

  I shrug. “I already told her. If she doesn’t want to eat the duck, there’s probably more side dishes in there to help fill her up. This isn’t a restaurant. Josh has already cooked for us, and he’s not going to cook anything else. His crew handles the dessert which is already done, and now he’s off for the night.”

  Could I get Jelly something else for dinner? Sure. There’s probably a ham sandwich or something like that in there. But if I cave and give in to her demands, then the toddler tantrums and the bullshit will continue. Better they all learn now that homey don’t play dat game. I smile inwardly over my internal dialogue. I wonder if anyone would pick up on the old school Mad TV reference if I said it out loud.

  Scott nudges me, whispering, “Stop smiling,” out of the corner of his mouth as he stabs an asparagus spear on his plate.

  I school my features to look bland, but not before Jelly catches me being too happy.

  “You think this is funny don’t you?” She puts her hand on her lower abdomen protectively and lends some tears to her voice. “What kind of person denies a pregnant woman a nutritious dinner in her fiance’s home?”

  I nearly choke on the word.

  Fiancé?

  I look at Tarin, my expression one of disbelief and possibly even hurt. I know we’re not even really friends, but considering what I’m trying to do here in his life, I would have thought he’d share that little detail with me.

  “What the fuck?” Tarin drops his fork to his plate and stands awkwardly, his chair legs getting caught in the patio tiles. He reaches around and grabs the back of the chair, forcibly jerking it back so he can get up properly.

  Jelly steps back farther, a wavering, cautious smile on her face. “What’s the matter, baby?” She holds up her hands like she’s going to put them on his chest or shoulder.

  He backs away to avoid touching her, bumping into the chair next to him. Leonard looks up with a bland expression. He doesn’t stop chewing as he watches the spectacle unfold behind him.

  “Fiancé? Where do you come up with this shit, Jelly?” Tarin is mad. He looks at all of us around the table. “She’s nuts. This is not happening.” His gaze stops when it reaches me. “I swear to God, I did not ask this crazy bitch to marry me.”

  My heart soars for a brief moment before I realize how messed up it is that I’d be happy about what he said or how he said it. Jelly is a crazy bitch, but even she doesn’t deserve to be called that in front of all these people.

  Apparently she agrees, because she starts waling on him, slapping him with her open hands for all she’s worth.

  He hides behind his upraised forearms, trying to avoid the worst of it. He manages to find his voice after about the twentieth slap. “Fuck, Jelly, back the hell off, would ya?” His arms have to be stinging with the abuse they’re getting, and yet he does nothing to fight back. I’m impressed with him sticking to his code of not hitting girls. If it were me over there, I would have definitely hit her by now.

  I exchange looks with Zach and he stands up, moving around the table with Ricky towards the mess that is Jelly-drama. Leonard is trapped in his seat with Tarin up against the back of it so he remains where he is, but his fork is down and he’s ready to get up as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

  I cringe with every slap and smacking sound. Jelly is on fire, her face an ugly red and her words spewing out like venom from a spitting cobra.

  “Don’t you dare call…me…that…word!” She punctuates her slaps with the words of outrage. “You sonofabitch, liar, soul-sucking bastard, cheater, asshole!”

  “Jesus Christ, Jelly, I never lied to you! And how can I be cheating on you when you’re not even my girlfriend?”

  She shrieks in frustration. “Not your girlfriend?! Not your girlfriend?!”

  Zach grabs Jelly and pulls her away, suffering a few slaps to the face himself. He just blinks and shakes it off as he half drags, half carries her out onto the back lawn. She screeches the entire way.

  Tarin drops his arms and stands up straight as I come around to join him. We both watch Jelly alternately struggle to escape and collapse in tears, clinging to Zach. She’s a complete mess, clearly not sure whether she should be strangling someone or crying h
erself to sleep.

  “I swear on my life I did not ask her to marry me,” says Tarin, quietly so only I hear him. He’s shaken up, and I’m not surprised. Being forcibly married to Jelly would freak me out too. He shakes his head. “Not even wasted out of my gourd would I have done something that insane.”

  “I believe you. But she is pregnant with your baby, so…”

  He looks at me, running the fingers of one hand through his still-wet hair. “Are you saying just because she’s supposedly pregnant, I’m required to marry her?” He puts his hand loosely on his hip. “Because that’s bullshit, Scarlett, you know it is.” He sounds like he’s pleading with me.

  I search his face for clues of his real feelings. He seems desperate, and it makes me think he really believes I would force him to marry her. I frown. He must think I’m a monster bitch.

  “I didn’t say anything like that, Tarin. Why are you so worried all of a sudden?”

  He huffs out a short laugh of relief. It sounds a touch bitter. “Because. I was afraid you were going to make me do it.”

  I laugh too. I’m amused that he feels that compelled to do what I say. I’m controlling, yes, but I’m not a monster. Not most of the time, anyway. “As if I could make you do that.”

  His expression is one-hundred-percent dead serious, and that’s what makes his words blow me away. “You could. With that shit you hold over my head … you could make me do anything.”

  I’m taken aback. Until now, I had no idea that Tarin was taking our contractual agreement this seriously. I’m happy but a little freaked out at the same time. “Listen, Tarin … I want a willing participant in this process, of course … but that doesn’t mean I want a mindless slave who’ll sacrifice his entire life on my orders.”

  He shrugs, looking over at Jelly. “I’ll do whatever you say. Anything. It’s the least I can do.”