Halfway Perfect (30 page)

It's not.

“What the hell are you trying to pull, Alex?” Wes asks, anger seeping into every word.

Does news travel that quickly? Maybe Janessa uploaded the recording on the Internet or something? That doesn't seem like she's using the proper channels though.

My heart pounds. Wes is on the phone accusing me of something and I need to respond. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Right,” he snaps. “I don't think you have any idea who you're dealing with. I could ruin you in minutes. A couple of calls to some close friends is all it would take.”

The words he's saying aren't absorbing into my brain. All I can do is listen to the sounds of traffic in the background, as if I know New York City well enough to pinpoint location based on the outside noise. I don't. But I know he's heading somewhere. I'm already on my feet, sliding my gym shoes on halfway before flying down the stairs.

“Forget it,” Wes says. “You're not the person I really need to talk to right now.”

He hangs up, and the second I step outside into the frigid air with shoes barely on and no coat, it hits me.

Eve.

That's who he blames. Elana called him and told him everything she said. He probably doesn't even know about the recording I sent to Janessa.

I'd worried about leaving Elana alone earlier. I may have worried about the wrong girl.

And he has Eve's schedule on his BlackBerry. He knows exactly where she is.

But what if I'm wrong? It's best if I make sure someone is with both of them. This all started to help Elana. I can't let my concern for Eve cause me to forget all about Elana.

While I'm darting around pedestrians and crossing streets with the
Don't Walk
sign flashing, I sift through numbers until I find what I'm looking for.

Finley
Belton.

“Finley,” I say when she picks up.

“Hey, Alex. What's up?”

“Where are you right now?”

“In the lobby of my building,” she says. “About to get into the elevator.”

“Great.” I let out a breath, tapping my foot as cars zip by, waiting to cross the street. “I need a favor. Elana—”

“Look, Alex, I like you. You're cool. But I can't get in the middle of your girlfriend drama. It's just not how I roll.”

I
groan
in
frustration. Why is everything so difficult?
“This has nothing to do with girlfriends. If Wes Danes shows up there, I need you to call the police.”

“Why?” I hear the skepticism in her voice, and it makes me wonder if I'm heading to the wrong place. Checking on the wrong girl.

“He can't be around Elana,” I explain. “He's dangerous and really angry right now.”

But I doubt he's angry with Elana. That's why I'm making the right choice.

“Oh no. I'm so not getting involved in some domestic spat. Call the cops yourself.”

“She's your fucking roommate!” I close my eyes, forcing back the anger. I weave through crowds of pedestrians, all bundled up for January. Despite my lack of coat, I can't even feel the cold. “Domestic spat is a term you'd use for people who are of legal age. Elana's not eighteen. She's fifteen. And let's just say he's got a track record for inappropriate relationships with clients much younger than him.”

“Jesus, I didn't know she was so young, Alex. I swear,” she says, alarm finally ringing through her voice. “He's been here. They've been together here.”

“Did you tell anyone?” I drill.

“No.”

I can't believe she sat there and watched this happen, that she's had evidence all along and never said a word. She's got my number. She could have told me.

It doesn't matter. Not right now, anyway. “Just do what I asked, okay?”

“Okay,” she says without hesitation.

Now
please, please let Eve be
okay.

January 12, 4:10 p.m.

I can hardly sit still through my hair and makeup session. It's like my body really wants to run back to Elana's place and talk to her, but my brain knows I'm supposed to be here and they can't seem to work together.

My toes have just been stuffed into a pair of heels a half size too small. The skirt I'm wearing is so tight, all the way down to my knees, causing me to walk like a duck as I head from set back to wardrobe. I need to get out of here and figure this shit out. I need to deal with the mess Alex just made. I know he's not intentionally trying to hurt me, but what the hell was he thinking?

“There's a guy here to see you,” the wardrobe lady whispers to me before nodding toward a stairwell on the other side of the room.

Alex.

I can't really afford to be distracted, but maybe he was able to talk to Elana and everything is okay now. Just hearing that would clear my head for the rest of the day.

Quickly, I shuffle across the room as best I can in this wardrobe and open the large brown door leading to the stairs. The door closes behind me just before I take in Wes's figure.

He's leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

My heart races, and my hand fumbles around behind my back, landing on the doorknob. But Wes is fast. He slides himself beside me, pressing his back against the door.

“What the hell are you doing, Evie?”

The dark storm in his eyes freezes me in place. The low near-whisper of his voice is all too familiar. I swallow hard, looking down at the stairs. Maybe if I'm calm, I can calm him and get the hell away.

Again, my reaction comes too late. Wes grabs my arms and slams my back against the wall behind the door. My breath comes out in quick gasps, and I can't think clearly.

Get
away,
Eve. Now.

“I don't know what kind of shit you're trying to pull.” He leans closer, his forehead almost hitting mine. “But you're gonna fix this, Evie. You're going to undo all the damage you did.”

Does he know about Alex's recording? Or did he talk to Elana?

The familiar squeeze against my arms triggers a dozen of memories. I close my eyes and get hit with a year's worth fear and anxiousness. Pain and heartbreak. I try to wish myself anywhere but here, because for the first time ever, Wes might be on his last option for saving his own ass and that's utterly frightening.

But I'm not fifteen anymore. There's got to be a way out.

“Are you jealous of Elana?” he says. “Is that why you made up all that shit about me?”

I open my eyes and stare into his. “She's not even your client, Wes. What
are
you doing with her?”

“She'll be my client soon enough. I'm the one who's helped her career take off, just like I did to yours and Alex's,” he says. “It's my word against yours.”

“I didn't make up anything about you, Wes,” I say, trying to force back the tremble in my voice. My legs are shaking. “I told her the truth. That's all.”

“Then untell her.” He pulls me forward, toward him, and then slams my back into the wall again.

Adrenaline kicks in, and I wiggle side to side, trying to escape his grip, until I'm finally able to dart to the right. The stairs zoom into focus. I reach for the rail, my foot landing on the first step, when his arm hooks around my waist, the other in my hair, yanking my hair and jerking my neck.

I see his face again, and that crazed look is there. It's an expression I've only seen on Wes a couple of times. He's lost control. His movements are no longer careful and calculated.

He's going to push me down the stairs. I'm gonna be lying in a heap at the bottom by the time anyone
finds me.

I open my mouth to scream, but he clamps a hand over it. Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out any outside noise. I lift my knee, hoping to nail him in the balls but end up hitting his stomach instead. He loosens his grip and groans, giving me just enough opening to reach for the rail again, making it down two steps this time before he's pulling me back again, this time with much more force.

Everything moves in slow motion as my feet come out from underneath me and the side of my head slams so hard into the wall, everything goes black for several seconds, pain shooting between my eyes. My back hits the concrete floor with a clank. More pain shoots through my head. Then I look up, vision spotty, as Wes's brown shoes take two steps closer and he bends over, reaching for me, grasping the borrowed jacket I'm wearing in tight fists.

My head is pounding, my stomach churning, and my vision blurred, but I hear the door flying open and I see large hands grab Wes from behind.

Alex.

Two uniformed building security guards race in after him.

I try to stand but end up falling back into the wall and sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor, nauseous and throbbing everywhere.

Stars form in front of my eyes and sound is blocked, but I do catch the look on Alex's face. An expression of complete and utter rage. Something I never thought I'd see on him.

He's got Wes off me in half a second. Wes snaps around to see who's grabbed him. Alex punches Wes square in the jaw, causing him to stumble into the security guards. I watch through the haziness in my head as Alex makes a move to swing at Wes again and then realizes that Wes is already being restrained by the guards.

One of the security guys presses a hand on Alex's chest, holding him back. “That's enough.”

The pain between my eyes reaches an all-time high. I press my forehead into the heel of my hands and try to breathe in and out in even intervals.

“Eve?” I hear Alex say. Seconds later, he's beside me, his arms around me, his face in my hair. “Are you okay? Please tell me you're okay.”

I give a tiny nod, and this seems to be enough. I must be okay if I can nod.

“I'm so sorry,” he says. “This is all my fault. If I hadn't set off Elana earlier, he never would have come here.”

My cheeks are wet, but I don't remember crying or any tears filling my eyes. I lift my head for a second, my gaze landing right on Wes. His eyes are huge, like he's just woken up from a bad dream. I can see his muscles visibly relax as he stops fighting the security guards. He's not stupid.

They're talking to him, leading him out the door, but I can't understand what they're saying. I look over at Alex after they're gone. “How did you know where I was?”

“I didn't. Not exactly.” He looks up at the ceiling, pointing to something above the door. “Security cameras.”

I wince and then lean against Alex, my cheek resting on the soft material of his shirt. “My head is killing me.”

His hand gently touches the back of my hair. “What happened to your head? Did you hit it against the wall?” The worry in his voice is undeniable, but I'm too out of it to panic.

Footsteps emerge from all directions, coming up the stairs and through the brown door.

“She hit her head,” I hear Alex say and I feel another cold hand against my scalp.

“What's your name?” a voice asks and I answer. I think.

“What's today's date?”

There are at least two paramedics and two cops crammed into the stairwell now, and all I can focus on is the image I've created in my own mind of Wes leaving the building and walking outside free as a bird. Surely, he's gotten away with this somehow. He always does.

January 12, 10:30 p.m.

“Are you sure Stephanie is okay? She's not freaking out or anything?” Eve asks as we walk into my apartment. “And what about Elana? Who's with her right now?”

My hands are full with take-out deli sandwiches, concussion treatment instructions from the ER, ice packs, prescription painkillers, and the pair of pink high heels Eve accidentally stole from today's photo shoot.

“Stephanie is done freaking out. I promised to take good care of you. And Elana is with Finley and Kara. Her parents are on their way from France, remember?”
And
we
aren't exactly her favorite people right now
, I don't add. It's not the time. I mean we've just gotten her boyfriend arrested for assault, so, yeah, she's not happy with us. Eve will be worried and upset, knowing Elana specifically said that she doesn't want to see us. Me, on the other hand, I'm perfectly content with this, because Wes is in custody and can't go near her. Elana is smart enough and tough enough to deal with all the other monsters of the world without our help if it comes to that. If she continues to hate us.

Eve and I both freeze in the doorway of my apartment. After a few hours in the ER and then a couple more at the police station, the last thing either of us wanted was to be welcomed home with one of my roommates' parties.

It's not a full-blown bash, which is good, but even the ten or twelve people gathered in the living room seem like way too many. I steer Eve toward my bedroom and shut the door behind us. I lay all the junk in my arms onto the bed and then grab a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt from my dresser. Eve sits down on the side of the bed, watching me move around the room.

My legs have been shaking for hours, and it feels like the second I stop moving, I'm going to fall apart. I set the clothes on her lap. “You can change into these.”

“Thanks,” she says, staring down at the black Shins shirt resting on top.

“I'm going to get some drinks and stuff so you can eat,” I say. “Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

“Sure.” She's already removing her jacket as I step into the hallway and shut the door behind me.

Jason and Landon both catch me in the kitchen.

“What's going on?” Landon asks. “Is that the chick from the
Cosmo
shoot? What happened to her?”

I reach into the fridge for two water bottles and then start making a bag of ice from the freezer. “Yes, it's the girl from the
Cosmo
shoot and she has a concussion.”

“Seriously?” Jason says. “Is she okay?”

I'm suddenly so exhausted I can barely keep my eyes open. “Yeah, she's okay. Banged up, but okay.”

Unfortunately, there's no way to keep at least today's isolated event out of the tabloids. So I decide to give them a quick version. While I'm talking, the number of people in the living room reduces from ten to two. A couple of girls who appear to be cleaning up and fluffing the couch cushions are the only ones left.

“Dude, that's fucked up,” Landon says. “Are we getting a new agent or what?”

Both my roommates are also under Wes's rule, though he does have an assistant who does a lot of communication with the nonstar models. I know this because that's how it was for me last summer. Up until about a month before that
Seventeen
shoot where Eve Nowakowski stumbled into my life.

I shake my head. “I don't know.” I haven't gotten that far in my thought process yet.

“Well, we're clearing out of the apartment,” Landon says. “So Eve can get some sleep.”

When I get back in my room, Eve's still sitting in the same spot on the bed. I squat down in front of her and hold the ice to the back of her head.

“Sorry it took so long.”

I'm about to stand up, but Eve rests her hands on my cheeks and holds me in place. “What's going on with you? You've been wearing this look for the past six hours, like you're waiting for me to start screaming at you or something.”

My legs are finally ready to give out and my knees drop to the floor in response. I swallow the lump in my throat and then shake my head.

“What?” Eve prods, taking the bag of ice out of my hands. “Tell me what's going through your head.”

I lean forward until my forehead touches her lap. “I just keep seeing him banging you against the wall or shoving you down those stairs. What if I had gotten there a couple of minutes later? I set all of this in motion. I set off Elana and then she called Wes.”

She runs her fingers through my hair. “It's not your fault Wes is Wes, Alex. I know I was pissed at you about what happened with Elana, but you're right. You did the right thing. It doesn't matter if she hates us. I wish someone had done the same for me a few years ago.”

I stand up and then climb onto the bed, pulling Eve down beside me. “This isn't how I wanted to deal with everything. Maybe I was in over my head.”

She lays her head on my chest. “I can't believe he's in jail. I thought he'd figure out a way to get out of it. Or even to make it my fault and get me in trouble.”

“He'll probably get out,” I say, trying to hold back my anger. “He'll post bail, but he won't have his job anymore. And you heard the police officer. There's gonna be a trial eventually.”

“What about me and you?” she says.

I shake my head. “I don't know, Eve. It's not like I had some hidden agenda or anything. I don't expect anything specific from you. I'm not like Wes, you know that, right? I'm not built that way. I can't even fathom trying to tell you what to do or how to live or ever physically hurting you. But I'm eighteen, and you're eighteen, and there're a million other reasons why we might not work.”

She lifts her head and there are tears running down her cheeks. I brush them away with my fingertips.

“I'm pretty screwed up right now,” she says. “I don't think I'll be that way forever, but maybe it's not fair to you if I—”

“I don't have any expectations. I really don't.” I lean in and kiss her much longer and slower than I'd done earlier today when I thought she was mad at me. “I just want you to stay with me tonight so I can wake you up every fifteen minutes and make sure you have all cognitive abilities intact,” I say, reciting the concussion material we got from the ER.

She hesitates before leaning in to kiss me again. “I just want everything to be perfect, Alex.”

I pull her closer, laughing a little. “Eve, when has love ever been perfect?”

She kisses me hard. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Yeah, we totally have no expectations for
us. Right.