Talk Dirty To Me Read online

  “You gonna be ready to go on the air in fifteen?”

  “Of course.”

  I was halfway through my salad when my assistant showed up. Lizzy had her hair done up today. She’d stuck a pencil through her bun at some point that I was sure she’d forgotten was there. She had that usual frazzled way about her before every show and was frantically scribbling in her agenda when Doug cleared his throat to get her attention.

  She glanced up.

  Doug chuckled. “You work too hard.”

  “Someone has to around here,” she said. “Hey, Nessa.”

  “Hey. How are you?” I crammed more greens and cucumbers and peppers into my mouth and chewed.

  So utterly satisfying.

  Lizzy shrugged and continued scribbling. Somehow, she managed to talk and write at the same time. “I’m all right. Got stood up last night by the guy I was talking to on Bumble.”

  “Screw him,” I said.

  She sighed. “It was so embarrassing.”

  “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.” I meant it. Lizzy was a real catch. She had a lot to offer someone. “Sounds to me like you dodged a bullet and avoided getting stuck on a date with a jerk.”

  “I guess.”

  I gave her a tight-lipped smile and snapped the lid back on my salad. I’d only made it about halfway through. Doug let me put it in the mini-fridge in the corner of his office, which was fully stocked with Mountain Dew bottles. I took one and brought it into the studio with me and went about prepping for the show. I put my phone on silent, tested the headphones and the feedback quality with Doug, and made myself comfortable.

  Three minutes before I took my first call, Lizzy popped in with a plate of donuts.

  I eyed them as my mouth flooded with saliva.

  Don’t do it. Be strong. You can last a whole show without stuffing your face with a donut. Come on, girl.

  I pushed the plate to the corner of the desk and angled my chair away from them so they were out of my line of sight. The pink donut covered in rainbow sprinkles, however, lingered in my peripheral.

  Doug counted me down. The panel danced with the red lights of my waiting callers. I felt a rush of adrenaline as I reached for the glasses case beside the panel. I popped it open and slid the glasses on, and then I put my headphones on.

  Nessa Night was in the house.

  The green light above the window separating me from my manager went on. We were live on the air.

  “Hey there, listeners. Welcome back to the Nessa Night show. I’m your host, Nessa Night, but you already knew that. I’m glad to be here with you this evening. Today has not been kind to me. Helping some of you with love will really turn my day around. So let’s not waste any more time. We’re going to the first caller.” I pressed the first red button. The soft static that I was on the line with someone filled my headset. “Hi there, caller. What’s your name, and how can I hope to heal your heart today?”

  There was a brief delay, and then a male voice filled the line. “Hi, Nessa. Wow. I didn’t expect to get through to you.”

  I could hear traffic in the background. He was in his car. “Are you using a hands-free device, sir?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Go on. Tell me your name.”

  “I’d rather not, if that’s okay. I don’t want this coming back to my girl in any way.”

  “I respect that.” I kicked my heels up on the desk. Doug waved his arms over his head in his office, trying to tell me to put them down. I stuck my tongue out at him. “What can I help you with tonight?”

  “Well, I’m having some relationship troubles. Have been for a while now.”

  “How long is a while, Mr. Anonymous?”

  “About two years. My girl and I are getting pretty serious. I’ve known for a long time that she’s the person I want to marry. And I’m almost positive she feels the same way about me. And I’m ready to take things to the next level and propose.”

  “But something is standing in your way?”

  “Yes. It’s my mother, Nessa. She… she doesn’t approve.”

  Yikes. That wasn’t a fun position for anyone to be in. But damn, was it common. The number of calls I got about overbearing mothers or, sometimes even worse, mothers-in-law, was almost staggering. The matriarchs of Nashville could be truly terrifying women.

  “Does she have a good reason to be concerned?” I asked, now twirling the cord of my headset.

  “No. Not really.”

  “You’re sure? You can be honest with me, sugar. It’s the only way for me to help you.”

  “It’s hard to say out loud.”

  “Take your time.”

  Sometimes, silence and putting the ball in the caller’s court was the only way to break the wall they had up. There was no telling how many people he’d sought advice from about this very situation. Clearly, it hadn’t worked, and now, he was turning to a complete stranger on a talk show. I loved being that stranger. I didn’t love the crippling guilt I felt about being a liar. Too many people put their trust in a girl who had no relevant life experience to draw from.

  The caller cleared his throat. “It’s… it’s really uncomfortable. Um. Shit. I didn’t expect this.”

  I waited. Doug waved his arms again and I glanced at him. He mouthed the words “say something” but I shook my head. Mr. Anonymous just needed a bit of time to get his thoughts in order. And sometimes, a bit of silence on the radio would suck people in. I let the weight of it stretch until my caller finally gave voice to his thoughts. They tumbled out of him in a single breath.

  “She thinks my girlfriend isn’t good enough for me because of her upbringing. She doesn’t like the idea of having… mixed-race children.”

  Oh.

  Doug clamped his hands on his head. This was touchy subject material, even for the Nessa Night radio show.

  “Well,” I began slowly, making sure to choose my words carefully and respectfully, “I think your mother might be used to always getting her way when it comes to the life of her son. I think it might be time for you to sit her down and set your own boundaries and expectations. If you are in love with your girlfriend and you’re ready for those next steps, then I think you should take them. But be clear with your mother that her disapproval is unacceptable. Especially because of her reasons.”

  My caller let out a shaky breath.

  “Do you think that’s something you can do, Mr. Anonymous?”

  “I’m not sure. She’s not an easy person to stand up to.”

  Truth bomb time. “If you can’t stand up to your mother about this, then maybe you aren’t as ready to be engaged to your girlfriend as you claim to be.”

  “I am.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you need to have that conversation. You need to set the tone of what is acceptable and what is not when it comes to your romantic relationship and the woman you are likely to start a family with. You also need to realize your mother might not ever come around. And that could mean a lot of things, including losing your relationship with her.”

  “I’ve thought about that a lot.”

  “I think you know what you have to do. And I really hope it works out well for you. I’m sure your mother loves you very much, and when she sees that you won’t be swayed, I really hope she can change her tune and support you both going forward.”

  “Thank you, Nessa. I needed this. I’ll… I’ll figure it out.”

  “Keep us posted?”

  “Sure thing.”

  The call ended. I leaned back in my seat and addressed my listeners. “Well, that was a heavy one. To anyone out there experiencing the same thing as that last caller, my heart goes out to you. Family expectations and limitations can be really hard to deal with, especially when they start to bleed into your love life. But be strong like Mr. Anonymous. Stick to your guns. I believe in all of you. And on that note of positivity, here are some ads. Sorry folks. Gotta keep the lights on.”


  The ads rolled. I removed my headset for my two-minute break.

  Our new intern, Ryan, the guy who’d insulted me and my weight when he thought I wasn’t listening, stepped in to check on me. “You need anything, Nessa?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  His gaze darted to the donuts. Then he stepped forward and took one. “Let me save you from one of these.”

  “Take them all,” I said. “I don’t want them.”

  Lies. I wanted them. I wanted to crush my face against the plate and suck the icing off the ceramic. I wanted to feel the dough squish between my teeth. I wanted the sugar to fill up the void in my gut that had been expanding like a black hole since the rich entitled women bullied me at the dress shop.

  But I wanted Ryan to know I wasn’t a slave to the sugar.

  He took the plate and left me in the studio to take my next caller at the end of the minute. I was left in my last thirty seconds of solitude with one thought: Rhys probably hadn’t called me because he felt exactly the same way as Ryan. I could be pretty if I just lost some weight. If I just ate less. If I cared a little more about my body.

  I suddenly wished I’d kept the donuts.

  Chapter 16

  Rhys

  I’d had a shitty day.

  Sometimes, that was just how it went, but today was a special level of fuckery that tested every nerve in my body.

  First, my receptionist, who’d been flaking on me for weeks, called to give me her resignation. Correction. She called my assistant because she was afraid to tell me in person. Apparently, the girl didn’t realize “in-person” meant in the flesh, not over the phone. Clay delivered the news and spent the rest of the afternoon frantically covering the phone lines and seeing to her usual daily duties while also trying to throw together a job posting for her open position.

  After that, I had an investor pull out. His abrupt departure caused unease in the other investors my moonshine company possessed, and I spent the latter half of the afternoon assuring them all that my company was not, and had never been, a business risk to them. Money continued to flow inward, not outward, and the past four years showed serious growth margins unlike anything else in my industry. I was a powerhouse, and they knew it, and their sudden doubt in my ability to manage my own company set my teeth on edge.

  I fell into my office chair at quarter to seven in the evening. My energy was spent. At the beginning of the day when things first started going sideways, I’d considered calling up Vanny and seeing if she wanted to grab a drink and get to know each other for this fake fiancé shtick we’d planned. But as the day continued to worsen, I realized I wouldn’t make for the best company and she was probably better off avoiding my negative ass until I woke up refreshed and less bitter tomorrow morning.

  But still, she was on my mind.

  She had been since I left her outside Caprizee on the weekend. I could practically smell her perfume when I closed my eyes, coconut and vanilla and something a little spicy, maybe cinnamon. The image of her perfect red lips had been haunting me for days.

  “Fuck it.” I should just call her. She’d turn my mood around in seconds.

  I fished my cell phone out of my pocket just as there was a soft knock on my door. Surprised that someone else was still there other than me, I called for them to come in.

  It was Clay. He poked his head into my office as he always did. “Um, Rhys?”

  His tone suggested something else had gone wrong. I put my cell phone back in my pocket. “What is it?”

  “Your mother is on the line.”

  Clay stared at me and I stared back at him.

  “What does she want?” I asked.

  “She isn’t making much sense, man. I think you should take this one.”

  If I wasn’t frustrated before, I was now. “Thanks, Clay. Close the door on your way out.”

  He left without another word. Clay was one of the only people in the office privy to snippets of my relationship with my alcoholic mother. Sometimes, she liked to call when she was opening her second bottle of whiskey for the evening, just to make small talk. The booze made her forget that she and I no longer had a relationship, and I’d let her revel in her self-induced haze of fiction for as long as time permitted, which was usually about half an hour or so.

  I stared at the light blinking on my office phone daring me to pick it up. This was probably going to be a rough one.

  I picked up the phone. “Mom?”

  The line filled with heavy breathing and hiccups. “Jasper. Where are you right now?”

  “The office. Where you called me.”

  “Come home.”

  “Not tonight. I have a lot to do. You should run yourself a shower and go to bed, Mom.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.” Some of her words were slurred, while others were chopped short and abrupt. She spoke in a stuttering, broken cadence that suggested she’d had more to drink than a usual Tuesday evening.

  “Is Dad home?”

  “What does it matter?” She barked into the phone. “Even when he is home, he just ignores me. Come home, Jasper. I need to talk to you.” She hiccupped and burped into the line. “I need you.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and massaged the pressure point between my eyes. Of course, this had to happen today. She hadn’t had a bad night like this in months. But life had a funny way of coalescing as much bullshit into twenty-four hours as possible. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  She let out a relieved sob. “Thank you, Jasper. Thank you. I’ll make you a PB and J. They’re still you’re favorite, right?”

  “Please don’t.”

  The driveway up to the family estate was lined with ten-foot-high lamp posts. They’d been there as long as I could remember. Terribly poor efficiency bulbs burned orange in the glass, and of the forty, six were burnt out.

  The groundskeepers were getting a little slack with their duties.

  I parked in the wraparound driveway alongside the stone fountain that used to run year-round but now only ran in the spring and summer months. It was an intricate thing, all fluid lines and graceful slopes leading the water over the stone in rivulets.

  I got out of the car and stared up at the house. The wraparound porch was illuminated by the outdoor chandeliers my mother had installed when I was roughly ten years old for a fancy party my parents were hosting. I couldn’t remember much of that particular event, only that my parents had fought over decor and liquor selection for weeks leading up to it and my mother had made an inevitable fool of herself two hours into the party when she went for a dip in the fountain to cool down.

  Pictures had been plastered in the magazines for weeks afterward.

  With a sigh, I walked up the porch steps to the front door. Sometimes, I had the urge to knock rather than let myself in. Even though I’d grown up here, the place never felt like my home.

  I twisted the handle and stepped into the grand foyer. I shrugged out of my jacket and left it on the coatrack standing like a loyal servant to my right.

  “Hello?”

  My voice carried down the five hallways that broke off the main foyer and up the grand staircase lined in red carpet. The floors, a rich cherry wood, looked freshly polished. Turkish carpets in deep earth tones covered sections that were well tread upon and a little less pleasing upon the eyes down the hall to the kitchens and to the living and sitting areas.

  A floorboard creaked up on the second level. I tilted my head back and peered up the stairs as my grandmother appeared at the top of them with a hand resting on the ornate banister. I could see her frowning as she descended slowly. I moved up them to meet her in the middle and offer my arm to help her down.

  “What are you doing here, Rhys?” she asked. She looked troubled. Her brow was furrowed. She was makeup-free. Her nightdress, an oversized bag of a thing that covered her from throat to toe, was thick and fleece and powder pink. She was ready for bed.

  And yet she was up.
>
  Probably courtesy of my mother.

  “Mom called me.”

  She gave me a sympathetic look. “You should have stayed away. You know how she gets when she has too much. It’s been a bit of a rough evening.”

  We stopped at the bottom of the stairs. I patted her wrinkled, freckled hand where it rested in the groove of my elbow. “Well, I’m here now. Why don’t you retire to your quarters and avoid this mess? I can take care of it.”

  “It is not a son’s job to take care of his mother.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Gigi had always struggled with the truth of how I’d been brought up. It had been hard on her. She hated how distant my father was and how incessant he was about making sure I knew exactly what the pecking order was in this house. I was always at the bottom. He was selfish and greedy, and she’d apologized to me as a teenager, believing it was her fault because she raised him.

  It had taken several years for me to convince her my father’s complete lack of empathy had nothing to do with her as a mother. She’d saved me. Plain and simple.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  Gigi nodded down the hall that led to the grand sitting room—where most of the liquor in the house was kept, unless you counted the wine cellars down below. “She’s been in there for hours looking at old photos.”

  “All right. Can I walk you back up to your room?”

  Gigi shook her head. “I’m all right. I was coming down to get a cup of tea I left steeping. Let’s go see your mother. I’ll leave the two of you alone, but I just want to make sure she’s not going to try to play games with you.”

  I chuckled softly. “You don’t have to protect me from her anymore.”

  She gave me a smile of her own that chased the sadness out of her eyes. “Of course, I do. Without me, you’d still be in diapers.”

  “Touché.”

  We walked arm in arm down the hall toward the grand sitting room. We passed family portraits where nobody was smiling and paintings of the estate. As we got closer to our destination, I began to wonder why things were so quiet. My mother was definitely not a quiet drunk. My gut rolled anxiously.