On My Knees - J. Kenner Page 0,30

“I’ve only got a second.”

“You didn’t tell me you were a teen model,” she says without preamble. “That is seriously awesome.”

I freeze. Literally, I just sit there, unable to move. And I’m cold, so cold I’m trembling. That must be why they say you’re frozen, I think stupidly. And that thought is immediately followed by, You’re in shock. This is shock.

“You there?” Jamie is as chipper as always. She hasn’t picked up on my distress. Just the opposite. From the trill in her voice, I’m the new celebrity du jour.

“I’m here.” My voice sounds a million miles away. Surely she will notice. Surely she will ask me what’s wrong.

“Did you do any acting? Or just the print stuff?”

I try to make a sound, but don’t quite manage.

“Syl?” For the first time, Jamie’s voice holds a hint of concern. “You okay?”

“How did you know I modeled?” Somehow, my voice sounds reasonably normal. But I’m clutching my phone so tight my hand has gone numb.

“I saw it on the internet. Why? What’s wrong?”

“Where?”

“Everywhere,” she says, though now she’s sounding like she’s wishing she hadn’t called. “Syl, what’s up?”

“Why? Why is anyone talking about what I did when I was a teenager?”

“Come on, Syl. You’re weirding me out here.”

“Dammit, Jamie, just tell me.” I spit the words out, then immediately wince.

“Okay. Sorry.” I hear her draw a breath. “It’s really not that big a deal. And the pictures are great, so it’s not like they’re releasing crappy unairbrushed pics, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Why are they posting pictures of me at all?”

“The Jackson story, of course. He beat the shit out of Reed, and this is Hollywood so you know they’re going to plow that story to death. Today’s exposé is on you. Because, you know, you have a connection to both of them.”

I close my eyes as if to block out the truth as she continues.

“You’re working with Steele on the resort and back in the day, Reed photographed you. Right?”

“Right.” I’m not sure how I manage to say the word, because I’m pretty sure I’m about to hyperventilate.

“They’ll be even more on top of you when they realize you guys are dating, but I don’t think the press has clued in to that yet.”

“Gee. I can hardly wait.” I try to keep my voice light, but I can’t help but fear that if the press realizes I’m starchitect Jackson Steele’s girlfriend, they’ll start digging even deeper. And then they really might manage to unearth my secrets.

“Listen, don’t worry,” Jamie says. “I get that it’s weird that old pictures have resurfaced, but it’ll blow over. You’re just today’s flavor while they dig around for the real story.”

“The real story.” My words don’t sound like my own.

“Yeah, you know. Why Jackson beat up Reed in the first place.”

The numbness has spread to my entire body. Because the real story is that Jackson beat the shit out of Reed because of what he’d done to me. How he’d molested me when I was a teenager. But that’s not a story I ever want to see go public.

“Everyone has a theory,” Jamie continues. “Most folks are speculating that it’s about the movie, though no one knows what the big deal is. I mean—”

She stops talking, as if suddenly realizing something. “Hey, you found him, right? Because you didn’t call back, and so I just assumed that everything was okay.”

“Yes.” My word is short. Curt. “I have to go,” I add, then hang up before she can respond.

I close my hands around the edge of the desk and sit very still, willing myself to be calm. To just be calm.

When I’m pretty sure that I won’t throw up, I stand. I need to get out of here. I need to get home. I can feel the nightmares—the memories—pressing up against me, and I want Jackson. His arms. His strength.

But he’s miles away in Marina del Rey, and I have to hold it together. Because I will not, will not, will not lose it in the office.

Slowly, carefully, I make my way toward the elevator. I pass the reception desk for Stark Real Estate Development and give Karen, the receptionist, a wave.

“Heading out?”

I only nod; I don’t trust myself to speak.

I jam my finger hard against the elevator call button, then again and again when the doors do not immediately open. Finally, it arrives, and I step inside. It’s crowded, and I clench my fists at my sides, willing it to go faster, because I can