Fighter's Heart

Scene 29

Lena

This time, when I arrive at the salon, I don't wait for Erin to be finished with her client. I march straight over and plant myself in front of her. "We need to talk."

Erin doesn't pause. She continues snipping. The woman in the chair has wide doe-like eyes and looks familiar from somewhere. An actress or a musician, perhaps.

"I don't have anything to say to you," Erin snaps.

I raise the folder of papers I printed off at home. "You'd better make time, or I'll call every one of my tabloid contacts and share what I have in this file." Cocking my head, I aim for menacing, but I've never successfully menaced anyone in my life. "Trust me, you don't want this getting into the wrong hands. It could paint you in a very bad light."

She must know I'm serious because she stops and lays her scissors down, sending a patently false smile to her client. "I'll be back soon, Natalie. Can I get you a coffee?"

"Yes, please."

I follow Erin into the kitchen, where she busies herself at the counter. Sitting, I unpack the evidence I've come armed with, beginning with the photos of her and Will Jones, including the one from the day of the incident, and then moving on to his record of police call-outs, and lastly, I stack her financial details on top. She glances over her shoulder and comes to a dead halt.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she demands, shooting a look at the door. "Anyone could come in."

I shrug. "Then we'd better make this fast."

Leaving the coffee half-finished, she sits opposite me. The moment her gaze lands on the financial slips, she pales. "How did you get these?"

"I have ways." Not strictly legal, but effective, and if ever there's a time to blur the lines, it's now. I lean forward, staring her down. She looks straight back, but there's a hesitancy in her face that wasn't there before. "Do you know what I see when I look at this?" I ask.

She scans the tabletop and turns her palms toward the ceiling, like she couldn't care less. I know better. She's practically vibrating with tension. "Why don't you tell me?"

I sigh. I hadn't really thought she'd make it easy, but I'd hoped. "I see someone with lots of debt and mediocre taste in men who saw a way out of a tight spot and went for it."

Her jaw juts forward. "That's not how it is."

"No? Then how is it?"

She doesn't speak, but I wait her out. I have experience with waiting people out, and she won't win this game. Finally, in a small voice, she asks, "What do you want from me? Why can't you leave me alone?"

She sounds so young and pitiful that even though she's the same age as me and freaking vindictive, I cover her hand with my own. Yeah, she's a shitty judge of character—not to mention sneaky and petty—but I feel for her.

"I can't let you ruin Jase's life," I say softly. "He's a good guy. You know he is. And he doesn't deserve to serve time for something he didn't do."

Tears well in her eyes and she blinks them back. "He could have fixed all of this if he just took me back. That's how it was supposed to happen. But no"—a sneer mars her pretty face—"he had to hook up with you." Her tone is bitter. "If he'd just gone along with my plan, we'd be fine." She looks me up and down. "What's the big deal with you anyway? You're a seven, at best. I'm a ten."

Ugh. So much for feeling sorry for her. I pull away.

"Here's what's going to happen," I tell her, because I don't want her to think she can worm her way out of this and come out on top. "You're going to withdraw the charges and issue a public apology."

Erin scoffs. "No way in—"

"Or," I interrupt, biting down on my fury, "I share this with everybody in my personal address book." In case she's suffering any delusions, I add, "There's a lot of media firepower in that book."

She blinks, and wrinkles her nose like she's chewing on a soap bar.

"After that, I'll send it to the police. Do you really want them thinking you've wasted their time with bogus accusations?"

Now she just looks sick to her stomach. Time to offer the carrot.

"If you do what I've asked, I'll pay off your credit card debt and six months' worth of rent. Free and clear."

She laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. "You had me going for a moment there. Where would you find that much money?"

The jab doesn't sting the way she wants it to. I've had years to get used to the disbelief. "My last name is LaFontaine. As in, Malcolm and Henrietta LaFontaine."

If she was white before, she's ghostly now. "You—what?"

I allow her a moment to digest this. "I don't see my parents often, but I have access to the LaFontaine millions." For Jase, I'd do anything, including reaching out to my parents. "Do what I want, and the debt collectors will stop knocking on your door."

"But I'll be publicly humiliated," she protests.

"Honey." I say the word in my most sugary, condescending tone. "That will happen either way."

"Fuck," she swears, eyeballing me with a combination of defeat and respect. "I underestimated you."

"You did. So, what's it going to be?"

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and nods. "I'll do it."

"Good." Gathering the papers, I prepare to leave, but hesitate. "Word to the wise, Erin. Ditch Karson. He's a bad guy."

"Yeah." Her eyes meet mine. "I know." She shakes her head. "I sure can pick them."

"Maybe go for a baseball player," I suggest. "They're easier to handle."

"You know what?" She perks up. "I think I will." Reluctantly, she offers me a manicured hand. "Nice doing business with you."

I shake, giving it an extra squeeze so she knows not to mess with me again, and then I walk away from her without a backward glance.

You're welcome, Jase Rawlins.