Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“If you say so. Doesn’t really change anything for me.”
I bite back a smile. “Yeah, you don’t have much of a filter, do you?” So why did I feel it was necessary to have this honesty pact? Do I need her to know that I’m being honest now? Do I want her to trust me?
“I don’t. But you still haven’t answered my question about why you have two names. I’m guessing it’s not the reason I have two names. You really should have chosen a better pseudonym. Ben Fort and Bennett Fordham are way too similar. Like, almost—do you want to be found out?”
I chuckle. “They are similar. When I first changed my name, I was young. I didn’t expect Fort Inc. to be quite as successful as it has been. I probably would have picked something else if I had.”
She listens to me, her attention rapt, her eyes darting around my face like she doesn’t want to miss anything. “And? Why did you feel the need to change your name when you were young? Did you commit a crime? Escape prison?”
“I was famous by association. I wanted to break that link.”
She groans. “Stop talking in circles. Just spit it out. Famous by association? What does that even mean?”
“My mother was famous. She died when I was nineteen. I wanted to escape her world and live my own life rather than be forever associated with her.”
“Huh. How did she die?”
That’s never the reaction I get when I tell people my mother died. People tell me they’re sorry, or they try to console me. They never ask how she died. At least not right away. Efa continues to break the mold.
“She had cancer.”
She nods. “So you had a build-up. Warning?”
Again, not the reaction I expected. “Some. She died about three months after the initial diagnosis.” She winces and slides her hand over mine.
Silence winds around us as I savor the feel of her skin against mine. It’s more comforting that the normal words of condolence people usually offer.
“My parents died when I was sixteen,” she says. “Helicopter crash.”
I close my eyes in a long blink. “Fuck,” I say. I should have had the entire background check sent to me rather than just the highlights. She just nods, and neither of us speaks. We both get it. No one can ever say anything that will make it better, so why try?
“You got no notice,” I say, understanding her reactions a little better now.
“No,” she sighs. “And honestly, they weren’t doting parents. It’s not like they left a big hole—”
“Efa,” I interrupt. “They were your parents.”
“Yes, they were, and it was weird not having them there. It’s just that I’m not sure I missed them, exactly. Life moved on much the same as it had. It was only when I went off to university that things… shifted. My uncle stole our money and, you know, from a practical point of view, things changed because we were broke. My sister suffered the brunt of it. She always protected me.”
“Jesus, Efa. That’s… rough.”
She shrugs. “It was difficult at times. But things have shifted again, and when I’m twenty-five, I get my inheritance. I’ll be fine from a financial perspective. I have my sister. And Dylan, my brother. I’m lucky.”
I sigh. Lucky. I guess she is. But it’s a very mature perspective from someone who’s just twenty-one. “I’d describe myself as lucky too.”
“You’re a self-made billionaire. I’d describe you as lucky, too, although I’ll admit it’s probably a little more than luck in your case.” She laughs. “But what about your dad? Is he still alive?”
Did she just compliment me? Kinda sorta? I’ll take it. “I have no idea. My mother never told me who he was.”
“Oh wow. And do you have siblings? Do they know?”
I push my hand across my chest. “No and no.” Sometimes I yearned for siblings when I was younger, but in the end, being alone made it easier to disappear.
“You’re the youngest?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She shakes her head. “Wait. You didn’t tell me who your mother was. You said she was famous. Would I know her?”
“Kathleen Fordham,” I say.
She sits bolt upright. “Kathleen Fordham was your mother! She’s… she was so beautiful. And I love that movie she did with the other guy, the one with the—” She pulls at her chin. “Douglas Harrison.”
I nod. “The Rose and The Thorn.”
“That’s it! I love that movie. Wow. You must be so proud.”
She shot that movie when I was about ten and complained about it every single day. She never went into any details, but reading about Hollywood back then, it’s not hard to guess why a gorgeous woman in her prime might have had a difficult time on set.
“I am proud.”
Efa stands and takes a seat closer to me. “You promised to be honest, but I can hear the echo of something when you tell me you’re proud. It’s such an empty statement. What are you thinking?” She reaches forward and sweeps her fingers across my forehead, like she’s trying to read my thoughts.