Here we go.
“Adam.” There isn’t any niceness in her tone, not that I’m surprised. She’s spoken to me with the same level of intolerance ever since I can remember.
“Ava.”
She narrows her eyes at me. She doesn’t like it when I call her by her first name. Fuck knows why. It’s not like she enjoys or cares to be my mother—well, apart from when I can give her something or do something for her, which is clearly why she’s here.
“What do you want this time?”
She frowns at me—well, frowns as best as she can with all the Botox and skin-tightening she’s had done over the years.
She takes the seat at the other side of my desk. “Is that any way to greet your mother?”
I tip my head to the side. “Sorry. I’ll rephrase. What the fuck do you want this time, Ava?”
Tut-tutting, she shakes her head at me, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “You really are such a disappointment. Other children treat their mothers with respect.”
“Other children don’t find their mothers having a threesome with their best friend’s parents.”
I never did tell Max that. I didn’t know how to. I mean, it’s not something that comes up easily in conversation.
Oh, by the way, I came home from school the other day, and my mother was fucking your mom and dad.
Honestly, I was afraid he’d blame me, and I would lose him.
I was thirteen, and Max was all I had in the world.
Sighing, she rolls her eyes. “Ancient history.” She flicks a hand at me.
I can’t suppress the laugh of disdain that escapes me.
History. Denial. Ignorance.
Ava’s best defenses.
I release a sigh. “I’m busy, Ava. What is it you want from me this time?”
Examining her nails, she says, “Well…it’s been a while since I worked.”
“I thought you were taking a break.”
“I was, and now, I want to work.”
“Well, I haven’t got anything for you. You could always try another studio.”
God, wouldn’t that be a fucking dream? Let someone else deal with her.
Ignoring my suggestion, she says, “I heard that Avalon is going ahead.”
Avalon is a script that came to me a few years ago. Originally, I was on the fence about it. It wasn’t the right time. But the market has shifted, and I think it’s the right time to put it into production. It’s a take on the legend of King Arthur, starting with his fight with Mordred at the Battle of Camlann where Arthur was wounded and thought to have died. It progresses to show his recovery at Avalon, revealing that he lived and returned to lead his people against their enemies.
“It is.”
“I want the part of Morgan le Fay.”
I laugh loudly. Then, I stop laughing, and say in all seriousness, “No.”
Her eyes glower at me. “I’m perfect for it, and you know I am.”
“You’re about thirty years too old for that part.”
Anger ignites over her features. “I might be a little older than Morgan would have been, but I don’t look my age.”
I lean forward, arms on my desk. “The public knows how old you are, no matter how young you might look. You playing Morgan won’t work. End of story.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Your father would have given me the part.”
“But Eric’s not here, and I am. You forced me to take over this shitty company, so now, you have to put up with how I run it.”
“I need to work, Adam,” she says this in her nice voice, the one she uses when she’s trying to get her own way.
But I’m not playing today.
“Popularity fading, Ava? Have you lost followers on Twitter?”
“You are a spiteful child, Adam. You always have been.”
There’s the Ava I know.
“Yeah, well, I learned it from the best.”
Looking down, she takes in several deep breaths before looking back up at me. “Fine. You won’t give me the part of Morgan. Give me another part.”
“No.”
“I’m still a part of this studio!” she yells, her hard plastic face turning bright red.
I sit there, unrattled. “Technically, you’re not. You’re just the woman who was married to my father and the woman who gave birth to me, and you’re here for no other reasons than those. You’re lucky I don’t call security and have them toss your ass out on the street.”
Her mouth twists into a bitter sneer. “You know, when I first got pregnant with you, I wondered if I was making a mistake, being married to your father and having his child. One day, not long after finding out I was pregnant, I found myself outside an abortion clinic.” She flexes her hand out in front of her face, examining her nails again. Then, she lowers her hand, and cold eyes meet mine. “I didn’t go inside. I really should have.”
When I was younger, shit like that hurt me. Now, it just rolls right off me.
It’s nothing she hasn’t said before to me.
And the truth is, there is no way Ava would have stood within a hundred yards of an abortion clinic. I was her meal ticket. But that’s not why she can no longer hurt me.
I stopped feeling when Evie left. Nothing will ever feel worse than that.
And this is how it always goes with Ava. I say no. She dials up the bitch a few notches and says some venomous hurtful shit. We argue, and she leaves. Later, she calls and plays nice, and then I say yes to whatever she wants.