Beautiful Mistake Book 3

JENSEN

I sat in my office, looking at the latest quarterly report for the Grand Hotel.

After the huge success of our charity-focused Ambassador’s Ball, I’d expected to see a revenue increase of at least twelve percent.

Instead, there was a six percent drop in the hotel’s net growth from last year.

Which might not sound like a lot, but it meant that we had lost nearly $30 million in just a few months.

This shouldn’t be happening.

Was it just the Grand Hotel? Or were the other dozen or so hotels owned by Hawksley Enterprises also experiencing a loss in revenue?

I had to get to the bottom of this—and quickly.

If I could see the truth in this report, then so could our stockholders.

Our investors.

It was vital that they not see Hawksley Enterprises as a sinking ship.

Because just like rats, they would flee.

I stared at the numbers on my computer screen, willing them to change into a more pleasing arrangement.

But numbers never lied, and they didn’t rearrange themselves to suit my desires.

We had to do something.

There was a knock on my office door, and a moment later, Kyla entered.

She looked anxious and worried. My heart leapt in my throat.

“What’s wrong? Is Charlie alright?” I asked, standing and crossing to where she stood.

“Charlie’s fine. She’s at home with Dante,” Kyla replied. She was chewing on her bottom lip, which she only did when she had something on her mind.

Maybe she’d also seen the quarterly reports. They had certainly dampened my mood.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Did you not get my texts?” Kyla asked.

“Uhhh…” I cast my eyes toward my phone, which I’d set to “silent” upon arriving at the office.

She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Have you looked at Chicago Style today?”

“No, I never go on that site. It’s a rag. Why, what are they saying?”

Tears came into Kyla’s eyes. Whatever this was, it had really upset her.

“Woah! What is it?” I hated seeing her cry.

She handed me her phone, which was already open to the site.

There, in neon pink capital letters, was the headline.

KYLA HAWKSLEY: CHICAGO’S NEWEST GLITTERATI PARTY GIRL???

Beneath the headline was a photo of my wife, her cheeks flushed pink with excitement and alcohol, holding an enormous bright-blue cocktail.

“This isn’t that bad,” I said reassuringly. “They’ve done a lot worse to me in the past.”

“Read the article,” she said, head drooping.

I began to read.

For years, billionaire hotel mogul and uncatchable bachelor Jensen Hawksley toyed with women’s hearts all over Chicago.

And while it seems that Jensen Hawksley has settled down following the runaway wedding to his marketing assistant, Kyla Hawksley (née Tristen), it seems that his wife has learned a few of his partying habits!

There followed several more photos, all of Kyla.

Taking shots with her friends.

On the dance floor, arms raised above her head.

Flashing a significant amount of thigh as she climbed into the backseat of the luxury SUV driven by Dante.

Kyla appeared at the downtown club Overrun wearing a $2,000 Dolce and Gabbana dress, paired with $800 Michael Kors slouch boots.

And even though she still hasn’t managed to lose all the baby weight from the birth of her daughter (Charlene, 6 months), Kyla Hawksley was certainly not shy about letting it all hang loose!

Another photo. This one of Kyla laughing and bending over, revealing her deep cleavage.

My eyes flicked to my wife, who was standing in my office looking as though she would like to sink through the floor.

Has the stress of motherhood proven too much for Kyla Hawksley to handle? Or did the people of Chicago trade one party-loving Hawksley for another?

We at Chicago Style will certainly be waiting and watching to find out!

That was the end of the article. I clicked Kyla’s phone off and set it down on my desk.

I’d been dealing with the press since I was barely a teenager, but my wife wasn’t used to this kind of scrutiny.

It had to be tearing her apart.

And the only advice I could offer was unlikely to be what she wanted to hear.

“I don’t want to sound insensitive, but I really think you should just try to ignore this.”

KYLA

My jaw dropped open in surprise.

“Ignore it?” I echoed.

Jensen sighed, folding his arms across his chest.

“They used to run stories like this on Julian and me all the time,” he said. “They twist things, exaggerate and bend the truth, all in the name of getting more clicks.”

“But that’s what I’m saying. That article makes it sound like I was doing jello shots out of a stripper’s G-string. It was just a few drinks for Megan’s birthday!”

My head still ached, and it was joined now by a sick, churning feeling in my stomach.

I shouldn’t have gone out. I should have just stayed at home with my husband and my daughter.

And what? Stay inside forever? Never see my friends or go out in public again?

Jensen came to me, and I buried my head in the warm security of his shoulder.

“People are going to look at this and think I’m some kind of rich-bitch floozy.”

“And that couldn’t be farther from the truth,” Jensen said, stroking my back.

“But that’s my point. No one really cares about what’s real. It’s all about making things seem as outrageous and flashy as possible.”

I shook my head. “But I don’t want to be Internet click-bait! How can we stop this?”

Jensen gave me an uncertain look. “I don’t think we can, hun. At least, I never found a way to get the press to leave me alone.”

I refused to believe that I was just supposed to take this lying down. “But can’t we go on Twitter and set the record straight or something?”

“That’s exactly what they want, though. If you start tweeting about it, then it gets retweeted and picked up and spreads like wildfire. And Chicago Style makes more money.”

I sighed heavily, realizing that he was right.

“So what do you suggest?” I asked.

Jensen looked at my woeful face. “You can’t live your life constantly worried about what other people think,” he said.

“I know it’s hard, but the only thing you can really do is to take the high road and not let it get to you.”

“But they implied that I’m a bad mother. And they called me fat!”

That comment about my baby weight had been a low blow, but it still hurt.

“Which is how I know that the article is pure, one-hundred-percent bullshit. Because you—”

Jensen ran his hand along my waist to my bottom and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“—are my gorgeous, talented wife. And anyone who says differently can go jump in the lake.”

He kissed me, running his hands along my backside.

Despite my worries, I found myself melting under his touch.

Desire flared in my veins as he undid one of the buttons on my blouse and kissed the soft skin of my chest.

“So you really think I should do nothing? Just take the high road?” I asked as Jensen undid another button, revealing more of the white nursing bra I wore.

The bra wasn’t exactly sexy, but he didn’t seem to notice.

I loved that Jensen seemed just as attracted to me now that my flesh was a little softer, my curves a little wider than before.

I tilted my head back as he began to raise my skirt slowly up my thighs.

“I think that by this time tomorrow, the only person who will be thinking about that article is you, if you let yourself. Although I do want to see you in that purple dress again.”

This was one of the things I adored most about my husband. He had a way of making all my problems fade into the background when we were together.

“Okay,” I said with a breathless gasp as his fingers found my center. “We’ll do it your way.”

***

The next day, determined to prove to myself and the rest of the world that I was a good mother and not some kind of tequila-chugging trashball, I took Charlie to a Mommy and Baby yoga class at the local gym.

I came straight from work, so I had to change quickly in the locker room while Charlie babbled and gurgled from her baby carrier.

Stripping off my sweater, I took a long look at the full-length mirror in the locker room.

My abdomen was pale and streaked with shiny stretch marks.

I turned sideways, my brow furrowing as I inspected my figure.

“And even though she still hasn’t managed to lose all the baby weight from the birth of her daughter…”

The words from the Chicago Style article burned themselves into my mind like a brand.

What if the women in the yoga class had read the article?

My heart began to race.

All of a sudden, this seemed like a terrible idea.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts.

Meeting my eyes in the reflective glass, I raised my chin and tried to project confidence.

All the other people in this class are moms too.

At least I won’t be the only one with a pudgy tummy.

And hey, the exercise might even help with that.

“Woman up, Kyla,” I told myself in the mirror. “It’s just a silly yoga class.”

“Gah bah bahh,” Charlie chimed in.

“Exactly.”

But I still felt uneasy as I finished changing and went into the studio.

About a dozen women were already there. They were chatting easily with one another and stretching on their mats.

The conversation died down when Charlie and I entered, my mat tucked under one arm.

My cheeks felt hot.

I felt so conspicuous, like everyone was watching me.

Judging me.

A young woman with black hair pulled back in a ballerina bun approached. “Hi! I’m the instructor, Wendy Kim. Is this your first time at Infant Yoga?”

“Yeah, I thought it might be interesting. I’m Kyla, and this is Charlie.” I smiled, gesturing to the baby on my hip.

At the sound of my name, I saw at least three women’s eyes light up in recognition.

One of them tapped her friend on the elbow and began whispering into her ear.

“You’re Jensen Hawksley’s wife, right? I was just reading about you this morning!” a woman with a nasty smile said from her mat. She and her baby were wearing matching outfits.

As were most of the women in the room.

My hopeful smile faded.

I’d never seen these people before in my life, but they knew me.

Or at least, they thought they did.

And they were judging me—right down to my mismatched yoga clothes.

Panic began to flood my system.

Did they really believe what had been written in the gossip blog?

I contemplated bolting for the door but remembered Jensen’s words about not letting other people’s opinions affect my life.

Should I stay and show these women that I don’t give a damn what they thought?

Or should I bail and flee back to my penthouse?

I was poised, on the verge of running.