Zenith Fulfilled by Leanne Davis

God , she was really becoming too much. “I don’t even sing anymore. I work construction and I live here. I don’t even know any musicians anymore except Spencer. There’s nothing there. Nothing to feed your fantasy.”
    “Not yet, but I think there will be.”
    “And you’re pinning some yet-to-be-written book, on my not-going-to-happen singing career? This is why you’re willing to pay me?”
    “Yes.”
    “God, you’re nuts! Like I don’t even believe you’re for real nuts. But hell, if you want to pay me for a book that goes nowhere, and no one will end up reading, betting on a pie-in-the-sky career that ain’t gonna happen, well I guess that’s on you, isn’t it?”
    She nodded vigorously, her curls bobbing. “Yes. It really is on me. Will you do it?
    He clenched his jaw. “I read it as you write it. I veto anything and everything I don’t like.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “You’ll agree to that? What if I tell you lies and insist that you not write a word of truth?”
    “I’ll write it so well, you won’t be able to say no to it.”
    Rob arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re cocky as hell about this, you know that?”
    Rebecca stood up straighter. “Someone has to be. No one else can believe in my writing. Or in me. I have to. So yes, I am sure about this one thing, and I can make this work.”
    Rob crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine; pay me ten grand, and I’ll do it.”
    Rebecca nodded. “Half now, and the other half when it’s done.”
    Rob’s jaw dropped. She didn’t even blink at the outrageous price. “Fine.”
    “When do you want to start?”
    “Sooner we get this done, the happier I’ll be,” he muttered.
    “I can’t come by until… well, maybe next weekend.”
    “Why?”
    “Kids.”
    “Right, kids. Soccer mom with three kids. Christ, what could you and I have to say to each other? Let’s just get it over with. What’s your address? I’ll come to you. Friday night. After work. Clear it with your husband first. He’s going to shit bricks when he sees who you brought home to write about.”
    Rebecca shook her head. “I’ll be home,” she handed him a slip of paper, her address already on it. “Are you sure it’s not too far for you to come?”
    “For ten grand? Oh, I’ll be there.”
    “Good. Thank you, Mr. Williams.”
    “Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart; you haven’t had the pleasure of my company.” He slammed the door in her face for a second time.
    ****
    Rebecca collapsed in her front seat. She did it! She won. She convinced Rob Williams to let her write his story in her next book. She was shaking. Her hands were trembling with nerves at her own audacity. She couldn’t believe how hard she pushed Rob, and kept persisting. She went so far beyond what was smart. Doing something she usually wasn’t so good at: pushing, convincing, persuading and following through on what she thought was right or wrong.
    She lied to Rob. She had no idea that Joelle got beaten up. She also had no clue that her brother endured all of it with Joelle. Nor could she ever picture her brother choking Rob Williams. The thought sent chills down her spine. What else did she miss about her brother? About Joelle? About her brother and Joelle? She never understood how much Nick loved Joelle, or that he heroically helped her out of a very bad, very dark situation.
    And here she was now, trying to draw out the very thing that made Joelle’s life so dark and scary. Oh God! What possible perils was she flirting with here? What was she doing?
    And more importantly, could Rob’s actions be forgiven? How could she expect that of Nick and Joelle? How could she demand it, when she knew so little of what they went through? She tilted her head against the steering wheel. Four years ago, when Nick first suddenly started acting differently, Rebecca was pregnant, with two older kids to care for. She’d been very busy with her own life, a life far removed from what Nick lived. Of course, she