“Leighton, I didn’t—”
She stomps on my damn foot with her heel, the spike of the daytime sensible thing no match for the expensive leather before grabbing the handle of her suitcase and rolling right past me.
“Fuck!” I roar, falling to the side and crashing to the bed.
I’m going to need fucking stitches. I just fucking know it. As if the goddamn pain isn’t bad enough, I can smell the both of us on the damn bed. Jesus, what a heady scent. I’m not a psycho. I don’t roll around on the damn thing. I do cringe when I sit up and check my foot. The heel of her shoe didn’t actually go through my shoe, so I don’t bother taking mine off, but I do end up having to walk through the BBS office with a limp I refuse to explain.
“I was wondering when you were going to get here,” Wren says with his eyes still on his computer screen.
He either clocked me from the parking garage or he’s been watching since the hotel. Either wouldn’t surprise me.
“Where is she?” I snap.
“At the airport.”
“You couldn’t give me a fucking warning this morning?”
“Wasn’t enough time.”
“Enough time? All I needed was to duck into my fucking office. Deacon could’ve met with her, and everything would be fine.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” He spins around to face me, a sly smirk on his face.
“Do you like fucking with other people’s lives?”
“More than you’ll ever know.”
“This isn’t going to end up like everyone else, Wren. I’m not some sad sap, waiting for the girl of my dreams to come along.”
“Not everyone is going to fall in love with a girl, Gaige, and it’s pretty narrow minded of you to think in such a straight line.” He looks to the side like he’s some fucking Morpheus incarnate, able to predict the future like he’s lived it before or something.
“Where’s the fucking file?” I hiss.
He grabs a file, holding it in his grip before handing it over completely. “Get that foot looked at. High heel injuries are dangerous if not treated properly.”
Chapter 6
Leighton
Going back to New York shouldn’t seem like so much of a chore. It should be a relief, the thought of getting to sleep in my own bed, and that’s how it has always felt, but the city no longer feels like home. My life is a mess, both work and personally since the two have always been tangled together.
Once again I’ve managed to let my personal and business lives twist together, the lines blurred until I don’t know where one begins and the other ends. I could’ve stood in the middle of the Blackbridge office and ignored John, had my meeting with Deacon Black and acted like the prior night didn’t affect me, but the hate and anger simmering inside made it impossible. I acted out like a scorned lover, a jilted woman who was wronged on the highest level when in actuality the man’s wife held that title.
That poor woman. I feel so sorry for her. How many times has that man done that very same thing to her?
He picked me up in that bar with such ease, there was no way it was the first time. He was so smooth, not a hint of guilt in his actions. There was a tremble in his hands when he touched me, but not a single hesitation of guilt or look of remorse in his eyes. He was a god in that bed, owning me like he had every right to be there.
I shake my head, trying to shove those memories away. He could’ve at least had the grace to feel even a little bad at what he did, had the slightest of a stutter in the way his hips moved or a slip of his hand when he gripped me, but of course he didn’t. He’s skilled in his manipulation, in his betrayal.
I have to put it past me, pretend this weekend never happened.
His sins are not my own. Last night was his mistake, his cross to bear, not mine.
People bustle around me, the airport busy this Sunday morning as people rush around. I have time to kill, the airport bar calling to me as I try to ignore the urge to drink the horrific day away. I know the memories will still be there so there’s no real point to flying with the possibility of getting sick in the air. I’d rather do that back at my apartment where there will be no witnesses to my downward spiral.
My phone rings in my hand, and just seeing my sister’s name on my phone for a video call request makes my eyes burn with fresh tears. I let the call ring through as I search for a quiet place to speak with her. I know I have plenty of time to kill.