‘Pharmaceutical heiress leaves Donovan Sherman at the altar. Wade Pharmaceutical stocks plummet.’
Van
Nearly fifteen years ago
As the plane took flight, I laid my head against the seat, telling myself that Texas would forever be in my rearview mirror. Dusk filled the sky with clouds in shades of red and pink. While others may have seen the beauty, I saw it for what it was. The red was from within.
Red. Scarlet. Crimson. Fiery.
Associated with heat.
The color of blood.
The color of rage.
“Phillip didn’t win.” It was what I’d been telling myself since I walked away from Madison’s dressing room. He couldn’t.
How could he win against me?
In what world?
I’d won. I’d been the one to find Madison. She’d been mine first. I’d named my company after her. I’d found a slice of paradise for us to live in, to keep her…
With me, she’d have the world at her fingertips.
With him, she would live the life of our parents. A mundane existence of contrived norms.
“Mr. Sherman,” the flight attendant asked, “would you like a drink?”
I blinked up at the attendant.
Thankfully, the plane was small, having a row of single stand-alone seats on one side of first-class. My only interruption would come from this smiling woman.
“We have sodas, water, wine…”
I’d had a drink, or four, at the airport bar. Still wearing the slacks and shirt from the cheap tuxedo, I looked like a real loser. I’d even had a few propositions from women willing to take my mind off my troubles.
My attire and demeanor appeared as though I’d been left at the altar.
I hadn’t.
It was worse.
Madison had gone through with the wedding.
Fucking email.
After giving the flight attendant my order, I pulled my BlackBerry out of my pocket and opened the email from Liv. The message was short and to the point, letting me know the wedding went as planned. No one mentioned seeing me at the venue. She was even kind enough to attach a picture of the bride and groom.
I hit the attachment and waited.
Delivering my glass of bourbon, the attendant said, “I’m sorry, sir. You can’t use that in flight.”
The phone was in airplane mode. The picture was saved to my internal file. Instead of telling her any of that, I dropped the phone into my breast pocket, lifted the glass of bourbon, swallowed the amber liquid in one gulp, and ordered another.
I didn’t need the damn picture.
It was burned into my mind for all eternity.