Well, except for the pain I caused Miranda. That had all been real.
But leaving town was over the top. Miranda didn’t cower away from anything or anyone. She’d shown her tough side with Jason when she questioned him about his dealings in Los Angeles back in April.
What an idiot I’d been. Miranda had a bad feeling about Jason in the elevator the day she gave the gala presentation. How could I have been so blind about Jason? Too much compassion, I guessed, feeling sorry for him and his sad childhood. I had tried to be a good friend to him, helping him when he needed it. Inviting him over for holidays and paying for everything because I knew he didn’t have two pennies to rub together.
What did my generosity and kindness get me?
I gritted my teeth. Just thinking of all this shit ignited a rage inside me again. I drained my beer and stood from my patio chair, inhaling deeply to calm myself.
But there was no calming my soul. Miranda had left me, and it was all Jason’s fault. That son of a bitch ruined my life. Stealing money from SJI set the course for unraveling my relationship with Miranda, and I would never forgive him.
He would pay one day for all the pain and heartache he had caused.
I went inside and fished out the bottle of tequila Miranda had bought for New Year’s.
Time to get wasted.
A loud pounding woke me from my comatose state. The sun was pouring into the living room, covering me in a blanket of warmth as I lay on the sofa.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I stayed unchanged, waiting for the unwanted solicitor to leave me the hell alone.
“William, open this door!” The familiar voice boomed on the other side. William Howard St. James II, my father. “Do you hear me? I said open this door!”
I peeled myself off the sofa, dragging my feet to let my father in. I had no strength to deal with him, but I opened the door just the same. Eye to eye with my predecessor, I stepped back as he entered my lifeless home.
The floral destruction in the living room captured my attention as I kicked the door shut. Pink peonies were scattered about, their innocent petals victims of my wrath. Tearing them to shreds had done nothing to numb my wilted heart.
I wasn’t sorry for losing my shit last night. I’d spent all of Wednesday holed up in bed, avoiding the outside world. I didn’t want to talk to anyone other than Miranda.
After drinking myself stupid, I’d reacted destructively as her absence continued to throttle me. If I’d been in a better headspace, I might have been ashamed of my behavior, but I hadn’t been and thoughtfuck it.
“What’s wrong with you? And what happened here?” The irritation in my father’s voice was as typical as a stroll in the park. In all my life, the man rarely sounded happy. “I can’t believe Miranda would leave this place looking like the west gardens threw up in your home.”
The sheer mention of her name twisted my intestines, forcing me to bend at the waist.
“Answer me, dammit!”
“Miranda’s gone,” I muttered, stalking to the fridge for a beer. “Do you want one?” I asked, holding up a bottle.
“It’s ten in the morning,” he said, aghast. He stormed over, pulled the beer out of my hand, and switched it with a bottle of water. “Take a seat.” He pointed at the sofa.
I obeyed because I had no energy or gumption to do otherwise.
The CEO of SJI paced, rubbing his hand across his jaw, just as I would do when stressed. Miranda had said I was the spitting image of my father in looks and mannerisms. Now I saw what she meant, though I wasn’t sure I liked it much. Perhaps I wouldn’t mind if under different circumstances. Vexation rolled off him in waves, crashing down on me like when I was a child.
What would he lecture me about now?
“Why are you here?” I hissed, wanting the arrogant asshole to get the fuck out of my house.
He stopped mid-step, flabbergasted. “Why am I here? Have you gone mad? It’s Thursday, William! You haven’t been in the office all week, and you haven’t answered your phone!” He resumed pacing.
I groaned, reclining my head against the back of the sofa.
“Your mother is worried. She called Miranda and got a disconnected recording. Then she called you and no answer.” He paused, inhaling deeply, nostrils flaring as he rubbed his jaw again.
In his coat pocket, a symphonic melody jolted him from his thoughts, his ringtone for my mother. “Claire, he’s fine, dear,” he said without preamble. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll find out.” He stared, eyes burning right through me. “Yes, good-bye, dear.”