And then his tongue was in my mouth.
And I lost all rational thought.
And never even realized that he’d manipulated my own surprise into doing what he wanted to do.
“Son of a bitch,” I whispered to myself as the memory slapped me in the face.
I berated myself for even going there. I was doing a job. He was my job.
The past didn’t matter.
His distracting kisses didn’t matter.
It ended there.
Right. Forget about his mouth.
Or the way I sighed when he touched my shoulder.
The way my body quivered when his skin pressed against mine in the car.
“Stop!” I gritted my teeth and searched the kitchen. Cheaters often hid things in places that their spouse wouldn’t expect, like pantries and junk drawers, places that seemed obvious but weren’t. I’d once found a second cell phone in a cereal box.
Cheaters were like drug addicts.
They knew the perfect place to hide the drugs.
I shuddered.
Dirty. Toilets.
Not the best day I’d ever had, but marginally better than the sewer.
I spent the next thirty minutes with plastic gloves searching every crevice of that kitchen, patting down the undersides of drawers, digging through trash. Nothing.
The guy was either a saint . . .
Or we had a serious Dexter situation going on, and he knew exactly how to dispose of incriminating evidence.
Sexy male laughter jolted me from my search. I freaked, ran into the pantry, and shut the door just as Jessie’s profile came into view.
Sweat trickled down my back.
Shit, shit, shit!
Oh, this was bad, so bad.
What man didn’t want to eat after coming home from the gym?
“Nice, man, she keeps the book on the bar?” Colin’s mocking voice at least made me feel like I wasn’t the only one who thought it was strange. “Fams always so classy.”
“Yeah,” Jessie agreed. “I think maybe it’s her way of reminding me how happy we were that one year.” He hesitated. “You know, the one where we actually did normal things like stay home and make dinner, and watch movies instead of going out all the time. That went to hell fast.”
Colin sighed.
“She writes a book about our best year, and then turns into this greedy person I don’t recognize and dream about murdering in her sleep.”
“Hey,” Colin warned. “I get it, I do, but she’s still my—”
“Sorry, man.”
“It’s fine, like I said, I get it.”
I plastered my ear to the door to listen harder. What did Colin mean? Why was he defending her? Why was Jessie saying sorry? I made a mental note to purchase the book and torture myself by reading it cover to cover.
“You contemplate murdering her while she sleeps,” Colin said in a weird tone, “and yet she’s still living here in this house with you? Tell me how that makes sense? You say she’s not the same person, but she never really was the person you thought she was. When are you going to get that?”
“She was different then, man. She was.” Jessie came to her defense so quickly I almost fell backward. He sounded like—he still had feelings for her. I turned my attention back to the door as footsteps neared the pantry. Oh hell. Not good.
I needed to get out. Fast.
I grabbed my cell and texted Colin.
And seconds later heard a ping.
“Another one of your sex buddies?” Jessie teased.
Colin paused and then, “Oh yeah, but this one’s been really hard to tame. You know the type, a bit schizo but so hot you don’t care that she asks to twist your nipples while she licks your nose.”
“Seriously?” Jessie choked.
“She likes noses. And snake tattoos, loves them.”
“Lucky for you.”
“I think it reminds her of the size of my dick, you know?”
I made a gagging motion, shifted on my feet, then texted again.
Me: Seriously! Trapped! And your dick can’t be the size of that python on your arm because that would mean you actually impale women on a daily basis.
Colin: Just call me Dracula.
I frowned.
Colin: Get it? The impaler.
Me: Look at that, Basement Dweller can joke! He’s got jokes! Meanwhile I’m going to starve to death in this pantry.
Colin: You mean around all that food?
“Wow, this girl must have skills if you’re that focused on your texts . . .” Jessie trailed off.
“She’s . . . unique,” Colin finally said.
My eyes narrowed. Was that a compliment? Did it matter? Why did I care? And why the hell did Jessie have ten different kinds of cereal—and all the boxes were full. I would know, I shook them.
And alphabetized? Starting with Apple Jacks? Really?
Not that I’d resorted to more snooping.
Okay, so I’d resorted to more snooping.
But the fact that they were full was emotionally distressing. A full cereal box at my house lasts about one hot minute before I get a craving for Cheerios that even wine can’t cure.
“Hey”—Colin cleared his throat—“I need a favor.”
“Anything,” Jessie said quickly.
“I need a nice shirt for a date tonight, something . . . classy.”
Jessie laughed. “What? You can’t wear your own clothes?”
“You know I like your style better,” I grumbled to myself. Has he seen that man’s closet? He doesn’t have a white shirt ironed within an inch of its life? “Plus I want to impress this girl and I don’t have time to go grab a new shirt, we’re going on a late lunch date and I’m sweaty as hell, so please? Let me borrow a shirt, I’ll go home and shower, pair it with some nice jeans, and be inside her in no time.”
I glared at the door. Like I could actually see Colin’s smug expression. Why was my heart thumping? Why was I breathing like I was having trouble sucking in air?
He could date whomever he wanted.
I shifted on my feet as my face heated.
He was an attractive, successful man.
I crossed my arms.
Then uncrossed them nervously.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jessie finally said. “I’ll be right back, try not to burn down the kitchen or set the book on fire.”
“Shit, you read my mind,” Colin joked.
The sound of footsteps faded as Jessie walked toward the bedroom.
And then the pantry door was jerked open.
I blinked up at him. “Thank you.”
“People . . . they pay you,” he said, leaning his large frame against the door while his muscles bulged beneath his sweat-soaked shirt, “for this?”
My eyes narrowed. “Yes! And I’m good at it.”
His smirk was wicked as he glanced behind me and then locked eyes. “Obviously.”
I shoved his chest. “I miscalculated the time, that’s all.” I tried squeezing past him, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the pantry and closed the door.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed as he pressed me against the wall. “He’s going to find me!”
“A favor for a favor, Spy Girl.” Colin’s grin turned menacing. “I got Jessie out of the house, gave you my car, and saved your sorry ass. I get a favor.”
“I’m not sucking your nose and licking your tattoo, you psycho,” I said, repeating what he’d said earlier.
“Don’t knock it, you may love it.” He winked, and then stood his ground. “One favor.”
I sighed and gritted my teeth. “Fine.”
“A date,” he said triumphantly. “I want a date.”
“A date,” I repeated in a slightly panicked voice. “Like to dinner?”
“No, I was thinking the drive-in, we could make out, eat popcorn, I’d feel you up a bit—yeah, dinner.”
I smirked. “If I go to dinner with you . . . you’ll get me out of this g
odforsaken pantry with the full boxes of cereal?”
“Noticed that, did you?’
“He’s clearly not human.”
“I steal his Cocoa Puffs every chance I get.”
I nodded seriously. “I think my respect for you grew just now.”
“Ah, she likes cereal.”
“She’d also like to not get caught!”
“Go.” He shoved me toward the pantry door. “Run out the back and try not to trip and ruin your escape.”
“I don’t trip.” Of course, at that moment, I tripped over my own feet and almost face-planted into his lips.
He sighed, his expression worried and a bit stunned as Jessie’s voice carried to the kitchen. “Black okay?”
“Go.” Colin shoved me again. “Oh, and you’re picking me up. It seems I’m down a car.” He winked. “I’ll text you.”
I waved him off and bolted.
Didn’t trip.
And smiled the entire way to my meeting with Jessie’s wife.
Chapter Seventeen
JESSIE
“I’m sure there’s a reason you’re staring at the blank wall like you want to hump it, right?”
“Shhhh.” Colin leaned against the wall as he whispered, “We were having a moment.”
I raised my hands. “Don’t let me intrude.”
He pushed off the wall and sighed. “All done.”
My eyebrows rose. “You’re acting weirder than normal.”
“Says the guy with ten full boxes of cereal in his pantry.” He looked over at the front door that had just opened to reveal Vanessa in all her glory, like she was ready to go out and meet with movie producers.
White pantsuit.
Red lipstick.
Tall, nude heels.
She was almost beautiful enough to make you forget how horrible a person she was—almost.
“Ah, I see you picked up a stray on the way home.” Her eyes darted from Colin to me as she sniffed the air. “Do you shower? Ever?”
Colin stared her down. “Eat any children today? Run over any puppies?”
“Hah.” She marched over to me, pressed her hands against my chest, and leaned up like she was about to kiss me. I gripped her wrists and turned her away.
With a scowl she went to the fridge and looked inside.
Our relationship was all for show.
Everyone in our inner circle seemed to understand but her, it was over, it had been over a while, which meant no casual kissing, no touching.
Sometimes it felt like I knew her better than she knew herself. She always walked to the fridge like she was hungry and always left without food—a reminder to her stomach of the sacrifice required to stay perfect. Habit. A ritual, if you will, that she practiced every day.
“I have a meeting in a few.” She slammed the fridge shut. “I thought maybe we could do drinks after.” She let the question hang in the air.
I swallowed against the sick feeling building in my throat. “I don’t think that’s a great idea—”
“You promised,” she hissed out with a smile. “For appearances’ sake, and the book is doing so well, Jessie, why ruin a good thing?”
Colin coughed.
I hung my head. “Yeah, sure, just text me.”
She grinned triumphantly then marched out the door, slamming it behind her.
Colin gave me a disgusted look.
“What?” I threw my hands in the air. “My hands are tied, man, you know that, I promised her that I’d play nice while the book launched.”
“They’re tied because you let that woman have the rope. Hell, you bought the rope, handed it over, then submitted at her feet, and your hands are always going to be tied until you kick her to the curb.”
He was right.
I knew he was right.
But the guilt was there. It was always there.
The blame.
And then more guilt when I thought about Blaire.
Chapter Eighteen
BLAIRE
Our client meetings often started and ended in tears.
But something about the woman Jessie married told me that she was more of a talker, more of a doer than a crier, like she was above wasting tears on anyone or anything that didn’t bow at her feet.
And my point was proved the minute she stepped into our offices.
She looked expensive.
Smelled even more expensive.
And I literally couldn’t tell her age—she was so stunning that I blinked a few times before words would form in my mouth. From her white pantsuit to her perfect red pout, I suddenly realized all the reasons why Jessie hadn’t thought to take me with him.
This had been my competition. This supermodel of a woman.
I self-consciously tugged down my tank top and gulped.
I was an idiot. A complete idiot if I thought he kept my number for any reason other than a booty call on top of the ass I assumed he was already getting from this one. Hell, maybe he kept my number out of pity because I’d looked so out of place when we’d seen each other again. Whatever it was, there was no chance I could compete with the woman in front of me, not even if I had plastic surgery and a new wardrobe.
I was the girl next door.
She was a Hollywood starlet.
Which she proved when her eyes zeroed in on me like I was offending her by merely existing—breathing the same air in the same small space. I stood a little taller than her, the bun on my head bobbed as pieces of hair fell over my face.
I’d barely had time to change from maid outfit into black skinny jeans before she arrived.
She licked her lips and then showed me a practiced smile with way too many teeth. It was meant to put people at ease, but all it did was make my hackles rise. “I’m here to meet with Isla and Blaire?”
“Blaire.” I held out my hand. “And Isla is grabbing coffee. Would you like something to drink?”
“Pellegrino, sparkling, two ice cubes, and a dash of fresh mint, please.” She ignored my still outstretched hand, walked past me, and sat on the white leather couch.
I wasn’t used to being dismissed or put down by another woman. I worked with a strong woman, in my world we stuck together. Apparently Vanessa’s world included being mean to the hired help, no matter how much they planned on saving your ass and marriage.
I focused my thoughts on the giant paycheck we’d receive and then swallowed, choosing my words carefully. “I can manage the Pellegrino, but we’re fresh out of mint.”
Her eyes widened. For a minute I could have sworn she was going to say something like “Then shouldn’t you go get it?”
Instead she shifted in her seat and muttered, “Fine.” All while checking her perfect nails and then her pout in the mirror she held close to her face.
I instantly hated her.
And it had less to do with Jessie than I might have thought.
She just seemed like a rude human.
One of those people who spent their days judging others from a perfect little tower—the type of woman who would cut you off in traffic and force you into a head-on collision while sipping her stupid Evian and touching her face to make sure the Botox was still spongy.
“Be right back.” I rushed down the hall into the makeshift kitchen and nearly ran into Isla and her two cups of coffee.
“Hey,” she said brightly, “I was just coming your way.”
“She’s evil,” I whispered. “She wanted mint.”
Isla nodded. “Should we alert the authorities?”
“Yes!”
Isla smirked. “Blaire, wanting mint isn’t a crime.”
“It was the way she said it,” I grumbled. “She wants two ice cubes, sparkling water, and fresh mint.”
Isla took a deep breath. “That’s our clientele, I know I don’t need to remind you of that, right? They’re used to having everything at their fingertips, mint included, and they pay a lot of money for that privilege, so we put up with their bullshit and they write us a check. Vanessa
Beckett’s mint can go to hell . . . in fact, after she pays us, we’ll go buy mint, set it on fire, and get drunk, sound good?”
I chewed my bottom lip, then slumped. She was right. I knew she was right, and typically it didn’t bother me as much as it did now. Maybe it’s because I was looking at Vanessa through Jessie’s eyes, wondering, Besides her beauty, is that the type of woman he wanted in his life? Is that what he had been looking for? Someone who demanded everything? “Okay, fine. Grabbing the water, see you in two.”
By the time I made it back to the front office, Vanessa was in tears and Isla was rubbing her back.
Ah, the Isla effect.
She could get anyone to confess anything.
And apparently Vanessa wasn’t immune.
I was almost disappointed.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
Colin: Happy hour, happiest time of the day.
Me: Still working.
Colin: Skip.
The thought had merit.
I shoved my phone into the back pocket of my jeans and held out the glass of water for Vanessa.
Two cubes.
Sparkling.
She waved me off.
Like I was her waitress.
So I clenched my teeth, set it on the glass table, and listened while Isla soothed her.
“It’s not your fault.” Isla.
“It happens to the best of us.” Isla.
“We’ll figure this out.” Isla.
“It’s going to be okay.” Isla.
Vanessa swiped under her eyes, then pulled out a mirror. “Ah, look at me, I’m a mess.”
There were literally no mascara streaks.
No hair out of place.
Yet when I cried during commercials, you know, the State Farm ones, I ended up looking like I’d just suffered a death in the family, and had a sore throat for a day from my loud hiccupping gasps.
Life wasn’t fair.
“You look great,” I said. At least I wasn’t lying.
She gave me a faint smile, and then turned her attention back to Isla, like I was the invisible help.
Dirty Exes Page 10