SEVER

by Melissa Jane

  I dab more Kleenex under my eyes, fully aware I need a complete overhaul to look presentable. “Who is it? Is it Shawn?”

  “No, but he says he knows Shawn.”

  I frown in confusion. Why would anyone who knows Shawn come and see me at work? And more to the point, how do they even know where I work?

  “I look like shit,” I mutter to myself, chiding my lack of resolve when it comes to dealing with my emotions.

  “Strangely enough, you don’t,” Amanda says while walking to my desk to clear the pile of tissues—a job I consider above her calling. “You must be one of those lucky bitches who’s actually pretty when she cries. Not like me. I look like a constipated pug dog when I’m choking on tears.”

  I laugh, my jolting hand accidentally sending my lip gloss up my cheek. Amanda smiles, pulling another Kleenex from the box and handing it to me. I got lucky when she came knocking on my door only a day after I’d had the sign installed. Wearing stiletto heels and a tight skirt and blouse, Amanda wasn’t taking no for an answer, even happy to work on half-pay until I got my business up and running. She kept me entertained with her hairstyles, each day something vastly different from the last. But now, I can’t live without her. She’s become my backbone and is always there for me even when I have snot dribbling down my face.

  “Did he give a name?” I ask, while wiping the sticky pink lipstick from my cheek.

  “No, but… he can visit any time he wants, he’s freakin’ hot.”

  Again, I glance at her in confusion. “Hot? I wouldn’t say any of Shawn’s friends are hot.” My husband’s certainly the hottest of his group, by a long stretch.

  “Well, you mustn’t know all his friends because this hunk is exactly that.”

  “Okay,” I say, unconvinced, shoving my hand back in the bottom drawer. “Send him in.”

  “On it.” Amanda strides out and, moments later, a vaguely familiar face strides in. And when I say vaguely, you never forget a face that good-looking, but it’s been years since it graced my presence.

  This is a man who’d have women falling to their knees, begging him to take them however he sees fit. And I have no doubt that’s his reality. Lucky bastard.

  I feel his warmth, eyes traveling the length of my body as I stand to greet him. They linger for a moment, and I won’t lie and say I don’t enjoy it.

  “Blythe,” he says, his voice sexier than sex itself. “It’s been… what…” he shakes his head and laughs, “too long. I can’t even remember.” He walks over, circles his hand to the small of my back and pulls me forward until his lips graze my cheek. I shiver with delight and inwardly chide myself for being a schoolgirl. “It’s good to see you,” he rumbles against my ear and Jesus… fuck… if that’s not the sexiest sound known to women, I don’t know what is.

  “You, too,” I barely manage, feeling heat in my cheeks.

  When he pulls away, he takes a seat on the other side of my desk where I’m guilty of drinking him in the same way he did me.

  Kane freakin’ Alexander.

  Amanda was not lying.

  He certainly is the exception to the rule when it comes to how good-looking Shawn’s friends are. Perhaps the word friends should be used loosely. I haven’t heard Kane Alexander’s name mentioned in years. As a mere acquaintance, I can’t understand what business he could possibly have with me.

  “So—” I begin until I’m cut off when the door swings open and a blushing Amanda waltzes in carrying a silver tray topped with a pitcher of iced water and two glasses. While her smile remains plastered on her face, her eyes are glued to Kane, but his stare is still firmly fixed on me. The corners of his lips tilt ever so slightly, probably taking pleasure in my apparent discomfort. We both wait patiently as Amanda does her job—albeit slower than usual—and when she finally leaves, closing the door softly behind her, I release the breath I’ve been holding. I can guarantee that Kane’s trip into my office will have had every lady turning their head to catch even the smallest glimpse of him.

  I’m almost certain Amanda is on email, alerting others of what we don’t see here every day. To his full lips that look and no doubt taste like sin, to his dark eyes that stare deep into your soul, Kane Alexander is the type of figure you’d carve when creating the perfect man. His long-sleeved shirt is rolled to his elbows, showcasing strong, corded arms—they’re always my weakness. The type of arms that could easily lift me up, hold me against a wall while wicked things happen to me. On top of that, Kane’s manners have always rivaled that of Mr. Darcy, but no doubt behind closed doors those tasty lips would be responsible for some very dirty things. Beautifully sketched tattoos grace his skin, disappearing under his shirt. I wonder just how much of his body is inked.

  “It’s good to see you,” I start again, my voice taking on an unfamiliar pitch. “What brings you by today?”

  Kane’s eyes finally break away from mine and I watch as they move around my beautifully decorated office. A finger taps a beat on his knee while my palms grow sweaty. Why is he having this effect on me?

  “How’s Shawn?” he finally asks, eyes meeting mine.

  His question has me straightening, my heart racing at the sound of my husband’s name.

  I swallow hard and he notices.

  “He’s… he’s doing great. Work is keeping him busy.”

  A small frown creases his brow and I wonder why. “Is that so?”

  Why would he not believe me?

  “You’re a busy man yourself. I’m sure you can appreciate that.” Shawn and I may be over, but I will never speak ill of him. Even though our relationship is well beyond dire straits, I’m yet to find its cause. I’ve already gone through the motions of playing private detective, and the only thing I found was more frustration on my end. No random lace panties in his briefcase, no unknown numbers or suspicious emails. Shawn crosses his T’s and dots his I’s, and if there is another woman involved, he has to have her locked in a basement somewhere because I simply cannot find anything incriminating. That isn’t to say I haven’t completely ruled it out.

  Kane rests his chin on his hand, a long, tattooed finger gently tapping his chiseled jaw. He carefully considers my words, and, for a fleeting moment, I wonder why he’s so invested.

  “You haven’t told me why you’re here. Or is it just to inquire about my marital status?”

  Kane smiles and it’s disarming.

  “I’m actually here for your services.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve been watching your work for quite a while now, and I’m impressed with the fit-out at the Germaine Hotel.”

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling a blush color my cheeks. The Germaine Hotel was my best work yet, and offered me a great distraction from some of the hardest months of my marriage when all I wanted to do was curl in a ball and cry. “Are you looking at re-decorating your house?”

  “Perhaps further down the line, but for now, I have a business project I want you to add your… Blythe touch to.” He says my name like I imagine he would during sex and I shiver with delight.

  A small smile tugs the corners of his mouth when I clear my throat and smooth my blouse.

  “Well… I’m flattered you consider my work with such high regard. I’d be happy to work with you on it.” I reach for my notepad. “I’ll just need to get some details. “What style are you aiming for?”

  When he does talk, I look up through my lashes at him. The intensity of his narrowed stare has me heating from the inside out. And if that isn’t bad enough, it’s a rumble so erotic, I have to press my thighs together.

  “Think… opulence. Sex. A feast for the eyes and a pleasurable assault on the senses.”

  I swallow hard, his challenging eyes never leaving mine.

  “That’s quite a description.”

  “And that’s toning it down.”

  Oh.

  I wipe my sweaty palm on my shirt. “Well, ah… I’ll need to grab some details. Perhaps I can arrange a time with you this week to
come see the business, and I’ll bring—”

  “That’s the catch,” he says, slowly. “You’ll have to do all this blind.”

  My brows crease in confusion. “I’m sorry… blind?”

  “I can have my assistant send through very detailed specs. I’ll ensure they’re thorough.”

  I don’t know what to say. This has never happened before. Kane’s asking me to work wonders in design when I’m not even permitted to see what the canvas looks like.

  Scratching my temple, I collect my thoughts. “Well, for best results, I really should see—” I stop in my tracks when Kane slowly shakes his head.

  “I’m aware my restrictions will only make your job harder, but…” he leans forward, elbows on knees, “that’s why I came to you. People know your name for a reason.”

  I shake my head gently, attempting to break his hold on me. “And your budget?”

  His eyes twinkle as he stands, his broad shoulders and height engulfing me. “Don’t have one.”

  “That sounds…” I trail off and then change directions. “What did you say it is you do again?”

  He smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth as he holds the door open. “I didn’t.”

  “HERE, YOU LUCKY BITCH.”

  I spin on my heel and face Amanda who’s holding out a brilliant bouquet of pink and deep purple flowers. Placing my handbag back on the desk, I take the gift.

  “Who are these from?”

  “There’s no card. I checked. I asked the delivery, but he didn’t know. Isn’t it your anniversary this weekend?”

  My thoughts race back to the morning and the altercation with Shawn.

  Had he had a change of heart?

  Could he actually be interested in reconciling?

  “Where’d you go?” Amanda eyes me suspiciously.

  Not wanting to delve into my marital issues, I ignore the question. “It is this weekend, and the flowers are exquisite.” I want to tame the surge of hope by beating it with a stick, but it feels too good to ignore.

  “I can’t remember the last time I was given flowers,” Amanda pouts while crossing her arms.

  “The men who give them are a dying breed, I assure you. When you find one, don’t let him go.” Unless he lets go first. “Hey, listen…” I say, changing subject before it gets too heavy. “When the files come through from Mr. Alexander’s assistant, can you forward them to me? Doesn’t matter what time.” I hook my handbag over my shoulder and balance the bouquet with my free hand. “I’m extremely curious as to the mystery surrounding this file. And no peeking. I don’t want any spoilers.”

  “That man can spoil me as much as he likes,” she says, failing to hide her filthy smile.

  “Says every woman he’s graced the presence of.”

  Amanda raises a brow. “Including you?”

  I laugh lightly. “I’m not immune to his charms. I am, however, married.” For what it’s worth. “So, that’s your best shot.” I start heading out the door. “Remember to send through the files as soon as you get them. I don’t care how late.”

  “Heard you the first time, boss lady.”

  Thirty minutes later, I pull into the drive and stare at the bouquet which has perfumed my car. Then my focus falls on my beautiful home, which in the twilight glow is even more welcoming.

  But home for how long? I don’t know.

  Closing the front door behind me, I see Shawn sitting at the counter studying a long message on his cell, a scotch poured, the bottle ready and waiting for the next. This scenario isn’t unusual, but it happening at this time of day is, considering he often doesn’t make it home until after I’ve gone to bed. He also said he wouldn’t be home, so him being here raises suspicion.

  With his back to me, I place a gentle kiss on his cheek and he flinches. I step back, unsure why he’s reacted so strongly.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” he says curtly. I look behind me to the door and then back to my husband. How had he not heard me close the door, and my heels on the polished concrete? He seems rattled and whatever he’s been reading on his cell certainly is the cause of it.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, cautiously.

  “Fine,” he dismisses, downing the rest of his scotch before pouring another. Shawn still hasn’t turned to greet me, so I circle the counter and place the bouquet on top.

  “Nice flowers,” he says, turning his cell off before running a hand over his face. He looks like shit. Stress is eating away at any charisma he has left. Perhaps my presence alone is enough to cause such a reaction.

  “Thank you,” I say, touching a silky petal between two fingers. “I didn’t expect them.”

  He frowns, shaking his head slowly, his aqua-blue eyes locking onto mine.

  “Blythe, those flowers aren’t from me.”

  In that moment, I recall how my name sounded coming from Kane Alexander’s mouth compared to that of my husband just now.

  I go to rebut, but close my mouth, realizing I’ve brought another man’s bouquet of flowers home and my husband hasn’t even batted an eyelid. I stop touching the petals, feeling like it’s a betrayal. A betrayal against the man I married, but it can no longer be called a marriage. The hope I’d had earlier crumbles like an avalanche.

  If these aren’t from my husband, there’s no reconciliation, no peace treaty, no white flag.

  I take his crystal glass and quarter-fill it with scotch. Downing it in one hit, I pour another and lean against the fridge. “Why are you home early?” The words are loaded with hurt and anger.

  He studies me for a moment, eyes empty of all emotion. “I’ve come to tell you I won’t be home for a week.”

  A week. He’ll miss our anniversary.

  You’re a foolish woman.

  Why do you care anymore? Because someone has to.

  My anger spikes. “You’re leaving? For a week?” I ask, shaking my head at his downright incredulous behavior. “It’s our anniversary, Shawn. I understand we seem to be heading in vastly different directions without love for each other, but once upon a time, we did love. I still do. And if you have one ounce of love left for me, you’ll ensure we spent our anniversary together.”

  There’s a flicker of remorse before it dissolves, hardened eyes now staring back at me. When he doesn’t respond, I continue, straightening my shoulders in defiance, “If this is how you want it, fine. I won’t be here when you come back.” I push off the fridge and take to the stairs two at a time when I hear him following close behind. I quicken my pace wanting to be as far away from him as possible. I reach the bedroom, and as I go to slam the door behind me, he jars it open with his shoe.

  I spin to face him with all my fury. His large body fills the space, his broad chest heaving. We’re both angry but for very different reasons.

  “Don’t make rash decisions, Blythe.”

  I take a step forward and push against his chest. When he doesn’t move, I do it again, this time, a pained scream escapes my lips, tears blurring my vision. When I go to hit a third time, he wraps his fingers around my wrists and turns me so my back is against his chest. He restrains me by wrapping strong arms around mine. Shawn breaths heavily against my cheek, his lips tasting my tears. When I struggle, he tightens, and for a moment we’re caught in a bittersweet embrace. We haven’t been this physically close in almost a year and now that we are, it’s simply due to hurting one another. His hold becomes less about restraint and more nurture, if only for the briefest of moments. My legs grow weak, and he lowers me gently to the floor where I sob quietly. Black-stained tears falling on my hand tell me my mascara is running, but I don’t care.

  “How can I change your mind?” I whisper.

  “You can’t.”

  “Then we’re finished, Shawn. I don’t ever want to see you again.” I say the last few words with as much authority as I can muster.

  “Give me until I get back, we can talk then.”

  I shake my head. “No. I’ve given you a year…” I breathe in heavi
ly. “A whole fucking year of being treated worse than a stranger, of not being touched, of not being loved by my husband. I didn’t choose this life, Shawn. And I don’t choose this life for when you decide to come back.”

  He crouches next to me, his hand gently tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

  I’m helpless to stop him.

  “Give me a week, and I’ll come back and explain. Just one week.” He thinks when I don’t answer that he’s won. He hasn’t. I simply choose to no longer fight. Shawn moves to the edge of the bed, and I wipe angrily at my cheeks. “But perhaps you could explain something to me.”

  When I don’t answer, he takes it as his cue to continue. I don’t owe him any explanation… for anything. “Tell me why Kane Alexander was at your office today.”

  I would have normally laughed it off had it not been for his accusatory tone.

  “Kane Alexander came to see me of his own free will. I had nothing to do with it.”

  “So, why was he there, Blythe? It’s a simple question that should come with a simple answer.”

  The nerve of him. My hardened stare meets his. “What are you implying? That I’m cheating?”

  “Not my words.”

  “You asshole.” I push to my feet, kick off my heels and turn on the bathroom light. I stand in front of the mirror staring at my ruined makeup and bloodshot eyes. I’m a mess, inside and out.

  Shawn stands at the door, his face meeting mine in the mirror. “He was at your office today and you arrive home with a very expensive bouquet of flowers. What am I to think?”

  “It’s nice that someone cared enough to buy me flowers, Shawn.”

  His palm slams against the door and I jump with fright. “This isn’t a joke, Blythe.”

  “Do you see me laughing?”

  “Why was Kane Alexander at your office today?”

  I want to ask how he knows I had a visitor but my husband is already too riled up.

  “Not that it’s any of your concern, but Kane visited today because he wants me to redesign one of his businesses.”