Hate Notes

by Vi Keeland

  She turned around and smoothed out her dress. “How do I look?”

  How do you look? You look like you’re mine.

  I made a conscious effort to un-ball my fists. “I told you. You look beautiful.”

  I felt her staring at me but couldn’t meet her eyes. After a minute, I turned to walk away. “Have a good night, Charlotte.”

  I should’ve gone home. But I didn’t. Like an idiot, I went to the bar that my buddies and I used to go to before I met Allison. I have no idea what I was thinking, but whatever it was, it was a stupid fucking thought.

  I guzzled the third drink; it was watered down enough to taste like shit but still did the trick. Digging in my pocket, I tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and spoke to the bartender. “I’ll take another.”

  “You sure? You’re downing ’em pretty fast there, buddy.”

  “The woman I’m fucking crazy about asked me to help her zip up the sexy little dress she wore on her date tonight.”

  The bartender nodded. “I’ll keep ’em coming.”

  While I was drowning my sorrows, a woman slipped onto the stool next to me. “Reed? I thought that was you.”

  I squinted, trying to figure out where I knew her from. Her face was familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  “You don’t remember me?” She pouted. “Maya—Allison’s friend. Well . . . ex-friend, I guess it would be, technically.”

  My eyes dropped to her rack. I should’ve started there. She was pretty enough, but it was her massive tits that no one could forget. I remembered Allison used to talk shit about her all the time—how they had to be fake, how she should be a stripper—yet she was always nice to her face. That should’ve been my first sign that the woman I was dating lacked integrity. I’d been so fucking blind.

  I was halfway to drunk and all the way to a depressing emotional wreck, so I couldn’t even properly cover up what had caught my attention. Maya didn’t seem to mind. She thrust her breasts forward proudly and flirted. “I see you remember me now?”

  I ignored her comment and gulped back the contents of my glass. “Ex-friend?”

  “Yep. We had a fight a few months back. Haven’t spoken since.”

  I nodded. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about Allison.

  The bartender came back over and spoke to Maya. “What can I get you?”

  “I’ll have a Long Island iced tea. And whatever he’s having.” She pointed to my glass. “His next one is on me.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Maybe not. But we’re celebrating.”

  I looked over at her. “What are we celebrating?”

  “Both of us being rid of that bitch Allison.”

  Maya stumbled getting off the stool. We’d definitely had too much to drink. “I have to go to the little girl’s room.” She giggled. “Save my seat.”

  “Sure thing.” Last call had been almost a half hour ago. The bar was nearly empty. It wouldn’t take much effort to reserve her stool.

  I finished off my drink. We’d been sitting in these same spots for a long time. Maya had actually turned out to be pretty nice. While I had no desire to discuss Allison, she’d filled me in on their fight. Apparently my ex went out with a guy Maya had dated a few times, even though she knew they were seeing each other.

  Alcohol usually made thoughts fuzzy. But for some reason, it made mine clearer tonight. The more I reflected on the woman I’d asked to marry me, the more I realized she’d actually done me a favor by dumping my ass. The woman I thought I’d known was loyal and sweet. They say love is blind, but apparently in my case, it was deaf, dumb, and blind.

  I waved at the bartender to get his attention. Screw last call. I needed another drink.

  Everyone was fucking dating—Maya, my ex-fiancée, Charlotte . . . I was the only celibate asshole these days. Maybe that’s what I needed—to get laid. Make me forget all about the blue-eyed optimist wearing a sexy little black dress while she’s out with some asshole tonight.

  Maya returned from the bathroom. She really was pretty, even without looking south of her face. She smiled from under her thick lashes—big brown eyes batted what was unsaid. Instead of planting herself back on the stool, she sidled up to me, pushing those massive tits up against my arm.

  “I always thought you were too good for Allison.”

  I looked at her lips. “Oh yeah?”

  “You know what else I think?”

  “What’s that?”

  Her hand went to my thigh. “That there’s no better revenge than your coming home with me.”

  She was absolutely right. Allison would flip out if she found out I’d slept with Maya. The problem was—I didn’t give a fuck about Allison or getting revenge. And while my dick really wanted to go home with her anyway, I just didn’t have it in me.

  I covered her hand with mine. “You’re beautiful, and you have no idea how tempting that offer is. But there’s someone else.”

  “You’re seeing someone?”

  I shook my head. “No. But I’d still feel like I was cheating.”

  Maya stared at me for a moment, then pushed up on her toes and kissed my cheek. “I hope she knows what a lucky bitch she is. Because Allison sure didn’t.”

  I felt like absolute shit the next morning. After cancelling my eight o’clock meeting at the last minute and going back to sleep for an hour, I dragged my sorry ass to the office.

  A delivery guy was at the front desk just as I walked in. The acid in my sour stomach burned my throat as he spoke. “Delivery for Miss Charlotte Darling.”

  The receptionist signed for it and took a tip from the petty cash box as I stared at a dozen yellow roses.

  I’m such a fucking idiot.

  Such an idiot.

  A celibate fucking idiot.

  I’d turned down a night of revenge sex when Charlotte was out doing something to earn a few hundred bucks in roses. My ass, she went out with a friend. I’d known she had been lying. Steam should’ve been coming out my nose and ears for how hot I suddenly felt.

  The receptionist picked up the phone. I assumed it was to call Charlotte. “Don’t call. I’ll deliver them to Ms. Darling’s office for her.”

  I thought about shoving the vase in the garbage and passing right by but couldn’t resist seeing Charlotte’s face when I delivered them. She was on the phone when I barged in. “Delivery for you.” I plucked the card that was stapled to the cellophane wrapping. Sarcasm dripped from my tone. “Here, let me read you the card since you’re so hard at work.” I ripped the tiny envelope open as she tried to rush the person off the phone. Clearing my throat, I read, “‘Great catching up. Hope to see you again soon. Blake.’”

  Blake? Sounds like a total douchebag.

  Charlotte hung up the phone and leaned over her desk to swat at the card in my hand. “Give me that.”

  I pulled it out of reach and held it up over my head. “I didn’t take you for an easy lay, Charlotte. Guess I was wrong.”

  Her face turned crimson. “What I do during my personal time is none of your business.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. If your personal life interferes with your work, it’s most certainly my business.”

  Her hands shot to her hips. “My personal life has not interfered with my work.”

  “Getting these flowers delivered today is an interference. You’re distracted and that affects your work.”

  “I think you’re the one who’s distracted.”

  Charlotte marched from behind her desk and climbed up on the guest chair next to where I stood. She ripped the card from my hand and leaned her face down to mine. Our noses were almost touching. “Jealousy isn’t flattering on you, Eastwood.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I gritted through my teeth.

  A slow, evil smile spread across her face. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I told you how handsome Blake is?”

  I wanted to wipe that smirk right off her face—by jamming my tongue into her mouth. “Cha
rlotte, don’t screw with me . . .”

  “Screw?” She leaned in closer, our noses actually touching now. “So you do want to talk about Blake?”

  “For heaven’s sake!” Grandmother’s voice interrupted our screaming match. She slammed the door behind her so the three of us were shut inside Charlotte’s office. “What is wrong with the two of you? The entire office can hear you yelling at each other.”

  Fuck. I raked my hands through my hair. This woman made me crazy. I’m the guy telling people to pipe down when they start getting too loud in the office—not the guy who has to be told to shut up. By my grandmother, no less. The last time she’d had to reprimand me was probably when Max and I fought over a toy as kids.

  Charlotte spoke first. “Iris. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize we were so loud.”

  “Get down off that chair,” Grandmother snapped. She was pissed.

  Charlotte climbed down and stood beside me. We both waited with bowed heads for the wrath we knew was coming.

  “The two of you need to grow up.” She turned her attention to me first. “Reed, you’re my grandson, and I love you very much. Although you’re a horse’s ass sometimes. Life dealt you a shitty hand, yes. But that doesn’t mean you fold. That means you take a deep breath and pull all the crappy cards you’re holding, toss them in the center of the pile, and grab four new ones. Have some balls, son. Don’t fold like a wimp.” She turned her attention to Charlotte and her voice softened. “And, sweetheart, we live in New York City. There are two things we don’t have to chase after: trains and men. Because there’ll always be another one ready to pick us up right behind the first.”

  Grandmother turned on her heel and reached for the doorknob. Glancing back over her shoulder, she continued. “I’m going to leave now, and I’m going to shut the door behind me and give you two a minute. Then I expect you both to be back at work as usual.”

  After Iris left, we looked at each other. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for the way I acted.”

  “Apology accepted. And I’m sorry for calling you a narcissistic bastard.”

  My brows drew down. “You didn’t.”

  She smiled. “Oh. Well, I thought it, then.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re nuts, Darling.” I extended my hand. “Friends?”

  She put her little one in mine. “Friends.”

  I walked to the door and opened it, but Charlotte stopped me. “Reed?”

  I turned back.

  “I’m not easy. Nothing happened between me and Blake.”

  She was trying to make me feel better, but it only made me feel worse. Because I heard the unspoken word missing from her sentence.

  “Nothing happened between me and Blake—yet.”

  CHAPTER 28

  CHARLOTTE

  “Here are the expense-report summaries on the Hudson property that you asked for.” I placed a file on the corner of Iris’s desk. She had papers strewn all over. Even though it was almost seven in the evening, it didn’t look like she was leaving anytime soon.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  I nodded and turned to walk out but had to say something. “Iris?”

  She looked up. “Hmm?”

  “I’m really sorry about this morning. It was totally unprofessional, and it won’t happen again. I promise.” Unexpectedly, tears welled in my eyes.

  Iris took off her glasses. “Shut the door, Charlotte. Let’s talk.”

  She walked from behind her desk and sat on one of the four oversize upholstered chairs that faced each other on the far end of her office. “Have a seat.”

  I’d never been nervous around Iris before. This was the woman I’d spilled my guts to within the first three minutes of meeting her in the ladies’ room. Yet my palms were sweaty, and I had to fight the urge to wring my hands.

  “Do you want to talk about it? You know that anything you tell me is between me and you, right?”

  “I do.”

  “Tell me about the man who sent you those beautiful flowers. Is your heart torn? Maybe you want to move on but you’re struggling? I know you care about Reed.”

  “Yes. No. Yes.”

  Iris smiled. “Clear as mud.”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I’m not struggling or torn. Blake is a guy that I knew in college. I went out with my friend last night and ran into him. We talked for a little while. He asked me out, but I said no. The flowers were nothing more than him trying to get me to change my mind. But I didn’t exactly explain that to Reed when he saw the flowers. He got the wrong impression, got jealous, and I liked the way that felt.”

  “I see.”

  “Every time we start to get close, he puts up this wall.” I began picking imaginary lint off the arm of the chair I was sitting in. “I’ve tried to get him to cross the line by . . . well, he’s your grandson so I don’t want to freak you out. But let’s just say that he’s rebuffed every advance that I’ve attempted, even the half-naked ones. I’ve even gone as far as telling him I was going to go out with Max.”

  “Because you thought making him jealous might get him to react?”

  I shook my head while staring at the floor.

  “Well, normally I’d say that a man who doesn’t show his interest without games is a player and not worth your time. But we know my grandson’s struggle isn’t about being a bachelor who doesn’t want to settle down. He’s afraid to burden someone he loves with his condition.”

  “That’s the thing. Reed thinks he’s a burden. But the truth is, he has a burden, and it’s easier to handle when it’s shared.”

  Iris stared at me. “You’ve really fallen for him, haven’t you?”

  A warm tear slipped down my face as I nodded. “I know he cares about me, too. I can see it.”

  “You’re right. He does. The two of you fight like an old married couple, flirt like you’re in high school, and confide in each other like you’re lifelong best friends. My grandson isn’t pushing you away because he’s afraid to fall for you. He’s pushing you away because he already has.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Keep pushing back. However you need to. He’ll come around. I just hope it’s not too late when he does.” Iris reached out and took my hand. “You’ve been hurt before, and with Reed you’re fighting another uphill battle. Don’t forget to put yourself first. Push Reed, but keep pushing yourself, too, Charlotte.”

  The more I thought about my conversation with Iris, the more I realized she was right. I needed to push myself, keep working on the things that I’d let slip over the years. So I vowed to at least make progress on my Fuck-It List each and every week, no matter how small that might be. Digging out the list I’d printed and tucked away in my drawer, I poured myself a glass of wine and sat at my kitchen table, ruminating over which item I should work on first.

  Sculpt a Nude Man.

  Dance with a Stranger in the Rain.

  Learn French.

  Ride an Elephant.

  Go Skinny-Dipping in a Lake at Night.

  Well, that one I can cross off, can’t I?

  Find my Birth Parents.

  Make Love to a Man for the First Time in a Sleeper Cabin on a Train Ride Through Italy.

  I’d added a new entry to my list last week while sitting in the back of an Uber on the highway and watching the big rigs glide down the road.

  Learn How to Drive an 18-Wheeler.

  I chewed on my pen cap while deciding what to tackle first. There was one that I kept coming back to. Honestly, it was time.

  Find my Birth Parents.

  I’d been curious about my biological parents my entire life. My mom and dad had always been open about the fact that I was adopted, and they’d encouraged me to talk about it. Yet I was always afraid that if I did, I’d make my parents feel like they weren’t enough, when in fact they were more than enough. They were everything a child could have wanted. Somehow, though, that still didn’t plug the hole I had from not knowing anything about my
family history. I wanted to know my birth parents’ story. Had they been young? Had they loved each other? I also wanted to let them know that I was okay—that the decision they’d made was the best one for me, and that I’d turned out pretty good.

  Finishing the glass of wine, I took a deep breath and picked up the phone.

  It rang once.

  Then a second time.

  My mother answered on the third ring.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Charlotte? Is everything okay?” I heard the panic in her voice. I called every Sunday afternoon like clockwork, but it was Friday night now.

  “Yes. Everything is great.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, that’s good. What are you up to this evening?”

  “Umm . . .” I thought about chickening out. But then I thought about what Iris had said—“keep pushing yourself.” “I’m actually making a list of things I want to do. Sort of like a bucket list but not, since I’m not sick or old.”

  “Are you sure everything’s okay, sweetheart?”

  I’d called off-schedule and started talking about making a bucket list. I should’ve realized that she’d be alarmed. I needed to explain myself better, or she’d be worried. “Yes, everything is really good, Mom. I just . . . I kind of forgot who I was when Todd and I were together. I sort of merged into his life and put things that I wanted out of life on the back burner. So I made a list of things I wanted to do, to remind myself to live my life for me. If that makes any sense?”

  “It does. And it sounds like you’ve done a lot of soul-searching. I’m happy to hear you say you’re going to focus on yourself. I hope none of the things are too dangerous, though.”

  “They’re not.”

  Mom stayed quiet for a long time. She knew me. “Is there anything on your list that I might be able to help with?”

  I took another deep breath. “Yeah, Mom . . . there is.”

  “I’ve been thinking about taking a trip into the city. Why don’t I come in on Sunday, so we can talk in person?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Okay. How about around noon, then?”

  “That’s perfect.”

  We talked for a little while longer, skirting around the issue we both knew was on the horizon. She asked the usual—about my job, friends, finances. Right before we hung up, she said, “Charlotte—you have nothing to feel guilty about. I know you love me.”