Choose Me

by Donya Lynne

  I start to shoot Elliott an e-mail only to be interrupted by my ex-husband’s signature knuckle rap on my door. Without waiting for me to invite him into my office, he strolls inside.

  “Dad!” Christian and Rose leap from the round conference table in the corner where they’ve been reading, coloring, and playing video games all morning, waiting for their dad to arrive.

  “Hey, guys!” Phil crouches and hugs them each in turn. “You ready to spend summer in California?”

  Christian nods. “I get to surf this year!”

  I told Christian he wasn’t allowed to surf until he was twelve. He turned twelve this past January, so it’s been all things surfing ever since. He’s been snowboarding, skateboarding, and skiing since he could walk, so he and I both hope the transition from land to water won’t be too difficult. I just don’t like the idea of him in the ocean. That has more to do with me than him. As much as I love looking at the ocean, the idea of being in it or on it dredges up an irrational fear inside me that turns my knees to mush and my heart into a racing engine.

  “I’m hungry!” Rose’s eyes dazzle in that way they do when she’s pouring on the charm in hopes of getting ice cream.

  Phil issues me a scornful glance, arching one eyebrow. “You two haven’t eaten lunch, yet?” He says it as if I’m to blame.

  “You’re two hours late, Phil,” I remind him, pointedly glancing at the clock. “You were supposed to be here at eleven so you could take them to lunch, remember?” I frown as I catch the scent of his cologne. It’s something new, something I’ve never smelled on him before, and it’s a little disgusting—a little too fruity or floral—but if he likes the way it smells, it’s Mia’s nose that gets to wrinkle when he sprays it on, not mine. Thank God.

  “Yes, I remember, Kate.” He snaps my name like he’s shooting a gun with a silencer attached to it. “But when I was late, you should have fed them.”

  I stand and press my palms against the cool, polished wood of my desk. “If you would have called to let me know you were running late, I would have.”

  Phil’s jaw tenses. “I—”

  “Stop fighting.” Christian mopes back to the table and starts halfheartedly shoving his things into his backpack. “You’re always fighting.”

  I hate that my kids have to see me like this. I don’t like arguing with Phil in front of them, but he brings out the worst in me.

  It wasn’t always this way between us, but finding out he had a lover—or was that lovers?—while we were married destroyed any semblance of trust and compassion I once felt for him. I doubt I’ll ever know the extent of his cheating, but I’m certain Mia wasn’t the only woman he cheated on me with.

  I’d love to find a way to fire Phil, but he’s one of Freedom’s best salesmen, and my dad has made me promise not to fire him just because our marriage fell apart. But Dad retires tomorrow, and as of Monday, I’ll officially take over as CEO of Freedom Cycle. Decisions about personnel will be my call, and even though I’ve promised not to boot Phil without good cause, it doesn’t mean I won’t find good cause once I’m running the ship. Then all bets are off.

  My father has always been a lot more understanding of my ex than I am. His patience with Phil was—and still is—enough for both of us. Then again, I got my mom’s temperament, which carried more fire than my dad’s.

  At least Phil rarely visits the office now that he lives in California with the woman—one of the women—he cheated on me with, which makes dealing with him a little easier. He only finds his way back to Denver three or four times a year.

  Today is one of those times.

  I glare at Phil then force a smile as I join Christian and Rose at the table and help them load up their backpacks. Then I hand Christian the keys to my car. He’s the older of the two and usually gets the task of watching over his little sister. “Why don’t you and your sister go out and grab your things from my car while I talk to your dad for a couple of minutes? Okay?”

  “You’re not going to fight again, are you?” he asks.

  “No, honey. I just want to talk to him alone. Work stuff. Now go on and look after your sister while I finish up in here.”

  It’s not all a lie. I do want to talk to Phil about his sales figures, but I can’t promise we won’t get into another argument.

  The kids don’t know the truth about their dad. I’ve made it a point not to talk about his infidelity around them, and I told Phil not to, either, but I think Christian is beginning to suspect the truth. He’s a pretty smart kid, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s putting two and two together. Damn Phil for making my kids grow up so fast. I’d hoped to keep them innocent longer than this.

  Once Christian and Rose leave my office, Phil closes the door.

  “You look good, Kaykay.”

  Kaykay was his nickname for me while we were married because of my initials. Katherine Kelley. But I finally changed back to my maiden name, Clayton, two weeks ago, and he knows that. No doubt he’s trying to get a rise out of me.

  He sits in one of the two wing chairs on the other side of my desk and rests his ankle over his knee. His gaze rakes me from head to breasts to waist and back up.

  He’s definitely trying to get a rise out of me.

  “Cut the crap, Phil. And don’t call me Kaykay anymore. It’s K.C. or Kate to you, but not Kaykay.”

  “Whatever. You still look good. Can’t I compliment my ex-wife?”

  “No.” Sick bastard.

  We’ve been divorced almost six years, but he still comes on to me like we’re married. Does he really think I’m going to sleep with him given our history? Or is this just his way of trying to intimidate and exercise control over me. He always did enjoy using sex as a weapon. Something I didn’t realize until after our divorce, when I opened my naïve eyes and took a good, long look at our marriage.

  He sighs and relaxes into the chair, folding his hands over his stomach, looking at me like I’m as much a bane to his existence as he is to mine.

  I sit back down and toss the hard copy of the latest quarterly report across the desk for him to look at. “What’s going on in your territory?”

  He picks up the report and scans it, frowning. “What’s this?”

  “The numbers for the last quarter.”

  He scowls at the report like it’s written in a foreign language then tosses it back onto my desk. “I’m in sales, not finance. What exactly is your point?”

  “The numbers are off for your region, Phil. Sales are up, profits are down.”

  “So?”

  “So? I need to know what’s going on.”

  “How am I supposed to know? Ask Elliott.” He scowls contemptuously at me, and I can almost hear his thoughts. He’s not used to being questioned and doesn’t understand why I’m all up in his business.

  While my dad is a brilliant businessman, numbers aren’t his forte. He preferred glad-handing and visiting customers to reviewing financial reports, so he left all the accounting to Elliott’s department. I’m more of a numbers person, which means not only will Elliott get to see a lot more of me than he did of my father when I officially take over next week, but Phil and the other salespeople will, too, if their numbers fall off the way Phil’s have.

  I huff out a heavy sigh and lean back in my chair. Questioning Phil directly about his sales probably just let the cat out of the bag that Dad’s going to be stepping down soon, but I’m angry, so I’m taking my frustration over the numbers out on Phil.

  “I will ask Elliott, you can count on it.” I swipe the report back and drop it to the side.

  “Is that it? Is that all you’ve got for me?” Phil pushes forward in his seat, poised to rise. “Can I go now?” He says it like I’m a prison warden and he’s just been released from jail for a crime he didn’t commit.

  I don’t answer him. “Christian and Rose are probably waiting, and all they’ve eaten since breakfast is a banana and some yogurt I scrounged from the refrigerator in the break room, so make sure the
y eat a good lunch. No ice cream until after they’ve eaten.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Kate, I know how to feed my own goddamn kids. You act as though I’m completely incapable of taking care of them.”

  “Just make sure they eat something good, Phil.” I know if I don’t stress this, he’ll probably just pump them full of whatever they ask for, and I don’t want them boarding a jet in a few hours hopped up on greasy fast food and hot fudge sundaes.

  He curses and clenches his fists on the arms of the chair then pushes himself to a standing position. “If you’re so goddamn concerned about my parenting skills, why do you even let the kids come stay with me during their summer vacation?” He marches toward the door then stops with his hand on the doorknob, growing violently quiet. “Oh that’s right,” he hisses, turning blazing, narrowed eyes on me. “You want the kids out of your hair for the summer so you can whore yourself all over Denver while they’re gone.”

  I explode out of my chair. “Excuse me!” I think I just ruptured a blood vessel.

  He spins to face me. “Don’t deny it, Kate. I’ve heard what you do during your summers without the kids. About the men you date while the kids are gone.” He says the word date like he’s slapping me in the face with it. “How every summer, you hook up with some random guy, spend the summer fucking him, and then break it off when the kids come home so they don’t find out what a slut you are.”

  I don’t know how he knows all this, but I circle my desk like a one-woman stampede and slap him across the cheek before he knows what hit him. “They are not random guys, and I do not spend the summer fucking them.” That’s a little white lie, but what I do or don’t do—whether sexual or not—stopped being any of Phil’s concern the day our divorce was finalized. “And even if I were, it’s none of your business, you hypocrite. How dare you judge me! You. The one who cheated on me all over California, Arizona, and God knows where else. I still don’t know how many women you fucked around with while you were supposed to be married to me.” I slap my open palm on my chest. “But I know it was more than just Mia.” Mia Dawson. His live-in girlfriend. The tramp he had an affair with. No wonder he insisted on visiting the California territory as often as he did during the last two years of our marriage. “So don’t you dare preach to me about who I can and can’t sleep with, Phil. At least I’m not doing it in front of the kids.”

  “And that’s supposed to makes you a saint? I don’t want that shit around my children, Kate.” He always refers to them as his kids when we argue, as if I had nothing to do with their birth or their upbringing.

  “Well, I didn’t want infidelity around our kids, either, Phil, but that didn’t stop you from bringing it into our home, shattering my trust, and destroying my life, so fuck you and what you do or don’t want! You don’t have a say in my life anymore. If I want to fuck every man in Colorado, that’s my business, not yours, so fuck off.”

  Guilty menace simmers inside Phil’s burning gaze the way it always does when I hit him with the truth of what he did and how it affected me. I think there is a grain of remorse hidden deep inside him somewhere, or maybe he just knows he’s a complete and unredeemable asshole and wishes he weren’t. It doesn’t really matter. We’ve hit a stalemate in our argument and are glaring silently at each other.

  Finally, he yanks open the door. It slams against the wall. “Do whatever you want, Kate. I don’t give a shit.” He storms out without another word.

  My assistant stares wide-eyed and pale-faced as he passes her desk. It’s apparent she heard the whole argument. Every awful word.

  Raw anger rises within me, but I force it down as I follow him. I’m not going to let him leave with Christian and Rose before I’ve said good-bye to them, and I can’t say good-bye when angry adrenaline is raging like the bulls of Pamplona through my body.

  Outside, the kids are waiting next to my car, their faces buried in one of their video games. When Christian looks up, he frowns sadly.

  “You guys fought again, didn’t you? You told me you weren’t going to fight.” He scowls at me, and guilt rankles the skin on my back. I’m sure my red-mottled face is the dead giveaway to what happened between Phil and me while he and Rose waited out here in the parking lot. I always get blotchy with hives when I’m pissed off. Like I’m allergic to anger or something.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” I sigh and pick up his and Rose’s suitcases while Phil retrieves his rental car. “I didn’t mean to. But just because your dad and I have a hard time getting along doesn’t mean we both don’t love you and that you’re not going to have a great time in California this summer.”

  “Will she be there?” Rose asks, wrinkling her nose.

  Neither Christian nor Rose are particularly fond of Mia, either, but not because of anything I’ve said to them.

  “Yes, Mia will be there. She lives with your dad, remember? And I want you to be nice to her.” Just because I can’t stand the woman doesn’t mean my kids can behave like they weren’t raised with good manners.

  “Are they going to get married?” Christian does the nose-wrinkling thing, too.

  “I don’t know, honey. Maybe.” I’m surprised they’re not married after being together for six years. Eight years, actually, counting the two-year affair they had before our divorce. Then again, maybe that’s how they both like it. This way, they’re both free and clear to screw around with whomever they want without having to go through a nasty divorce if things don’t work out.

  Phil pulls his rental car up behind my red Audi A4 and pops the trunk. A Dodge Charger? Really? I should have known. He always rents muscle cars. Chargers, Challengers, Camaros, Mustangs. His company car is a Chevy Impala, so he uses car rentals as an excuse to have a little fun. I swear to God, if Phil’s dick wasn’t as big as it is, I’d think he was compensating for a small weenie.

  He clambers out from the driver’s seat and wordlessly helps me load the kids’ luggage into the trunk.

  “Is that everything?” Phil asks, glancing between Christian and Rose, avoiding my gaze.

  I check the trunk and back seat of my car again just to be sure we didn’t miss anything. “That’s all of it.”

  “Good, then let’s go.” Phil opens the back passenger door for Rose.

  She starts to climb inside but I rush forward. “Hey, wait. Not before I hug you good-bye.”

  Rose stops and turns back around, holding out her arms. I swoop in and give her a tight squeeze.

  “I’m gonna miss you guys.” And I will. Despite my less than matronly plans for the summer, I’m going to miss my kids like crazy.

  I hug Christian, marveling at how big he’s getting. By the time he comes home, he’ll probably have grown another two inches.

  “You be careful out there surfing,” I say, kissing his cheek. “And send me lots of pictures, okay?”

  He nods. “Okay.”

  “Promise?”

  He smiles sheepishly and nods. “Yeah, Mom, I promise.”

  As they climb into the car, I stand back and hug myself. Those are my babies, and even though I’ve said good-bye to them this way every summer for the past six years, it doesn’t get any easier.

  “I love you,” I say, leaning down and peering inside the open windows, blowing them kisses.

  “Love you, Mom!” they both call back, waving, as Phil begins to pull away.

  I straighten and fight back tears, watching them go.

  They’ve driven less than twenty feet when I hear Phil shout, “Who wants ice cream?”

  He’s such an asshole.

  I know he’s watching me in the rearview mirror, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. I bite my tongue, suck it up, and smile. Because I know that he’s the one who’s going to have to deal with the tummy aches, hyperactivity, and grouchy sugar crash on the plane in a few hours. He’ll learn. One way or another, he will.

  When the Charger pulls out of sight a few seconds later, I spin for the door.

  I’m still holding in
a lot of pissed-off frustration, and I need to talk to Elliott about those sales numbers.

  And who the hell told Phil how I spend my summers?

  I haven’t exactly made my summer affairs a secret. The men I’ve dated have shown up at the office. They’ve attended our company picnics. And then they stop coming around as soon as my kids return at the end of summer—because I break up with them the week before my kids come home. It’s not hard to guess how someone might have deduced what I’ve been up to every summer since the divorce, but I don’t go around bragging about how much sex I’m having. For all my coworkers know, I’m dating and that’s it. Who would blab to Phil about that?

  I return to my office, snatch the financial reports from the front edge of the desk where Phil dropped them, and march in the direction of Elliott’s office.

  I wanted someone to take my frustration out on regarding these numbers, and poor Elliott’s the one who’s going to feel it. I’ll try not to be too hard on him, because he’s one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet, and his wife is battling ovarian cancer and isn’t handling the treatment well. I can certainly relate to how it feels to watch a family member suffer from cancer, but Elliott is the CFO, and I need answers. If he can’t get them for me, no one can.

  But more than anything, I need to keep moving, and I need to keep my mind busy. Between my dad’s retirement, my changing role in the company, Phil’s insults, the idea of my kids being out of my sight for two months, and the fact that I’m not sure I’m going to be able to go through with my summer fling this year, it’s a wonder I’m still able to stand.

  I’m an overwhelmed mess, and it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.

  Unbeknownst to me, I don’t realize how much worse, but by the end of summer, my world is going to be turned on its head.

  Chapter 3

  Greyson

  According to the same article that said men think about sex only thirty-four times a day instead of once every seven seconds, the average thirty-six-year-old man masturbates only once a week.