Arrogant Devil

by R.S. Grey

  “No! No, it’s fine.” I smile covertly down at my coffee. “We’ve sort of come to an understanding, an equilibrium.”

  “Equi-what? Y’all are getting along now?”

  His tone from earlier leaps to mind. “I don’t think you’d say that exactly. It’s like when a baby tiger and a baby pig grow up together to be buddies in adulthood, but you just know deep down that it might all blow up the next time the tiger skips a meal.”

  “Huh…okay. But he’s not upsetting you anymore?”

  “No.” A flush warms my body. “He’s not upsetting me.”

  After we finish, I clear the table and start prepping lunch for tomorrow. I’m technically off the clock, but I don’t want to go back to the shack just yet. A part of me is still hoping Jack will come down, act like his usual arrogant self, and put me out of my misery. Just one little teasing comment from him and I can go on home and keep myself occupied for the rest of the evening.

  The sound of a truck pulling up out on the gravel drive takes my attention from the cutting board. That’s another thing different about the country—gravel is the universal doorbell. Alfred barks like crazy at the sound. It could be one of the ranch hands, but they all left an hour or two ago so I doubt that’s who it is. I wipe my hands with a kitchen towel and go investigate. There’s an ominous feeling in my gut, like something bad is about to happen, but when I step out onto the porch, I’m surprised and relieved to find Tucker hopping out of his truck.

  It’s weird, but a part of me was worried it’d be Andrew.

  I shake away the fear and trot down the steps to greet him. He’s in full lawyer mode, wearing slacks and a white dress shirt. His tie is a little loose, as if he tugged on it the moment he left the courthouse. His blond hair is short and neatly styled.

  “Tucker, the knight in shining armor himself! Here to see Jack?”

  He furrows his brow. “Of course not. I came to see you.”

  Me? I’m not sure why I’m surprised he’s here for me, but I am. I know we’re supposed to go to the wedding together, but a part of me half expected him to forget the invitation. It’s not like we’ve talked since he first mentioned it. That’s my fault; I didn’t give him my cell phone number, but it was a strategic move on my part. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I’m not currently dating. Hell, I’m not even divorced. I have a whack job ex sending me flowers, and I’m currently loopy over a dark-haired devil who seems to be avoiding me.

  Before I get splattered, I quickly step off the tracks of that train of thought and accept a quick hug from Tucker.

  “Oh? Well it’s good to see you,” I tell him, motioning back to the house. “I just brewed a pot of decaf, there’s a little left if you want some?”

  The screen door creaks open behind me. Speak of the devil. Jack steps out onto the porch, and I swallow down my nerves. He’s the complete antithesis of Tucker: dark and foreboding, a menace to society. His short dark hair is slightly mussed, and he’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. His expression is so steely and aggressive against Tucker’s honey-sweet smile, and it’s like an old western standoff—the desperado in black against the righteous lawman.

  “Tucker. Good to see you.” His tone says the exact opposite.

  “Such enthusiasm! You do know it’s my job to tell when people are lying, right?”

  He ignores Tucker’s jab. “What can I do for you?”

  “Nothing. There seemed to be something wrong with your phone system, so I thought I’d come out here myself to have a conversation with Meredith, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Of course,” he answers, but he doesn’t leave, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Tucker. He shoves his hands into his jean pockets and leans against the porch beam at the top of the stairs.

  When I turn back, I can tell Tucker’s trying hard to keep his temper from flaring.

  “Tucker?” I ask, trying to regain his attention and diffuse the situation. I’m seconds away from snapping my fingers or flailing my arms.

  Hey, remember me? The girl you’re apparently here for?!

  He finally turns to me and his expression softens. “I tried to call you this week, but Jack didn’t seem to want to pass along the message.”

  “My secretary is in Europe,” Jack calls from the porch, his tone a touch defensive.

  “And I guess you didn’t have a pen and paper handy?” Tucker shoots back quickly.

  “I don’t have time to pass notes.”

  Oh, come on. This is ridiculous.

  I step toward Tucker, trying to block his view of Jack. “It’s fine. I’m here now. What were you going to tell me?”

  “I just wanted to confirm that you still want to go to Dan and Leanna’s wedding with me.”

  “Oh, right.”

  He must sense my hesitation because he continues. “I know we don’t know each other well, but I think it could be fun.”

  Jack is standing behind us, listening to this exchange. I nibble on my bottom lip. Yeesh. This is awkward. I’m sure Edith is upstairs peeping through the blinds. Alfred is smart enough to keep his distance, and most of the farm animals have probably run to the barn to bury themselves in hay.

  “Unless you agreed to go with someone else instead?” he asks, gaze shifting pointedly to Jack.

  His meaning is obvious. I don’t need eyes on the back of my head to know Jack is currently scowling at the idea of accompanying me to an event. Just the mental image is preposterous. Me in a fancy dress, him in a suit…our hands linked…his warm breath on my neck as he leans in close to pay me a compliment instead of an insult.

  “No!” I’m quick to reply, pricking the fantasy with a pin. “I don’t have another date, but…”

  A part of me wants to turn Tucker down and be done with all this, but the fact is, I was actually really looking forward to attending the wedding. It’s been a while since I’ve gone to an event like that and not been terrified of upsetting Andrew, and I was going to get dolled up and wear the fancier of my two thrift store dresses. Everyone I’ve met so far in Cedar Creek is going to be in attendance, and then there’s obviously the most important part: wedding cake. Maybe I’ll volunteer to help dole it out and they’ll let me go home with some leftovers. Oh no, I couldn’t possibly…But we insist!…No, I actually can’t—my purse is already completely full of cake.

  “Good.” He grins, relieved that I’ve agreed to go with him. He really is cute, like a little blond cherub all grown up.

  “I can meet you there. Edith and Jack are both going so I can catch a ride with them.” I’m trying to wrap things up because I’m aware of dark eyes beaming lasers into the back of my head. Sniff sniff—is that the smell of burning hair?

  Tucker doesn’t like that idea; I can see it in the way his jaw shifts and his eyes narrow just for a split second as he decides to force the issue. “I’d prefer to pick you up. I’ll swing by here at 5:00.”

  “Well I’m so glad this all worked out,” Jack says sarcastically, effectively ending the conversation. “It was great to see you, Tucker. G’bye now.”

  What he means is, Get the hell off my property. If he had a shotgun, he’d pump it.

  Tucker chuckles and shakes his head, trying to assure me that Jack doesn’t ruffle his feathers. He does move to leave, but not before he bends to kiss my cheek and whispers in my ear, “Looking forward to Saturday.”

  It’s a slightly dirty tactic on his part. I wonder if he ever gives the judge a little peck in the courtroom. Your honor—mwah—I rest my case.

  I stand there as he drives off and when I turn back, Jack is gone. He’s back up in his office with the door closed.

  That no good, rotten…

  I march right in.

  “What was that?!”

  “I’ll have to call you back,” he says before hanging up his phone.

  “Why were you so rude down there? You’re Mister Busy Busy Bee all day, but apparently you had time to moderate my conversation with Tucker? You stood over us
like the Grim Reaper.”

  He watches me stomp around and shout with a steady, narrowed gaze. “Done?”

  “Not even close.”

  “Tucker and I don’t get along.”

  Ya think!?

  “Yes, obviously I understand that now. Why didn’t you just tell me that instead of acting like that down there?” I force a deep breath and attempt a calmer tone. “If you don’t want me to go with him to the wedding, I won’t. I’m not trying to cause trouble.”

  “I don’t want you to go with him.”

  I’m surprised he’s being honest about that.

  “In fact,” he continues. “I don’t think you should go at all.”

  I realize then that we’re both trying hard to stay calm, but it’s a losing battle. He and I burn hot, and this conversation isn’t going to end well. Still, I press on.

  “Are you upset with me?” I ask, slightly embarrassed that my voice sounds so wobbly.

  Throughout all our antics, I’ve never seen him act like this. I have a feeling he’s mad about more than Tucker’s visit.

  He leans back in his chair and assesses me coldly.

  “No, I’m not upset with you. I’d just like to know how long you plan on doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Playing this game. Staying here and acting like you belong.”

  Something twists in my stomach, a feeling as painful as a sucker punch. I don’t like his tone, and I don’t like where this conversation is headed. I’d turn and leave, save myself from the sharp edge of his temper, but he continues before I can move.

  “It’s been almost three weeks. I admit, Helen and I—we thought you’d be gone by now.”

  “What gave you that impression?” My voice is shrouded in confusion. “Haven’t I been a good employee? I work nonstop. I do everything you and Edith ask of me—”

  “Look at it from my point of view. Some rich housewife from fucking California shows up on my doorstep with blood on her face, asking for a job. The only intel I have on her is that she’s a spoiled girl with a history of dramatic, short-lived gestures. The only reason you’re here is as a favor to your sister—a favor I’ve regretted ever since I granted it.”

  “Why’s that? Haven’t I done everything you’ve asked me to? Scrubbed your floors? Put up with your shit?”

  “You’re a distraction.”

  “For whom?”

  I know he’s referring to his ranch hands, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he might be included in there too. I won’t let him skate by that easily. If he wants to hurt me, he’d better do it with the truth.

  He sidesteps the question. “I think it’s time for you to go home, don’t you? I saw those flowers in the trash. I read that note.”

  I step toward his desk, shifting my pain to anger. “That’s none of your business. If you want me gone, look me in the eye and tell me I’m not good at my job. I don’t think you have one legitimate reason for hating me, just a bunch of secondhand bullshit from other people.”

  My hands fist by my sides and my upper lip curls. His brown eyes are shooting daggers as we stare across his desk at one another.

  “It just doesn’t make sense. What game are you playing? You’re not from here. You have no real family, and the family you do have wasn’t thrilled to hear you’d shown up. No real friends. There’s no reason for you to be here anymore.”

  “Sounds like you’ve figured it all out. You know exactly who I am, Jack.” I add in a condescending round of applause.

  “Flirting with the ranch hands, accepting dates with Tucker—does your husband know you’ve already moved on? I bet not.” He pauses for just a beat. “Yeah, I have a pretty good idea of who you are, Meredith. You have a husband back home worrying himself sick over you, and I don’t even think you care. I think you like the attention, and I think you like playing games with men you have no intention of loving.”

  It’s one thing to stand here and have my faults and failures thrown at me, and quite another to stand here and let him fling baseless accusations at me. He’s decided to play judge, jury, and executioner. He thinks I’m a bored sociopath with a doting husband waiting for me back in California and a trail of idolizers in my wake. To hear him actually say it makes me so angry that my fingernails dig into my skin as I fist my palms even tighter. There’s fire burning up inside of me so powerful, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to douse it. It’s anger like I’ve never felt. If I were a juvenile superhero, this would be the moment I lose control of my power and blow up a city. But, here in reality, the only things I lose control of are the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

  Ever since I married Andrew, I’ve been misjudged and misunderstood by the people around me: my parents, Helen, my so-called friends in California. I’ve dealt with their assumptions and mistruths, and I’ve accepted their loyalty to Andrew over me in stride. Sure, it’s painful, but I’ve tolerated it because I knew the real truth.

  But, to hear Jack so taken in by Andrew’s manipulation from over a thousand miles away is unbearable. It’s the knockout punch. There’s nothing left because now I fully realize that whatever evil is inside Andrew, he’s poisoned me with it. No matter where I go, I’ll carry it around with me forever, ruining my hopes for a new beginning.

  If I weren’t so furious, I think my trembling knees would buckle. My heart is beating so wildly it scares me. I feel numb and tingly and so full of helplessness that I want to scream until my throat is sore and my voice is gone.

  I realize then that Jack is looking at me with new eyes, not quite as full of rage as they were a few minutes ago. It’s obvious my reaction is scaring him—I’m glad. I hope he sees how deeply his words have wounded me.

  “So the story of Meredith is open and shut. Why don’t we move on to you, Jack?” I dig deep to conjure up a wicked, half-crazed smile. “I used to think the rough appearance you wear was all for show. I thought deep down, you weren’t really the demon people think you are. I was wrong, just like you’re wrong about me. You’re the meanest asshole I’ve ever met, which is saying something because I was married to a monster, but you? You might have him beat.” I laugh acerbically. “I even find it all a little hilarious—I escape from hell just to run right into the arms of the devil.”

  21

  Meredith

  Jack’s not at the farmhouse on Friday, and I don’t care to ask Edith where he went—back to the underworld, most likely. I still do my job; I scrub that asshole’s kitchen and I hang up his clothes and I make his lunch and I don’t burn the place down. If anything, that would probably make him more comfortable, sitting amongst the flames and charred embers.

  I think of all the ways I could sabotage his life, from the extreme (poisoning his mouthwash) to the mundane (brewing decaf in the morning so he gets caffeine withdrawal). I replay our argument in his office and insert different responses. A part of me wishes I’d just given him a classic fuck off—simple and straight to the point. Maybe the next time I see him, I’ll say it.

  I know I won’t though. I will be the picture of docile civility. I’ll greet him with a smile and a pleasant hello. I’ll continue being on my best behavior because I won’t do anything he could use as an excuse to fire me. No, that jerk is stuck with me until I decide I’ve had enough, until I find some way to move on. I have one paycheck in the bank, plus my measly advance. Even if I wanted to (which I don’t!), I don’t think I could even afford to get back to California at this point.

  Asking either of my parents to bail me out is still an option, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. As far as they know, I’m still happily married to Andrew, living the sunny beach life. I won’t tell them otherwise until I have some kind of plan for the future. The only thing worse than dealing with Jack would be facing them in my current state. I can just imagine the look of disappointment on my mom’s face. She thought I hit the jackpot when I met Andrew and married young. Before I even walked down the aisle, she admitted how relieved she was tha
t I’d never have to worry about money.

  Oh well. I learned my lesson. I survived Andrew, and now I know better than to depend on a man ever again. I’m going to pave the way for my future on my own. I just need to, y’know, narrow down what that future will actually entail.

  Saturday morning, I wake up early to start getting ready for the wedding. I eat dry cereal while standing at the window of the shack, trying to spot Jack inside the farmhouse. I check the upstairs office window, kitchen window, bedroom window, repeat. He’s nowhere to be found. After that bout of titillating reconnaissance, I do some light yoga to calm my nerves. I don’t know why I have butterflies in my stomach and a weird feeling in my chest—well, other than the fact that I’ll likely have to face Jack at the wedding, but whatever. I can handle him. I have a plan, remember? Polite indifference. Sometimes, a smile says eff you even louder than words can.

  I shower and take extra time with my hair so by the time I’m done, it’s smooth and wavy. I apply my makeup carefully and slip into my dress. It’s dark blue with a triangle neckline and spaghetti straps. The top fits me like a glove, and the skirt flows just a little when I move. I wish I had a nice pair of shoes to wear with it, but I did manage to snag some nude heels at the thrift store. They’re pretty worn down, but hey, they were three dollars, so if they last the night, I’ll call it a win.

  Edith comes to check on me a few minutes before Tucker is due to arrive.

  “Well don’t you clean up nice. Sure you don’t want to cover up though? Maybe grab a cardigan? I have a wool coat you could button up over that thing.”

  “Edith, this dress isn’t even that revealing.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve seen the way Tucker looks at you.”

  “You’re the one who insisted on this date—you practically signed on the dotted line for me!”

  She shakes her head at that, annoyed with me as if I’m missing something.