by Kat T. Masen
My inbox keeps pinging, clients wanting to wrap up some last-minute work along with Mr. Becker sending through some new proposals wanting me to a get a head start before I leave for my honeymoon. It’s only two weeks that I will be out of the office, but he’s in a panic, constantly telling me he doesn’t know how he survived before I took this position. It flatters my ego but doesn’t help to ease the burden of the workload.
It’s just before lunch when I sense someone standing in my doorway. Before looking up to confirm my fears, I pray it’s not Slater because I’m still not ready to deal with the situation.
What do I say? ‘You’re kinda hot and sexy, and no woman would kick you out of bed including me, but I love Drew, so take your feelings elsewhere because I’m a cock-tease for wearing a slutty blouse?’
Yep, you’re totally screwed.
I turn my head to see Drew standing in the middle of the doorway. His presence catches me off guard, yet I’m quick to suppress my shock. He’s dressed rather nicely wearing his chinos and a navy short-sleeve buttoned shirt. It’s the shirt with tiny flamingos over it. I remember when he first wore it, I couldn’t stop singing Pretty Flamingo which irritated him to the point he avoided wearing the shirt whenever I was around.
His sunglasses are sitting on top of his head nestled in his perfectly styled hair. I miss him. He still makes the butterflies run wild and flutter like maniacs, but his silence is unnerving. Something tells me now is not a good time to break out into a song.
“Drew?” I stand up to walk toward him planting a kiss on his lips. His body stiffens, and I pull back, unsure why. “What are you doing here?”
“Can’t a fiancé visit to take you out to lunch?” His tone is cold, void of any loving emotion.
“Of course.” I smile, avoiding the angered stare on his beautiful face. “I have a meeting in an hour, but if you give me a couple of minutes I’ll just send this, and we can head out.”
He sits at my table removing his cell from his pocket and placing it on my desk watching me intently. His jaw is firm accentuating his prominent cheekbones. I only notice now he hasn’t shaved giving him that rugged look of a man experiencing the worst hangover ever. Drew isn’t a big drinker, so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s irritable due to Saturday night’s bender.
“So how was Saturday night?” I ask typing quickly so we can get out of here before Slater walks in. The adrenalin is fueling my nerves and half-listening to Drew, I hit send knowing Mr. Becker’s waiting for me to respond.
“Fun, I guess,” he says, keeping his voice low. “And your night out? Did you do anything interesting?”
“Mia took us out to some male strip club, but the men were questionable. They knew the lyrics to Like A Prayer down to every syllable.” I laugh, switching my attention back to him.
He continues to watch me, barely a smile on his face. His eyes won’t back down piercing me with daggered stares like I’ve done something wrong, something for him to be angry about.
“Is something wrong? You’re awfully quiet.”
Drew doesn’t say anything, and to curb the nervous energy, I go on about the wedding plans hoping to change his mood. It doesn’t seem to do anything, and I send my final email before looking up and seeing Slater in the main area with two of our clients. They’re early. His eyes meet mine dancing delightfully with a playful smirk on his lips. I give him a quick smile back until Drew notices and turns his head to see what I’m looking at. Instantly, I see his pupils dilate, the rage bouncing off him as he turns back around clenching his jaw.
“I think our clients are early,” I tell him, trying to read what Slater’s mouthing to me. Whatever he’s telling me doesn’t make sense. I’ve never considered myself talented when it comes to reading lip reading. “I’m sorry, can we rain check lunch?”
Distracted by where they’re walking to, Drew’s voice, rather growl, startles me. “I think we need a break.”
I shuffle my head back into position, eyes wide and mouth open as I try to comprehend what he’s just said. “Excuse me? A break from what? Each other?”
“Where were you on Saturday night?” he demands, rather than questioning.
Slater is standing at the entrance of the meeting room beckoning me over.
“I told you already. Drew, I really have to go.”
“Answer me, Zoey.”
“We went to dinner then the club.” I can feel the heat rising from my skin. I’m a terrible liar but know it’s best to keep this a secret from Drew. Besides, Mia will never tell him that we went there considering she knows how angry he would get.
“I didn’t think you’d tell me.” His facial expression turns into hurt. He rises from the chair, the same time I catch his arm, and instantly he recoils. “I guess you better head off. Slater needs you… again.”
“Drew, nothing happened. I’d never cheat on you. Let me explain… Mia just…”
He shakes his head releasing a short, disturbing laugh. “There’s nothing left to explain, Zoey. You were at Slater’s apartment. End of story. I’m going to be staying at Isaac’s until I can figure out what I want.”
“What you want?” I almost cry. “You don’t want me?”
“Zoey, I just… I need time apart… to think.”
“Because you don’t trust me?”
“Yes. No. Because of many things,” he answers, sadly.
With his back to me, I see his shoulders slump as he walks out of my office leaving me to stand still, burdened by shock. I don’t understand what just happened. He wants a break. Somehow, it’s leaked that I was at Slater’s apartment. But what doesn’t make sense is Drew’s sudden jealousy. He was never this person. Okay, granted the time that Jess was at Mia’s wedding or when Noah slept over, but aside from that he’s generally a laid-back guy.
This wedding should be bringing us closer, but instead, it’s tearing us apart.
I lower my head swallowing hard as my chin begins to tremble. We’re supposed to be getting married, enjoying our last moments before tying the knot. And now, we’re breaking up or whatever Drew calls it. I have no idea. My mind and heart are clueless as the punches came hard and fast knocking me about.
As if on auto-pilot, I grab my laptop and walk to the meeting room where Slater stands. The second he sees my face, he quickly ushers me back out of the room stopping just shy of the door. “Gentlemen, would you excuse us for a minute?” He latches onto my arm until we’re inside his office when he closes the door behind him.
“Zoey, what’s wrong?”
My eyes begin to water, yet I refuse to break down at work and in front of Slater. I’ve already cried in front of him, but you can blame the tequila for that one.
“Okay, so you won’t talk, and I’m guessing the man in your office was Drew, and he delivered some not-so-good news.”
“He wants a break.” I choke back the sobs trapped inside my chest. “From us, from the wedding. It doesn’t matter. A break is a break. It’s a hop-skip-jump away from a break-up.”
“Zoey.” Slater touches my arm attempting to calm me down. It doesn’t do anything but stream guilt. “I’m sorry, we need to begin this meeting. We have a lot riding on it. Will you be okay in there?”
I nod my head with a forced smile.
He returns the gesture, his face lighting up instantly. “How about I take you out afterward? A few drinks won’t hurt, and you can do that thing women love to do when they’ve had a few drinks.”
“Talk nonstop about why life is unfair and how the Dallas remake will never be the same as the original?”
Slater laughs placing his arm around me as he leads me back into the meeting room. “Patrick Duffy looks ripe for his age.”
“A silver fox.” I laugh, happy to get my mind off things if only for a moment.
We close the door to his office and walk back to the meeting room when I see Drew standing just outside my door. His expression is mixed with anger and resentment. Holding up his cell, he grits through the word
s, “I left my cell.”
Torn between my obligation to my job and the man who’s supposed to be my husband, I call his name hoping he will tell me this is stupid, and we’ll talk things over at home.
But he doesn’t.
Keeping his gaze tight, and his jaw locked firmly, he glares from me to Slater and shakes his head, bowing his eyes. “I guess I was right all along. That’s what happens when you fall in love with a woman who never thinks you’re enough.”
His word’s stab me every which way possible, the emotionally-delivered speech straight from the heart that confirms my worst fears.
We are over.
Chapter Nine
Drew
It’s been the worst twenty-four hours of my life since Dad passed away.
After Troy left me to fend for myself at the club, I wandered off to find Raine, sitting down beside her as we watched a young couple fucking this old madam. It does nothing for me besides clear my head from the whirlwind of emotions wrecking through me with such force.
Raine and I keep our conversation flowing, but she doesn’t mention anything more about her feelings toward me. I’m glad because a girl practically throwing herself at you at a sex club is difficult to ignore.
And my irrational behavior of late always seems to land me in some hot mess. I don’t want that mess to be inside Raine’s pussy.
I am many things—a cheating scumbag is not one of them.
As the night wore on, Isaac stayed back engrossed with the show still happening in room five. Robert disappeared without a trace, and without our cells in hand, we have no clue where he wandered off to.
Troy left as he stated, so we hang around and decide to leave in the very early hours of the morning. The sun’s almost up, and the fact I have to work tonight does nothing to brighten my mood.
The streets are quiet. Sounds of birds chirping and a street sweeper in the distance are the only thing we can hear.
Isaac sits on the curb lighting a cigarette while I wait with Raine a few steps away.
“I’m heading home now. It’s been a long night,” I tell her, yawning on cue.
Despite being trapped all night indoors, she still looks sexy with her makeup perfectly applied, unlike some of the women I used to date. Mascara running and smudged lipstick make for a very unattractive bed partner.
Raine rests her hand on my shoulder, her eyes tracing my lips as she murmurs with a hoarse voice, “Home as in your apartment?”
“Nah, I’ll probably crash at Isaac’s.” The second it left my lips, I instantly regret it.
“Oh,” she mouths. “I don’t have to be anywhere. My mom has the boys.”
I’m not sure where she’s going with this. Okay, I fucking knew where she’s going, but I have to squash this before it becomes a bigger deal. That hot water is standing in front of me wearing a sexy dress that could easily be slid up around her thighs while she’s being fucked against a wall.
And this is why you’re going to hell.
“Raine,” I speak carefully, keeping my tone low. “I can’t, okay? I’m not that guy.”
Immediately, she takes a step back, her face sullen and lips quivering. It takes a few moments for her to smile, albeit forced, and find the courage to speak. “Of course, you can’t.”
Raine doesn’t say any more. Moving forward she leans up to kiss my cheek before walking down the street with her head bowed. I realize she’s by herself, her date disappearing somewhere through the night.
I felt terrible for making her think I’d easily cheat on Zoey and need to reevaluate my actions when I’m sober.
Isaac and I catch a cab home, crashing instantly until Troy turns up after lunch with our cells.
“Looking for these, boys?”
He’s holding up our cells, and I gladly take mine from his hand to find absolutely nothing on the screen. No messages or calls from Zoey. Not one single thing from the woman who has a severe case of verbal diarrhea. Like a possessed demon, I tap through my social media posts to see if she’s updated her status or has responded to anything in the last day. There are a number of videos she shared—all having something to do with bacon—and an eighties pop quiz she completed with a score of one hundred percent.
My hand clenches the cell before tossing it onto the table. Opening the refrigerator, I look for something decent to eat or drink to nurse the massive hangover. Nothing but beer, Coke, and something moldy with extra lifeform growing on it.
“Do you want to know what the girls did last night?” Troy asks, making himself comfortable at the table.
I shrug. I don’t really care anymore, and my head’s hurting so much, my eyes squint to alleviate the pain.
“They went to some strip club, but the guys didn’t strip, they just danced in thongs.”
How cliché. No wonder Magic Mike made a killing.
“Wow,” I say flatly. “Sounds exciting.”
“That’s what I said. No wonder Mia fell asleep on Slater’s couch for an hour.”
The persistent throb stops, and the dead silence filling the room echoes the sound of my brain ticking and overworking a million miles a minute trying to compute what he’s just told me.
“Why was Mia asleep on Slater’s couch?”
“She dropped off some contract that Slater had asked Zoey for.”
I clench my teeth, not wanting to ask the question that began burning the moment he said his name.
“What time was this?”
“I think after midnight,” Troy answers loosely. “After the club.”
Troy stands up removing a Coke from the fridge and opening the can. The fizz bubbles over, and Troy’s quick to place his mouth on the rim to catch the excess soda.
“Why are you looking at me that way?”
“Where was Zoey?” I grit.
He scratches his thick beard staring back with confusion. “She was with Mia. She’d been drinking, so Mia had to drive.”
I can’t take it anymore, grabbing my phone I tell them I may be back. I race home—on foot—arriving to an empty apartment. I rummage through Zoey’s stuff from last night looking for anything, some sort of indication to tell me she’d fucked him. I have no idea what I’m looking for and, of course, I don’t find it. Instead, I find a stack of invoices on the bedside table for the wedding. Quickly reading through each one, I can’t believe the dollar amount I’m seeing.
The rage blinds me, and my inability to think straight is tarnished. My heart’s pumping so fucking loud, and the heat crawling along my skin has me out of breath.
First, she wants to spend the night with Slater after I blatantly told her to stop spending time with him. And then, she goes and spends all my hard-earned money on a fucking wedding that isn’t going to happen. I’m beyond livid. Grabbing my scrubs and a basic bag of stuff, I head back to Isaac’s to kill time until work beckons.
I need time to reevaluate things.
Time to figure out what the hell I want.
And a lying fiancée isn’t one of them.
I knew one thing. I need to see and hear it for myself. That means going to see her at work.
***
Straight after last night’s shift with no sleep and a wired brain, I make my way to her office block to finally confront her. She’s shocked to see me, and equally shocked when I tell her I know about her spending the night with him. There’s panic on her face, but she’s quick to deny that anything happened. Perhaps my guilty conscience has gotten the better of me. She has no idea what I did on Saturday night. And if she did know, would she treat me the exact same and question my fidelity?
I tell her I want a break because I need it. I hated being an insecure person. That boat fucking sailed years ago. That introvert shell with overweight and insecure Drew attached to it, is a thing of the past.
Or is it?
I may be fitter and more intelligent, but my emotions are that of a twenty-four-year-old man lost in a world that seems big and scary. Dad will be rolling over in his gra
ve if he sees how I’ve been acting.
As I walk away, the tears threatened to fall down her beautiful face, her eyes glassing over and her posture’s stooped, rubbing her wrist as she often does when she’s anxious.
It pained me to watch her hurting yet I’m hurting just as much.
And then, as I step outside, I realize I’ve left my cell on her desk.
What I don’t expect is to walk back in and find him touching her. The smile gracing her lips fucking breaks me. And I’m too upset to do anything about it. I know Zoey isn’t a vindictive person or would purposely hurt me, but everything points to that fact right now.
My chest aches, heavy like lead. Turning inward, I find myself withdrawing mentally while walking outside. The cool breeze graces my numb skin, and seconds later, everything switches to anger.
Heart not hurting but hating.
Blood not draining but pumping with rage.
I go home to grab more things throwing my bag onto the bed which misses hitting the bedside table but knocking her lucky gold pineapple to the floor, smashing it into pieces. Fuck! The sound echoes in the room, and my reflex is weak, unable to save it. I know I’m hurting, but I am not a fucking idiot. Despite my heart wanting to hate her, I know what this pineapple means.
I finishing packing my things and then find a Post-It note and pen writing on it ‘I’m sorry’ and picking up the pieces and leaving it on the bedside table.
I leave it all behind—the memories of us—and head back to Isaac’s.
I throw myself into work that night, the only thing I can do until the texts roll in, all from her.
Zoey: I don’t understand this break.
Zoey: Nothing happened with Slater.
Zoey: Please, Drew, I love you.
Zoey: I’m heading home now. Please come home tonight, so we can talk properly.
Zoey: YOU’RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE FOR SMASHING MY PINEAPPLE!!!
I should have responded there and then that I’m many things but an asshole isn’t one of them. I’m not thinking clearly, and my head has to be completely and one hundred percent on my job. I can’t afford another almost mistake. This is my passion—what I was born to do—so for tonight, I have to ignore that we’re on a break, and she probably ran to him because I supposedly smashed her pineapple.