I’m further delayed by my rightful wrath-fueled vengeance when I realize my eyes are still disturbingly puffy. I have to lie on my bed for thirty minutes with chamomile tea bags over them until the swelling has gone down enough that I look human again.
I spend another forty-five minutes on makeup that looks deceptively natural, a few minutes on my hair, which thankfully doesn’t need much work, and then I gather all of Armstrong’s things, print out the paperwork Pierce and his colleague sent me regarding the annulment, and call an Uber.
The eyes of my soon-to-be-former colleagues follow me as I strut, head held high, through the office. I feel none of my fake confidence as I spot Savannah sitting at her desk, the very pretty barrier barring my way to Armstrong’s office. She furiously thumb types a message on her phone when she sees me coming, but I pick up the pace, heedless of the pain in my big toe—I’d forgotten how beaten up the nail was after two weeks without heels.
I slam Armstrong’s box of crap on her desk, causing her to fumble her phone. Before she can recover, I snatch it from her desk.
She pushes up and hisses lowly. “That’s mine! You can’t be here!”
I hide it behind my back. “Oh? I can’t be here? I work here, Suzanna.”
“It’s Savannah.” She comes around the desk as I check the message she just sent. It’s a warning to Armstrong that I’m here. Except she refers to me as the Frigid Bitch. I’m far from frigid. She makes a grab for the phone, but I hold it over my head. I’m taller than she is by several inches, so it’s well out of reach.
I recognize that I’m being extremely juvenile, that people are watching this exchange. I should be leaving this job with some dignity still intact, but based on the way people are whispering and looking at me, I have a feeling that’s not the way it’s going to go down, so I’m going to be my best bad self.
“What else would I find if I scrolled through these messages? Huh, Shannon?”
The rapid flutter of her lashes and her wide-eyed, panicked stare indicate that I already have the answer. Her fists clench and release, she takes a step forward, then stops. “Don’t make a scene.”
I laugh. Loudly. If I’m going to embarrass myself, I’m taking her along for the ride. “Don’t make a scene? Don’t make a scene?” I cross my arms over my chest. “I know.”
“Know what?” She’s a terrible liar.
“Oh come on. You’ve been blowing my goddamn husband.”
She blinks like she’s staring at a strobe light. “I-I-I. You’re . . . you . . . I’m not—”
I wave my hand dismissively. “You’re just one of many mouths he likes to put his dick in, so don’t feel special. Speaking of the cheating dickbag, where is Armstrong?”
Her spine straightens. “You’re just jealous because you weren’t enough for him.”
Dear God, I have never wanted to bitch slap someone so much as I do right now. I don’t bother responding. She’s right, in a way. I’m not enough for him, but no one seems to be. How someone can have such a big ego when they lack competence in the bedroom is a real wonder. I’m stunned by how many women are willing to put his subpar penis in their mouth. I have to wonder exactly what these women are getting out of it.
I move around her, toward his office. I have a resignation letter to submit and annulment papers to hand him, since he’s been avoiding them.
She rushes to get in front of me in her hooker heels and her Ace bandage skirt. “He’s not in his office.”
Seriously, her acting skills are weak. “Oh no?”
“He’s in a meeting. You can’t see him right now.”
“Really? Well, Shelly, since I’m still legally his wife, I’m pretty sure I have a right to do whatever I feel like.”
I fake right and she stumbles back a step, clearly afraid of me, which is smart. I’m a bit unhinged right now. I yank open the door, half hoping his meeting is with one of the women he’s cheated on me with.
Unfortunately, it’s not. It’s some plugged-up CEO type who I vaguely recognize.
“Amalie!” Armstrong feigns surprise, his wide eyes darting to Savannah in accusation.
“You pencil-dicked little shit.”
He laughs, as if it’s a joke, and nervously tugs his tie. “I’m in the middle of a meeting, darling. Now really isn’t the time.” Warning puts bite into his tone.
Screw his disapproval.
“It’s too bad I don’t really give a fuck what you’re in the middle of. You know what else is too bad, that you didn’t give a fuck that we were in the middle of our wedding reception when you decided to get a blow job from someone who wasn’t me! And then you have the gall to demote me? You’re a spineless sonofabitch.” I’m surprised I haven’t broken glass with the way my voice rises. I take it down a notch or seven as I address Mr. Plugs. “I’m so sorry to interrupt. This will just take a minute.”
Armstrong lifts a hand to placate him, which is stupid, because I’m about to go off. All these months of pent-up irritation are about to explode out of me. “It’s fine, there’s no need to leave, Thurston.”
His gaze darts back and forth between me and Armstrong. “You clearly have bigger issues to deal with at the moment.”
“Amalie can come back when our meeting’s over, can’t you, darling?”
I flip him the bird. “Don’t you darling me, you cheating ass.”
Armstrong’s smile is appropriately strained as he tugs on his tie. “I’ll have Savannah call you to reschedule.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“But we—”
He stops him with a wave of his hand. “I’ll call your father and explain. I’m not sure a merger with Moorehead Media is in our best interests right now.”
He gathers his briefcase and turns his rueful smile on me. “Miss Whitfield, I hope the next time I see you it’s under better circumstances.”
I return his smile with a fake one of my own. “Me too. My apologies for interrupting your meeting, but I just found out my useless husband demoted me while I was out of the country and he was off screwing around on me with every debutante in New York.” I’m definitely unbalanced. Thank God the door is closed and it’s only Armstrong and Thurston here to witness my spiral down.
Thurston purses his lips and glances at Armstrong, his distaste clear. “I might just stop by your father’s office so I can explain in person why I feel like business with this company is an unsavory option.”
As soon as he leaves Armstrong slaps his palm on the table. “What the hell is wrong with you? You just sabotaged a deal!”
“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” I toss the phone on the desk. “That’s Savannah’s.”
He blinks and blinks again.
“Nothing to say about that?” I cock my head to the side. “How many of your employees are you screwing around with? What kind of incentive are you providing for their services, because it certainly isn’t your exemplary bedroom skills.”
His smooths his tie again, as is his nervous habit. “This kind of childish reactionary behavior is rather beneath you, don’t you think, Amalie?”
“You’re one to talk! Doesn’t demoting me fit into that category?”
“You assaulted me and threatened me. You used my credit card without my permission, destroyed my personal property, whored yourself out during our honeymoon. You’re lucky my lawyer convinced me not to press charges or sue you.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I don’t even recognize the man I’m looking at right now. Or maybe I do. Maybe I chose not to see this version of him, always lurking beneath the pretty, polished exterior. “Who are you?”
“You need to consider carefully how you want to proceed, Amalie. Some things we just need to put behind us, don’t we? Now it’s clear you’re still struggling with how this is going to work—”
“I’m not struggling at all.” I slap the annulment papers on his desk.
He frowns. “What are these?”
“Annulmen
t papers. The same ones you’ve been sent three times, according to Pierce. Sign them.”
“You’re being rash, Amalie.”
“What planet are you living on? How delusional are you? You’ve admitted to cheating on me even though you don’t think blowjobs qualify for whatever convoluted reason. Just sign the papers and this can be over.”
He slides them calmly across the desk and shuffles them together. “I’ll have my lawyer review them.”
I fight with my fists not to slam into his horrible, smug face. With shaking hands I withdraw my letter of resignation from my bag and drop it on the desk. “I quit, by the way.”
“Are you certain you want to do that?”
I don’t understand how he can be so calm. I think he might actually be psychotic. “I’ve never been so certain of anything in my life.” I lean in close, meeting his placid blue gaze. There’s no emotion behind him. Nothing at all. “I hate you, Armstrong. I loathe you. You make me sick, the thought of you ever touching me again makes me want to vomit. If I never see you again it would be too soon.”
“Well that’s not going to happen, is it? Your best friend is dating my cousin. It’s only a matter of time before Bancroft proposes. I’ve heard he’s only holding off because of your unstable mental state.”
His words are a slap in the face. Ruby and Bane having been living together for a while, but it hasn’t even been a year. I can’t tell if this is Armstrong’s way of baiting me, or if this ridiculousness he’s spewing actually has merit.
“And even if he doesn’t propose, we’re bound to be at the same events, dinners, that kind of thing. You’ll come around eventually, Amalie. I’d hoped your time in Bora Bora would have gotten all this rebellion out of your system, but it’s clear you need more time. You should try to get yourself under control soon, before you completely undo all my hard work.” He gestures to my face. “I’m amazed you would leave the house looking like that.”
“You’re unbelievable.” I have to force myself away from him, lest I wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his stupid, unjustly inflated head pops off.
I leave before I can say or do anything else that could get me sued. Or sent to prison.
Eighteen: Home
Lexington
“I’m impressed.”
Those are words I rarely hear from my father. I keep my fingertips pressed against the table so I don’t give away my nerves. “Based on the stats I ran, with the proposed changes we could see an increase in revenue by five percent this year.”
My father taps on the arm of his chair, exactly the way I want to. All the Mills men seem to have adopted that habit. I’m working to curtail it. “Those are excellent numbers.”
“It should also translate into a boost in ratings, putting us back over a four-point-six for the review sites.”
“That’s even better news.” My father leafs through the spreadsheets. “You really put in some serious effort, Lexington. I was worried when you wanted to extend the trip that maybe things hadn’t gone as I’d hoped, but you covered a lot of ground and managed projects I hadn’t intended to tackle until next year. We’re well ahead of schedule. I know this was a difficult situation for you, so I’m glad so much good could come out of it. I’m proud of the way you handled this.”
Instead of coming home when I was finished working on the Bora Bora projects the week after Amie left, I took it upon myself to head to California, with my father’s permission. I spent an additional three weeks planning a similar overhaul to the spa services department there, emulating closely the changes we made in Bora Bora, thanks to Amie’s suggestions.
I haven’t heard from her since she left. Nothing. Not a single text. I figured she’d at least message to let me know she made it home. But it’s been silence since she walked away from me in the airport.
It should be a good thing. We agreed that what happened between us would stay in Bora Bora. It’s far too complicated to bring it back here. She’s fragile. But during the time we spent together it felt like more than just sex and distractions, and that’s not her fault. It’s mine. These are the things I keep telling myself every time I compose a message to ask how she is. I delete it before I give in to the urge to send it. I can’t delete her contact though, even if I should.
If things were different, then maybe . . . but they’re not.
And now that I’m home, back in the same city she is, all those what-ifs are clawing their way to the surface of the mental grave I buried them in.
“So what’s next?”
“You should take a few days off. You deserve it.”
I nearly fall out of my chair. That’s huge coming from my father. But I can’t do that right now. I need to get out of my head. I need something to focus on that isn’t Amie. “I just spent the better part of two months by the ocean, I’m good. I just want to get back to work.”
He’s silent for a few moments, possibly shocked. I’m usually the first one to jump on the chance for a few days of sweet fuck all. “Griffin and Bancroft are working on the New York hotel renovations. Would you like to consult with them about the spa service upgrades you’re proposing in Bora Bora and California and see if anything would work here? I’m sure Bancroft would be happy to have the help with Griffin heading to Asia in a few weeks.”
“I can do that. What about an independent project after that?”
The tapping starts again. “Everything okay with you and your brothers?”
“Everything’s fine.” I’m just worried Bane is going to pick up on things I don’t want him to. We talked regularly while Amie was in Bora Bora, mostly him checking up on me, making sure I wasn’t doing things I shouldn’t, even though I was.
“Give me a couple of days, I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“Perfect. Thanks, Dad.” I gather up the folders, already mentally reviewing what I think will transfer seamlessly from the Bora Bora hotels to New York.
“Lexington.”
I shift my gaze from the stacks of paper in front of me to him.
“This is the kind of work I’ve been waiting for from you. Keep it up.”
This is what I’ve been striving for, and I’m surprised by how much it means to have my dad’s approval and praise on this. I worked hard, despite being a little distracted for a couple of weeks. This proves, not only to my father, but to myself, that I can do this. I can take over this company and make my father proud.
“I can’t take full credit for it. Amalie was a big help.”
He sits up straighter. “Oh? In what way?”
“Revamping the spa services. The best suggestions are hers.”
My father smiles. “Well, I’ll have to send her a thank-you for that.”
“I could do that.” What am I thinking, telling my dad about her involvement?
“You don’t need to worry about that. Just have Ursula organize it. Maybe Amalie would like some services at one of the New York hotels.”
“That would be perfect. I could include Ruby. They could go together.”
“Excellent idea. I feel bad for that poor girl. Your cousin’s behavior has been unconscionable. Your mother is just disgusted with the whole thing.”
“Is Mom okay?” The stress of this would be bad for her emotionally and physically. I spoke to her at least every other day while I was away, but my mother is very good at covering things when she needs to. It’s how she made it through the cancer scare with very few people being aware.
My father drums on the desk. “She’s not talking to Gwendolyn right now, which, between us, isn’t a bad thing, but it’s upsetting your mother and I don’t know what to do about it.”
My father has never been a fan of my aunt, but he tolerates her because he loves my mother. Despite the love-hate relationship my mother has with her sister, she’s always been close to her, as close as she can get, anyway.
“I’d planned to stop by and see Mom this afternoon.”
“I suspected you would. She’s mi
ssed you, as she does.” The tapping resumes. “I would never say this to your brothers, and she would never in a million years admit it, but if there was a favorite . . .” He lets it hang before he switches gears. “She’ll be free this afternoon. She always tells you things she won’t tell anyone else. Take the afternoon off and spend some time with her, that’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
I gather my things and call my mother, who’s ecstatic to have me home and can’t wait to see me. I’m not exactly a momma’s boy, but she and I have always been close. When I was younger and got into trouble—which happened most when I was around Armstrong—she was always the one to come to my defense. I think she felt some level of responsibility for always throwing us together, even though we didn’t always get along.
Since my mother won’t be available for a while and the jet lag is starting to catch up with me, I pack my bag, tell my assistant I’m leaving for the day, and head out. I need some coffee if I’m going to make it through this day.
There’s a nice little café a couple of blocks down and the walk will do me good. I can stop and grab a bite to eat before I call the car. The café is busy, the smell of fresh-baked bread and coffee making my stomach rumble and my mouth water. I join the line, pull out my phone, and check emails out of habit. There are fifteen new ones since I left the office. I review them as the line inches forward, slipping the phone back into my pocket when I reach the counter.
“Hi, Jennie.”
“Lex! It’s been forever! Have you been somewhere warm? You’re so tanned!” She’s in her early twenties with dreads and more piercings than I can count. I like that she doesn’t treat me differently than the bearded hipsters.
“Away on business. Nothing like a beach and a laptop.” I wink.
“So jealous, except the laptop part. The usual?”
“That’d be great. Double espresso, I need the caffeine today, and the Coronation Chicken wrap with the soup of the day, please.”
“Good call. The coconut pumpkin curry is to die for.”
“Everything’s to die for here.” It’s not a chain, which is why I come here.
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