“Hi,” the fuckhead says and even tries to shake my hand.
“Yeah, go fuck yourself,” I tell him and turn back to Amy. “What the hell is this? I thought we were going to try to work things out and now you’re moving in with some little bitch? What the fuck?”
“Eric,” she says, “we grew apart a long time ago.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t even know this guy? How long have you two even been seeing each other and you’re moving in with him?”
Dickhead thinks it’s a good idea to take a step toward me, and I’m hoping he takes another.
“You’re going to want to step the fuck back or you’re going to be breathing through your fucking eyelids,” I threaten.
He’s apparently smart enough to realize I’m not joking, so he takes a step back. He’s apparently stupid enough to think it’s okay for him to still be in my apartment.
“We’ve been together for a while,” Amy says. “You know I like to have a backup plan when things are going rough, and well, Cortland and I are—”
“I’m sorry, hold on a second,” I interrupt. “You’re leaving me for someone named fucking Cortland?”
“Just calm down, buddy,” he says and tries to pat me on the shoulder.
That’s a mistake.
I swat his hand away and put my finger in his stupid fucking face, saying, “You try to touch me or come near me one more time and they’re going to be scraping your ass of the pavement with a shovel, do you understand me? Amy, what the fuck?”
“Look,” she says, “you’re great and everything, but Cort is someone I can see myself growing old with.”
“You said that exact same thing to me last night,” I told her and I turn to Cort, adding, “yeah, when we were fucking.”
“Have some class, man,” Cort says, though this time the only movement he makes is backward.
“So this is it, then?” I ask. “You’re moving out, just like that?”
“I’m not moving out,” she says. “Cort’s moving in here.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere, so it looks like we’re going to have a fun little situation, aren’t we. I sure hope no one strangles you in your sleep, Cort, that’d be a bummer.”
“No, you’re moving out,” Amy says.
“I’m on the lease,” I argue. “You can’t just kick me out like this.”
“You haven’t paid the rent in two months!” Amy says. “We had to go month to month six months ago, and Chris,” our landlord, “was happy to put Cort’s name in your place when he not only paid for this next month’s rent, but the last two months when you were sitting on the couch crying like a little bitch that you couldn’t find anyone that wanted to hire you. Jesus, have some self-respect.”
“I’m not going,” I tell her. “This is bullshit, and I don’t know how you think you can just take over my apartment when it was mine before we ever even knew each other. I just got a job, Amy,” I tell her. “It doesn’t have to go this way.”
“Yeah,” she says, “it does. I think it’s time to say goodbye, now, Eric.”
“At least let me grab some of my shit,” I tell her. “You’re not just going to throw me out and take all my stuff in the process.”
“It’s already packed up,” Amy says. “The movers will be here any minute and they’ll take your stuff wherever you want them to, although I’m not sure how much room that’s going to leave you in whatever shitty hotel you end up staying.”
“You know what?” I ask, but quickly realize that I have nothing to follow the question.
“What?” Amy asks.
“Forget it,” I say, making the motion of washing my hands. “I’m done.”
“Yeah, you’re done,” she says. “Nice of you to pretend like it’s your idea. I’m sure that’ll help you through your lonely nights where you only have a box of tissues and your left hand to keep you company.”
With that, she slams the door in my face and locks it.
I should at least be able to grab my stuff, so I pull out my keys and try to unlock the door. Instead, I end up pounding on it, shouting, “You changed the fucking locks?”
“Will you keep it down?” Mrs. Hathaway from down the hall asks, poking her head out of the door. “Some of us are trying to watch our shows.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hathaway,” I tell her, but go right back to knocking on the door.
It creaks open as far as the chain will let it and Amy seethes, “Wait down the hall. We’ll let you know when the moving guys are here. Until then, I’d suggest you get a real job and go fuck yourself.”
“Amy, we were talking about getting married. How can you do this?”
“We were talking about getting married when you were getting jobs that I didn’t have to put in quotation marks,” she answers. “I’ve found someone who’s going to be able to provide for me and my lifestyle, not just for a couple of weeks, but for the rest of my life. Do you think I’m really going to give that up to stay with your broke ass?”
“Amy, come on,” I tell her. “I love you. Don’t do this.”
“You know, Cort actually went to college. You might want to think about that someday,” she says and closes the door on me again.
This is the worst day of my life.
* * *
“I don’t see what you’re so upset about,” Alec, one of my workers and probably the only friend I have left, says. “You landed the job today, and come on—we both knew Amy has been sleeping around for a while now.”
I look over at him across the pool table, saying, “You knew this was going on?”
“You didn’t?” he asks. “I told you when the two of you got together that she’s all about the pocketbook, man. I don’t know what you’re doing with yourself that you never saw that, but it’s hardly news. I mean, when the two of you first met, what was the question she asked before she agreed to go on a date with you?”
“Oh, come on, who remembers that sort of thing?” I ask.
“I do,” he says, “and I know for a fact that you do, too. I don’t know why you’re still trying to ignore the facts, man. She’s never been good for you. Plus, she turned you into a withering idiot.”
“Gee, thanks,” I tell him. “We used to be happy, man. It’s only been recently that things have started getting rocky between the two of us.”
“Oh, come off it, man,” he says. “What did she ask you before she agreed to go out on that first date with you?”
I sigh. “She asked what the square footage of my apartment was,” I answer.
“Yeah, and what did she say when you told her?”
He’s got a point here, but I’m really not in the mood to be mad at her yet. That’s at least two pitchers of beer off. Right now, I just want to wallow in my self-pity and dejection.
To make matters worse, I don’t really like beer.
“I don’t remember, I’m telling you.”
“She said, ‘Well, I guess that’ll work for now, but I like my men to have more to offer. You’re lucky you caught me in the middle of a dry spell.’ Does that sound familiar?”
“I know what she said, okay? Can we just talk about something else?” I ask. “How’s Irene? How are the kids?”
“They’re a nightmare,” Alec answers, laughing. “All of them. Listen, you’ve got to find a way to get over this or else you’re going to be worthless for god knows how long.”
“I’ll be fine,” I tell him and I take my shot, knocking the eight ball straight into the corner pocket.
Unfortunately, it’s on the second shot of the game.
“And that’s another twenty bucks for me,” Alec announces. “You want another game, or am I going to overdraw your account?”
“Don’t get too cocky,” I tell him. “You know it takes me a couple of games to get going.”
“Eric,” he says, “this is game number seven. How long does it take you to warm up, really?”
“Shut up,” I tell him. “So you’re telling me that
I should just ‘get over it,’ huh? You know, I hadn’t thought of that. It’s so simple, elegant, and I’m sure it’s going to be just that easy.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, “as your friend, employee, and life coach—”
“Yeah, I don’t remember signing up for that last one,” I interrupt.
“As your friend, your employee, and your life coach,” he continues, “I’m here to help. Get out your phone.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Oh, just shut up and grab your phone.”
I pull my phone from my pocket.
“All right,” he says, “take down this number: 555-8928.”
“And whose number am I putting into my phone?” I ask.
“Oh, she’s great. You’re going to love her. Just send her a message.”
“I’ve been single for like four hours,” I tell him. “I’m really not looking for a blind date.”
“Just send her a message,” Alec says. “From what I understand, she’s DTF.”
“What’s her name?” I ask.
“Uh…” He’s looking through his phone which is doing very little to inspire confidence. “You know me with names. She’s in my phone as chick to help Eric get the fuck out of his stupid relationship, but I don’t think that’s her proper name.”
“I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet,” I laugh.
“I don’t know,” he says finally. “Just send her a message.”
“How do you know her?”
“It’s Irene’s friend’s sister,” he tells me. “I’ve never met her or anything, but Irene tells me she’d be right up your alley. She’s driven, dedicated, total control freak. That’s your type, right?”
“Which friend?” I ask.
“Uh…” Alec responds, looking through his phone again. “It’s the blonde one.”
“You’re really making me feel like this is a good decision,” I chuckle. “Really, I’m inspired, and you know what that means…”
“No way,” Alec says. He knows exactly what’s coming. “I’m nowhere near drunk enough to fully appreciate you humiliating yourself.”
“It’s happening,” I tell him as I walk over to the jukebox and pick the one song that bothers Alec more than anything else in the world.
Let me be really clear on that point: It doesn’t just bother him more than any other song in the world, but every other thing in the world.
That said, I don’t enjoy it any more than he does. The only reason I can stand it is because I love seeing him tormented to the point of madness.
After all, what are friends for?
So, the music starts and with the first note, Alec is actually dry heaving. I used to think it was just an exaggeration, but no, I’ve made the mistake of being too close to him when the song starts going.
He ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes.
So, as the first terrible words to Nickelback’s “She Keeps Me Up” come over the speakers, I rack up the balls and tell him, “Double or nothing.”
It’s not fair, but he should be able to turn down the bet. The problem for Alec, though, is that he’s the type who needs to prove that he can handle himself in any situation.
Continually proving that he can’t tickles me.
“You’re on, asshole,” he says and, as long as I can make it through this game without completely screwing myself, I’m about to break even on at least one thing today.
* * *
So, it’s the first day renovating Lady Bits—incidentally, my favorite store name ever—and I’m stuck here waiting for the rest of my crew to show up.
José’s waiting here with me, but everyone else is taking their sweet-ass time showing up. Rather than just standing around looking like we’re the biggest waste of money in the world, José and I start moving things out of the work area.
Jessica, the long-haired, leggy, brunette store owner comes over. Her face is almost identical to Evangeline Lilly’s. Maybe this gorgeous woman could be my rebound to get my head out of this stupid breakup fog.
She’s smiling right until she sees that it’s only two of us.
“Hey,” she says. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”
“They’re coming,” I tell her. “They had to stop off for some materials, but they should be here pretty soon. What can I do for our beautiful client today?”
“I was thinking,” she says, trying to hide the fact that she’s blushing. “Would it be too much trouble if we were to extend that window even farther, like all the way around the corner, at least by a few feet? That way, people could see what we’ve got before they even come in here.”
“Yeah,” I answer, “we could do that. It is going to be more materials and labor, though, so if that’s all right with you—”
“That’s fine,” she says. “Also, I was wondering if we could maybe change the sunken area to three feet with four stairs leading down. I know it’s going to cut into the space a little, but I really think it’s going to make this whole section pop, and I really want to draw attention to this area. We’ve got some really great stuff already and even more’s coming in, it’s just fabulous.”
This may be the first time I’ve worked for someone who uses the word “fabulous,” but as long as she’s ready to pay for the ideas she has, I’m on board.
“Sure,” I tell her. “We can do that. This is José, by the way. He’s my number two, so if you ever need anything and I’m out picking up supplies or something, he’s the guy you want to talk to, although, I’ll be happy to make time for you whenever you like.”
“It’s nice to meet you, José,” Jessica says, ignoring the fact that I’m actually hitting on her.
José shakes her hand, but immediately goes back to work.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” I tell her. “He’s all about the work.”
Alec, lazy motherfucker that he is, comes through the front of the store scratching his ass.
Jessica, upon seeing him, purses her lips, but somehow manages to keep her justifiable judgment to herself.
“What do we got, boss?” Alec asks.
“Right now, we’re just clearing the area so we can start getting things mapped out,” I tell him. “Why don’t you give José a hand while I finish talking to the lovely Mrs. Davis, here?”
“It’s Miss, actually” Jessica says.
“Oh, my apologies,” I say, but I’m starting to tire of keeping up a happy, cordial front.
It’s nothing that she’s done, although I do think some of her ideas are pretty ridiculous, but after what happened with Amy yesterday, I’m really not in the mood to do anything but sit on the couch that I don’t have anymore and fall into an oblivion of spilled potato chips and infomercials.
“Why don’t we go back to my office?” Jessica suggests.
“Okay,” I respond and turn to the guys. “Keep going and I’ll be back in a minute. Also, if anyone knows where Lou and Ian are, maybe give them a call and threaten with some kind of physical violence if they’re not here in the next five minutes, will you?”
“You got it, boss,” Alec answers.
I follow Jessica back to her office and close the door behind me.
“You wanted to talk to me?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her, taking a moment to soak up her beauty before her expression changes to one of unbridled anger. The way her dark hair falls over her shoulders is enticing now, but in a minute, I have a feeling we’re not going to be getting along so well. “I didn’t want to say anything out there, but I don’t really think that you’re going to want to lower the floor that much down there. It might add a nice visual effect, but it’s going to cost more, and I really think you’re going to lose more space than you’re going to gain by getting rid of the storage room.”
“Well, I’d like to try it out,” she says. “I think it would be a wonderful way to draw attention to the section.”
“Yeah, but what I’m telling you is that you won’t have room for a section, and what little you
’ll be able to put there isn’t really going to be worth the flight of stairs.”
“Well, it’s not going to be a flight of stairs,” she says. “It’s only an extra eighteen inches.”
“Eighteen inches is a lot,” I tell her. “Unless you want it to just be a sheer three-foot drop-off, it’s not going to be an efficient use of space.”
“Well, why don’t we try it my way, and if it doesn’t work out, we can always change it back to what we talked about yesterday, sound good?” she asks.
It’s not an unreasonable suggestion, but I’m really not in the mood to haggle.
“It’s your call,” I tell her. “If you want to waste the money, that’s your choice, but I do have to tell you that it’s going to take a little more time to get that much of your floor torn up. You know that it’s concrete under that carpet, right?”
“I’m aware,” she says. “Now, why don’t you go see if you can round up the rest of your crew and let’s do it my way? That’s what I hired you to do, so just do it.”
“I’m just trying to help,” I tell her.
“It doesn’t seem like you’re trying to help anything,” she answers. “What it seems like is that you’re going to just reject any changes that I want to have done because you don’t want to work your crew. Speaking of which, why are there only two guys out there? You told me you’d be here by nine.”
“I was here by nine,” I answer. “José was here before that. There’s a lot to do in preparation for this. We can’t just start tearing shit up without making sure we have the right tools to survey what we’re doing. I’ve got an electrician and a plumber coming in to work on any wiring and piping in that storage closet and that wall you want us to open up for your new window, and that’s something that’ll have to be taken care of before we can get that taken out. So, if you could just relax and at least let me and my men get started before you jump all over us with new ideas that, frankly, are never going to work, maybe you should—”
“Mr. Dawson,” Jessica interrupts. “I get that you’re having a bad day, and I’m not going to bother asking why as it’s none of my business. What is my business, however, is what happens in my store, and that includes what your crew does and the way that you talk to me. And to be honest, I’m not very impressed with either right now, so if you don’t want me to tear up that contract, maybe you should go back to doing what you do, I’ll go back to doing what I do and I think we can successfully avoid each other until you calm down and remember how to behave as a professional.”
Escort (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) Page 27