Left (Still Standing, #1)

by Graves, T. R.

  "We are, babe. We're having a dinner date. Then I have to get back. Dad's already pissed that I left," Colt confesses.

  "What do you have going on that he can't be without you for a few hours," I say, and I'm more petulant than I intend to be.

  Colt shrugs. "We have a client meeting us for drinks later. He's a billionaire, and we have to keep his business if we want WCH to stay one of the biggest law firms in the world," Colt says, and as soon as the last words are out of his mouth, I can tell he's excited about meeting with this particular client, about proving to his father he can lead that law office if he ever has to.

  I smile proudly toward him, knowing he's on the cusp of greatness.

  "That would be wonderful. If that meeting is so important, why didn't you cancel our date? I would have understood."

  With that, Colt pulls out my chair, and I sit back down. He glances over to the waiter, who instantly heads our way.

  "Cristal, please," Colt orders without asking me what I want to drink. Then he glances over at me and asks, "Do you want the paella?"

  I nod.

  "Two paellas. I'm in a hurry, so if you could get everything out quickly, I'd really appreciate it," Colt says briskly.

  Again, I'm resenting the rush, the fact that I'm not being allowed to savor this moment with him.

  Wyatt is going to get a bag of switches for Christmas. That much I'm sure of.

  "How was your day, babe?" Colt asks, but even as the words cross his lips, I know he's just making small talk.

  He's too deeply absorbed in his work, in whatever is on his mind, to hear a word I say. On a mission, I turn the tables on Colt.

  "My day was interesting," I say, grinning like I have a secret and waiting for him to ask me what it is. Only he doesn't.

  Instead, he puts his head in his hands and squeezes his forehead until I'm sure he's going to crush his skull. When he looks up at me, the tears in his eyes tell me something is terribly wrong. The kind of wrong that makes you wonder who died.

  "Jesus, Colt! What the hell is wrong? If it's your job, you need to quit and go somewhere else. Working for Wyatt is not good for you. It doesn't make you a better person," I say as gently as I possibly can. I'm all for being a supportive girlfriend, but someone has to talk about the elephant in the room. He's changed since he began working for Wyatt, and it's not for the better.

  Colt's stare jerks toward me. "What do you mean? He's my father. I trust him. He only wants what's best for me." Colt's voice catches. "Here," he says, taking something from his pocket and sliding it over to me.

  This evening is not going like I'd expected. Deep down, I wonder if I'll ever be able to salvage it. Before I can pick up the envelope and see what's in it, the waiter brings the Cristal and our paellas.

  My nerves have had all they can take, and Colt's behavior is beyond weird. Not sure where this is going or what this ominous envelope is about, I grab the glass of Cristal the waiter just poured for me and gulp it down.

  The paella that I normally love suddenly looks disgusting. I push it to the side, knowing I'll never take even the first bite of it.

  "What is this, Colt?" I ask. My voice is as shaky as my trembling hands.

  "It's my way of making sure you're always taken care of, babe," Colt says, resigned, relieved, proud.

  I can't open it. Not yet. "Are you leaving me?"

  My stomach has dropped to my toes, and I suddenly feel cheap. Like I've been nothing more than his mistress who needs to be bought off in order to alleviate his guilty consciousness and protect his secrets.

  "I-I... I'm moving out," Colt admits weakly. He's ashamed of himself, and I'm not going to make him feel better about this decision.

  Tears pool in my eyes, and for no other reason than he expects me to, I open the envelope.

  I won't beg him to stay. That's for sure!

  I'm trying to be brave, but I'm hurt deeper than I've ever been hurt. The fact that the envelope holds a check does nothing to make me feel better about this breakup. In a distant way, I wonder if he thought it would.

  "Are you seeing Eden?" I whisper.

  I have to know.

  Colt doesn't say anything. I look up at him. I'm going to force him to tell me what this is about.

  "Not really... but... I'll be dating her soon. I wanted to be the one to tell you," Colt says as if he's just performed an honorable act worthy of recognition. "Dad's promised me a partnership if I'll try dating her. He's convinced all we need to do is give it a shot and we'll realize we were meant for each other," Colt says, sounding like a used car salesman trying to sell me a lemon.

  "Pay to the Order of Baylee Renee Messenger. At least it's a million dollars. It makes me feel a lot more like I was a high-class call girl who's been at your beck and call for the last four years rather than a whore you've been fucking for peanuts," I say, and each word I utter gets louder and louder.

  I feel every eye in the place on me, and I don't give a shit.

  "You don't need to make a scene." Colt cautions me. "Actually, I wouldn't recommend making a scene or bad mouthing us around town. That check comes with stipulations."

  I can tell by Colt's tone he's become his father's attorney and he's settling a case that he wants to make sure never comes back to haunt his father's firm. With the ludicrously of what I'm witnessing, the urge to laugh rolls over me, and there's nothing I can do to stop the delirium.

  "What about this do you find funny, Baylee?" Colt says angrily.

  "I found the ring..." I laugh, holding my stomach. "I thought you were going to propose to me tonight..." I laugh some more. "I've given you four years of my life, and in the end..." I snort a real-life full-blown—never done it in my life—snort. "I get a million-dollar check, a kick to the curb, and a threat that I must keep our private life private."

  I'm yelling like we're at a noisy concert instead of a quiet restaurant, and every eye in the place is directed my way.

  "Listen, babe, the car's still outside. He's waiting to take you home," Colt says, barely standing and reaching for me like he's going to help me up. You know, the way a gentleman would for a lady. The way a man who loves a woman would do.

  "Get your fucking hands off me, you sorry piece of shit," I scream, getting up and jerking away from him.

  Colt looks at me like I'm the one who just broke up with him, but he does put his hands down.

  "The car is downstairs," he reminds me.

  "Take your fucking car and your fucking check..." I take the check in both hands and rip it in two. Something about the look of shock on Colt's face makes me feel so good that I keep ripping until the check is in several more pieces. Then I toss it in the air. "And shove them up your fucking ass. I didn't need your money while we were together, I sure as shit am not going to take your guilt money now. You've left me on my own two feet. I'll use them for walking home before I take anything else from you," I say, nearly sobbing since my delirium has given way to grief.

  "Excuse me, ma'am, is this man bothering you?" asks a man somewhere near me.

  My eyes are too full of tears for me to fully express my gratitude to the gentleman who has taken it upon himself to rescue me from the man who I would have expected to protect me at all costs... who has failed me... who has hurt me to the core... who has broken my heart in two.

  "Not anymore," I say, picking up my paella and spitefully dumping it in Colt's lap. "Be sure to tell your billionaire client that your fucking whore ruined your beautiful suit."

  "Classy, Baylee, classy," Colt mumbles.

  "I learned from the best... babe," I say, picking up my glass and grabbing the Cristal from the ice bucket.

  I'm not going far. The bar is just a few feet away from our table. I have every intention of getting shit-face drunk before I head home to cut up Colt's nicest suits, shred his first edition books, and break his custom golf club in two.

  At the bar, I take my place on a stool and fill my glass with more Cristal. The champagne does little to deaden the hu
rt, but it'll do in a pinch.

  Behind me, Colt says, "I'll be by tomorrow to get my things. It may be better if you're not there."

  I close my eyes and tears drip from both corners. I nod because I can't speak.

  "Listen, asshole, I think she's got the picture loud and clear. I don't believe you need to drive the stake in any deeper," my hero from a few minutes ago says to Colt.

  Wyatt Henderson's son realizes he's not going to win this trial in the court of public opinion (or the eyes of the poor people who made the unfortunate decision to have dinner here tonight), so he leaves without another word.

  With my whole heart, I wish I could open my eyes and see the man who just fought my battle for me. I want to thank him for being the kind of person who is willing to step in and pick a girl up and out of the gutter after she's been kicked into it. I can't. I can't do anything but take another gulp of champagne and stare straight ahead.

  "What the hell just happened?" I ask myself.

  "I believe you were dumped," the man, who is now sitting next to me, says pragmatically. It's as if he thought I really needed an answer. His words are painful, but he didn't say them to hurt me.

  The truth is the truth.

  "Yes... I have, and it was quite embarrassing, too. Don't you think?" I ask, taking another gulp.

  "I'm not going to lie to you. It was one of the most brutal breakups I've ever witnessed. What in the hell did you do to that man?" my new friend asks.

  I think about what he asked and treat his question as if it's as legitimate as mine. "I loved him. I supported him. I moved across the state with him twice. Mostly... I just loved him."

  My friend contemplates what I've said.

  "Hm! No cheating?" he asks curiously.

  I chuckle, and even to my own ears it sounds off. "At this very moment, I wish to Christ I would have cheated on him. I wish he had come home while a complete stranger was screwing me. At least then I would understand what I did to deserve this. Unfortunately, I've never slept with any man but him. In fact, it's never occurred to me to even look at anyone else, much less sleep with someone else," I say, sniffling and draining my glass.

  My new friend is quiet. If I didn't hear him breathing, I would assume he's left me to my own devices, deciding I'm a lost cause, which, of course, I might actually be after this breakup. Well, before I'm completely numb, the Cristal bottle is drained.

  "Dammit! It's gone," I curse, looking around for my purse.

  As luck would have it—because my night up until this point has been a real clusterfuck—I don't have it.

  "Shit! I left my purse in the car I made Colt send away." I'd stopped crying a while ago, but my newest crisis makes me think the tears might start flowing again.

  "That million-dollar check would come in handy right now," my friend says seriously.

  I glance back at the floor where the waiters are sweeping the night's excess into a dustpan.

  "Yeah," I say, wishing I'd not done that.

  "I'm just assuming you're independently wealthy."

  My face drops. "No, I'm not. Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm about to be homeless because I'll never be able to afford our apartment."

  "Do you work?" the man asks, and I can hear the hope. He hopes I've not put all my eggs in one basket because that one had a giant hole in the bottom.

  I nod. "Yeah, but I don't make enough to afford that place. He knows that. I'm sure that's what the check was about."

  "You don't need him or his money. You did the right thing. Now let's go back to my room..."

  When my head jerks his way, I start shaking it. "I-I'm sorry if I've led you on..."

  He shakes his own head and finishes. "So I can get my keys and drive you home."

  For the first time, I see—really see—the man who has befriended me in my hour of need. Because he and I have been so honest with each other, I continue our tradition.

  "Holy hell! I'm not sure I would have told you some of the things I just told you... or I'd have been a lot more embarrassed while I did it if I'd know how good-looking you are."

  Shocked by my candor, his own head jerks my way. "You're drunk. I'll look like the vagrant homeless man I really am in the morning after you've had time to sober up," my new friend says comically, and I can't help but laugh.

  He slides gracefully off his stool while I take the slightest tumble. He catches me in his arms, and I giggle. The Cristal is working. In fact, I'm absolutely sure I need more so I don't revert back into the depths of despair I was swimming through an hour ago.

  Before I know what I'm doing, I snort for the second time tonight. The reality that I've snorted—twice in one day—is suddenly the funniest thing I've ever heard. I laugh and laugh. The more I laugh, the more I snort.

  My friend ignores my antics, takes me by the hand, and leads me to his room in search of his car keys.

  CHAPTER 5

  DROWN ALL SORROWS

  Baylee

  While my new friend searches his pockets for his room's key card, I lean against the wall. I'm tipsy and hope it will keep me from swaying and possibly falling flat on my face.

  "You've just witnessed the most humiliating experience of my lifetime, and I'm about to go into your hotel room with you. I think we may be close enough for an introduction," I say, watching my hero as he finally finds the card in the inside pocket of his tuxedo. He gracefully—because he's not drunk like me—slips it into the reader.

  As soon as it's open, he sends a lopsided grin my way. I may be inebriated, but I'm absolutely confident I'll not wake up tomorrow to find out he's anything but gorgeous.

  Despite his contentions.

  "You can call me Ryker," he says, opening the door and stepping to the side so I can enter before him.

  With a grin that is more about politeness than anything, I say, "It's nice to meet you... Ryker. I'm Baylee." Then I stare cautiously into his room, not yet entering. "You know, under normal circumstances, I'd never go into a stranger's hotel room."

  "Well, that makes me feel a little better because up to now I was a little worried about how quick and easy it's been for me to lure you up here," he says, giving me a little lighthearted wink.

  I know he's just kidding with me, but his joke reminds me of the reason I'm doing things I've never contemplated before. I'm doing this because I am, for all practical purposes, stranded and in need of this man's help.

  For the second time tonight, he's gone out of his way to render aid to me.

  I'm guarded as I step into the room. It's definitely not a normal business hotel room. Instead, it's a luxury suit that is every bit as fancy as something the prestige slut Wyatt Colton Henderson III would stay in. Impressive for me is the fact that Ryker's hotel room is bigger than Colt's and my... I mean, my spacious downtown apartment.

  "This is a very nice hotel suite, Ryker," I say, hoping he'll tell me something about himself. I need to get my mind off of Colt, and I'm fascinated that a man his age—maybe twenty-four or twenty-five—has enough money to stay in a hotel suite like this.

  He doesn't bite. He nonchalantly scans the room as if he's not noticed how nice it is before now. "Yeah, I guess it is, but it's just a cold hotel room at the end of the day. It'll be home for the next few weeks. Then I'm off to the next one. It's what I do. Travel from city to city and office to office, verifying the profitability of my company's leadership, their team members, and the projects they're working on."

  "How many days a year do you travel?" I ask, no longer just making small talk.

  Ryker is the kind of person who draws you to him and makes you want to know more about him. I've heard the word charismatic casually thrown around before, but Ryker is the first person I've ever met that I would describe with such a term. He has a charm that's easy. It's the kind that can't be taught or feigned. It makes him instantly endearing.

  "More days than I like to think about, Baylee," Ryker says, and there's a hint of sadness to what he's just shared.

  Through our
brief discussion, we've ended up face to face and only a few feet apart. It's the first time the two of us have had the chance to take in the characteristics of the other, really appreciate the tiny details that until now have been hidden behind tears, anger, and humiliation (for me) and chivalry, sympathy, and discomfort (for him).

  Ryker spends several seconds studying me, my clothes, my shoes. Suddenly embarrassed by the way I'm dressed—props worn for Colt's pleasure—my face burns red.

  "Th-this is not me," I say, rolling my eyes and motioning my hands from the top of my head to the bottom of my toes.

  Until this point, Ryker's been watching me like he's concerned about my mental health, but now he just looks at me like he doesn't understand the words I've uttered. Without skipping a beat, I answer his unspoken question.

  "I don't usually dress like this. I've been trying new things with Colt and was hoping tonight's outfit would change the course of our relationship. I've even gone so far as to layer mind-blowing rewards underneath the dress so he would thank God for helping him make the right decision," I confide with my voice cracking when I'm reminded of the painful—sterile—way Colt told me he was picking Eden over me.

  Stop it right now! You saw this coming.

  "I may not know a lot, but I do know there's absolutely nothing wrong with what you have on," Ryker says appreciatively. Then he raises his eyebrows. "I should also mention that I would give you my own million-dollar check just to see the rewards you so carefully planned for that dim-witted ex-boyfriend of yours."

  I turn my head to the side, resting my chin to my shoulder. "There's not enough money in the world." I laugh quietly. "There's only one other person—and she's the spa therapist who waxed me—who knows exactly how far I stooped for Colt today."

  Ryker's breath is audible when it hitches. It was obvious he'd not expected me to be so open about my bikini wax.

  Well, I'd not planned to tell him. There's just something about him that makes me share things I should keep to myself.