by TC Matson
“Brooklyn.” He steps forward and I take one opposite of him.
“It’s time for me to leave.”
I brace for a refute, for him to grab my arm and stop me, but instead, he lets me leave and I’m grateful for it. As I step into the elevator, the tears I held back spill over.
TWELVE
Between trying to focus on the properties in development and their designs and still stewing over Brooklyn, this week has been brutal. I’m a grumpy bastard and this day can kiss my ass. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, something strong to ease my mind, and drop like a ton of bricks on my sofa looking over the heart of Dallas.
I can’t help but wonder what Brooklyn is doing. Is she reading in the lounger she’s told me about? Or is she seeking solace from her friends? Everything she said to me the night she found out who I was, every crack of her voice, every blink to fight the tears have been on constant replay. I hate that I hurt her. I didn’t mean to, but I didn’t put any thought into how it would look from her side. Only mine to protect me.
The last serious relationship I had ended before I became successful. Even then the absence drove her away. I was busy focusing on what I needed to do instead of her. She had every right to leave and I let her. I was in love with my business, not her. Since then, the rest of the women only want to exploit my money and wring me out to dry. The sex I’ve gotten has only been one-night stands when I needed to find my release and even then I use a pseudonym—Timothy. What a shit name.
A knock on my door has me groaning under my breath.
Cody’s grinning from ear to ear and holds up a case of beer and a grocery bag. “Chips and salsa,” he announces. “You know you can’t deny them.”
I push the door open farther. “What brings you by?”
He strides into the kitchen, places the bag on the counter, takes a beer from the case, and shoves the rest into the fridge. He pops it open and takes a long swallow before he lifts a shoulder. “Nothing else better to do.”
Dubious, I tilt my head. “Sure.”
He takes a seat on the opposite end of the sofa and glances out the window. “All this beauty and success without someone to share it with.”
Rage grips my throat. “What the fuck, Cody?” I snap. “Since you’ve been playing cupid my entire life feels off balance. Brooklyn has walked away from me twice, and I spend most days pissed off because I can’t focus.” I glower. “Why are you so hell bound to pry? Surely all this isn’t because you adore my damn smile,” I grit.
He leans up, setting his beer on the glass table. “You remember a few months ago at that fundraiser in New York. You remember what you said to me that night?”
Thinking back to the night, I can’t remember a damn thing.
“We watched some blonde splash water in Johnson’s face and storm out.”
Oh, yeah. I remember that. She was pissed.
“You said you wish you could find a woman who would walk away from you. That way you knew it wasn’t for the money,” he finishes.
Brett Johnson is one of the wealthiest men in the world. In his forties, he’s handsome and can have any woman he wants, but the blonde was everything to him. Cody and I used to joke about how she was only there for the money. Hell, she was at least twenty years his junior—his soon to be trophy wife. What else could anyone think of those two? He was old enough to be her father. But the moment I saw her leave him, I knew she wasn’t there for his money. All the hurt was evident on her face, the pain pouring from her eyes. Rumors were his mistress was there. Others said he said a few things he shouldn’t have. Gossip has never been my thing and I’ve never followed it. Either way, I know she left him for good that night. It was splattered all over the gossip magazines. She didn’t ask for a dime and the money he placed in her bank account, she gave back.
She was in it for love and love only.
“What are you getting at?”
“Brooklyn’s left you and you’re the one having to tuck tail and reel her back in. If that’s not proof enough, you’re too fucking stupid to have a woman like her.”
I swallow a sip of my whiskey. “I’m too fucking busy for her, Cody. She’ll end up being lonely.”
“You’re only busy because it’s what you’ve conditioned yourself to be. You don’t have to attend to every miniscule thing. You micromanage, and I understand why, but you should have faith in the people you’ve hired.”
Shit. Here comes the sucker punches.
“Do you like her?” he asks flat out.
“A lot,” I admit.
“Then let her in. Quit shutting her out.”
I dig my fingers into my forehead. “You missed your calling as a therapist.”
He chuckles. “The only reason I can offer your dumbass advice is because we’re practically brothers. We’ve been through a lot of shit together, man. Now I’m only going to tell you this once, bury the gentleman act and show her the real you. The charming shit-talking guy.” He grabs his beer and tosses it back. “Third times a charm, but man you’re going to have to fucking work for it.”
I nod. He’s right.
THIRTEEN
How can you be heartbroken over someone you didn’t fully love? My chest has ached since I left Nathan standing in his room last weekend. A hole in my soul has formed. I’m not in love with him, yet I feel like I have been for years. I ditched last week’s girls’ night to indulge in cookie dough ice cream and binge watch The Office instead of reading. The last thing I want to do is read about love and romance when it seems my life enjoys poking fun at me with it.
I haven’t heard from Nathan, not that I truly expected to. I made my point clear. He hurt me by not trusting me. I think what hurts the most is I never gave him a reason to think I was interested in anything but him, yet he didn’t give me a chance to try. Instead, he hid everything, which I do kind of understand, but he still omitted so much.
Although Shyla and Aimee allowed me to skip out on dinner last week, they’re not letting me tonight. It’s a mandatory girls’ night and if I don’t show, they’ll be banging down my door.
They’re already at our table when I arrive, five fashionable minutes late.
Shyla’s gaze cruises over my body from head to toe. “Loving the outfit. I’m glad to see you’re out of the funk.”
Fake it until I make it, right? I chose black skinny jeans for my mood, a red wine blouse for power to face my evening, and black open toed heels to lift my self-esteem. See? I’m pitiful. Heartbroken over a man I never fully loved.
Aimee moves a full glass of wine in front of me. “Ordered your drink and since we need you to get over this, I ordered your favorite—mushroom and Swiss marinated chicken with a side of disco fries.”
“Are you looking for me to gain twenty pounds?” I snort and then take a slow pull of the cold wine.
“We just know you need it,” Aimee says with an apologetic smile.
“I’m fine. It’s just…it’s weird,” I tell them.
Shyla places her hand on top of mine and squeezes. “You had high hopes. You liked him a lot and gave him an insight into your heart. The way you’re feeling is justified.”
Tears burn the back of my throat but I refuse to cry. I haven’t since that night and I’m not going to now. “I’d like to change the subject, please.”
Aimee claps and scoots up to the table. “William is going out of town tomorrow and coming back Saturday. He has already said he wants to talk to me when he gets back.” She air quotes the work talk. “I think this is it, ladies.”
“Where’s he going?” I ask.
“New York.” She whispers her squeal. “We all know how many Tiffanys are there.”
Jodyne—our waitress, who has been waiting on us for years and has become a special person in our lives—sets our food on the table. “Missed you last week, Brooklyn,” she warms me with a smile. “Hope everything is okay. The girls filled me in. You don’t need a man like him. You’re too precious for that.” She winks. “Enjoy, ladi
es.”
I glare at my “friends.” “Seriously?”
Aimee lifts a shoulder. “She’s like a grandmother. I couldn’t lie.”
Exhaling, I switch back to the subject. “Why Tiffany? Surely he knows you’d be happy with a ring from the quarter machine.”
“He knows, but about a year ago, he asked me specifically about a certain ring at Tiffany. Of course, I argued with him after looking at the price and he never brought it up again.”
I hate my sour mood. Nathan is suffocating my happiness for my best friend. I grin. “When he gets back, I demand pictures.”
“You two will be the first I call.”
Aimee did well ordering my favorite meal. Oddly, it comforted me and I enjoyed every single bite. I take my last sip of wine when the sight of the very man who has my head in shambles steps in with a beautiful brunette. My shattered heart that’s already hanging on by a thread falls into the pit of my stomach.
“Shit.” I hiss, ducking my head, which causes the girls to look around.
“Is that? Oh, shit.” Shyla swats Aimee’s arm to get her attention. “It’s Mr. sexy as hell Bennett himself.”
“God, he’s swoon worthy,” Aimee adds.
“Ugh!” I whisper hiss. “Shit. Shit. Shit. What the hell is he doing here?” I keep my head down with my hands hiding my face.
“I don’t know, but you better get your shit together. They’re headed this way and he’s locked onto you,” Shyla informs me.
Shit! What do I do? I’m sure I look ridiculous hiding and ducking away. Stealthily, I grab my purse and pull it onto my lap, pretending to scrounge through it.
“Brooklyn?” His velvety voice warms the ache in my chest even if it has amusement in it. Shit. He knows I was trying to hide from him.
My head snaps up. “Nathan! Heeeey…” I draw out, faking my surprise. “What in the world brings you to my side of town?”
He looks to the bitch in a pants suit beside him. Professional beautiful bitch. She probably is only with him for the money. He doesn’t deserve her.
“My sister is in for the night and she’s always loved this place. Claire, this is Brooklyn.”
My face falls, the fake smile I was biting slides down my cheek. The bitch I wanted to stab is his sister. Great. “Hey. Nice to meet you,” I say in the friendliest tone I can conjure up.
“You too,” she says reserved.
Nathan’s intense stare bores into me. “It’s good to see you, Brooklyn.”
“Yeah. You too.” I mean it but hate it.
All eyes swing to me when he walks away, guiding his sister to the table. I grab Shyla’s water and gulp down half of it.
“I can’t believe you got to kiss that man,” Aimee swoons. “He’s a god. Lucky bitch.”
Humorlessly, I blow a breath. “And twenty minutes later, I found out it was all under false pretenses.”
Shyla leans her elbows on the table and closer to me. “Do you blame him?”
“No. I don’t,” I shake my head. “But regardless, it hurts. Badly. I thought he was on the same page as I was. Liked me just as much as I liked him,” I reproach with a shake in my voice. “I never came across as someone who would use him. Never.” I slam my finger onto the table, anger filling me again. “I’m sure he deals with a lot of those, but I’d like to pride myself in being different. I’m independent. I have dignity. I have morals. He only proved he had no desire to become as invested in me as I was him. He led me on. A man finally catches my attention, gives me flutters, and then he doesn’t trust me.” I inhale a calming breath before I go full Hulk mode and flip over the tables. “I’m totally the most trustworthy person in this crazy city.”
“I agree,” Aimee says.
Shyla shoots her a look. “I agree too, but how would he know it?”
Daggers shoot out of my eyes. “I thought I gave him reasons to trust me.”
Jodyne stops at the table. She’s in her sixties and I can only hope I look as good as she does when I get there. She’s such a beautiful woman with hazel eyes that pierce you, light brown hair with grays glistening it. The only real wrinkles she has are the ones I call happy wrinkles—around the mouth and crow’s feet at the eyes. You only get those from smiling too much. She’s definitely the grandmother I wish I had.
“The gentleman in the back booth paid your tickets,” she says. “And he left a generous tip.”
My mouth falls open. Aimee and Shyla swoon. Good for them. But me? It pisses me right the hell off. How dare him! He thinks I’m out for his money only to flaunt that shit in my face.
Digging in my wallet, I pull out more than enough to cover our meals, and march my ass to his table, slapping the money on it in front of him. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I ground out acerbically. “I don’t need your money.”
He looks to my hand before raising his gaze to mine. A smirk plays on his lips and it further pisses me off, but before he can mutter a single stupid word, I turn on my heels and leave, stopping by my table to say, “If either one of you accept the money, you’re dead to me. Love you.”
I’m shaking as I push out of the restaurant and make my way to the car. How freaking dare him. I’m not good enough to be completely honest with, but I’m good enough to flash money at? It’s like he’s toying with me, playing with my emotions. Preying on the vulnerable.
Screw that.
FOURTEEN
It’s raining, a slow thunderstorm rumbling through—a perfect day to sit on the back porch and read. Finally. It’s taken me a week to pick back up where I left off. A bolt of lightning flashes followed by a long rumble of thunder. A soft breeze blows a mist of rain onto my legs. Thunderstorms are relaxing.
My phone rings and it’s Aimee.
“I need you,” she bawls before I can even say hello.
I jerk sitting up as panic surges me. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything!” she wails.
“Where are you?” I ask, sprinting into the house to get my things.
“Home.”
“I’m on the way right now.”
I slam into a pair of black yoga pants, toss on a different t-shirt, pull my hair into a messy bun, slide into my sneakers, grab my purse, and dart out the door.
Aimee lives twenty minutes from me, given there isn’t much traffic between here and there. But with how I’m driving, I’ll make it in ten. I call Shyla for backup, but when she answers her phone in a panic, it proves she got the same call.
“Are you on the way too?” she asks.
“Yes. What happened?”
“I got a jumbled text I had to decipher, but I think William broke up with her.”
I gasp. “What?”
“She didn’t tell me when I called. Hell, she could barely talk.”
“Same here. I’m almost there,” I tell her.
“I’ve got about five minutes.”
I pull into Aimee’s neighborhood. “It’s pouring so be careful.”
“See you in a bit.”
Slamming my car into park, I make a mad dash for the door, twist the knob, and stumble in. “Aimee?” I call out.
She doesn’t answer, but I can hear her sobs. I follow them into the kitchen where she sits with her back against the cabinets and her head in her hands. Her eyes are red and swollen, tears pouring down her already soaked face.
I sit beside her and she falls into my side. “What happened?” I ask softly over her sobs.
“He’s leaving,” she chokes on the words. “He’s leaving me. He met someone else and he’s leaving me.” Sobs rack her body as she buries her head in her hands.
Shyla finds us and drops to the floor, immediately wrapping her into a hug.
“He said he loved me but he wasn’t in love anymore. He found someone else.”
Shyla and I share an anguished look above her head. We wrap our arms around her, both utterly speechless. William adored Aimee, or so we thought. The way he looked at her was every woman’s dream to be looked at. He treated her as
if she was his everything. Always cherished.
“He’s moving to New York. He went there with her and found a place to live.” She cries. “He’s been fucking her for months.”
I grab a dish cloth and run it under cold water. I press it to her face to wipe her tears and cool her reddened cheeks. Shyla and I comfort her as she weeps, whispering words of love to her. I’m at a loss how to handle this. My heart was broken many years ago, but I saw it coming. Aimee was unprepared for the surprise attack. Where she was planning for a future, William was planning to end it.
Shyla gives her a glass of ice water and she takes a few sips. “He sat me down this morning and admitted everything.” Her voice wavers again. “He’s been seeing her for six months. Said it was a mistake at first. He had too much to drink at a get-together after one of his meetings and he took her to his room. He said he didn’t talk to her again until he went back a few weeks later. He said they’ve been a thing since. He said…” She closes her eyes, tears spilling out from under her matted lashes. “He said he loved her and wanted to be with her. He and I were done.”
Her head falls forward into her hands and she bawls.
“I thought he was going to propose. He held my hand. Instead of a ring, he gave me an ending. I didn’t see this coming. I thought…I looked like a fucking idiot there with him. For six months, I’ve been a blind fucking idiot,” she screams into her hands.
* * *
After consoling Aimee for an hour and letting her get it all out, Shyla decided to get her in the shower while I went to the grocery store for enough ice cream and comfort food to survive on for a few days. I’m roaming the aisles pretty much lost. My grocery store has a decent layout, and everything has a purpose where it’s at. But whoever designed this catastrophe had no clue what they were doing. Who the hell puts baking goods on the same aisle as baby supplies?