by Tara Brown
A nerdy guy who didn’t know how to woo but gave you his heart as he clumsily tore it from his own chest was the ultimate prize. One I would never get the chance to enjoy.
I was over men.
I was never going to love again.
4
Twatwaffle
I was rushing out of the hotel when the phone rang again. “Hello?”
“I’m so sorry to ask this, but could you do me a huge favor?” Jack asked softly.
“Of course.”
“He’s with a blonde, having a meal at a café on the sidewalk. I’ve got him on a CCTV camera at the address I just texted you. If you can get the phone within a hundred yards of him, I can lift his mobile signal and hack it.” Jack disconnected the call. “Then we have means to track and contact him.”
"Fine." Hating my life, I dashed down the road, staring at the address on the map, realizing it was only a couple of blocks away.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t worn the proper shoes for this moment and my bag was getting a bit heavy, but the fury and misery inside me was the right kind of fuel.
As I rounded the corner to the bistro where Servario sat with a blonde, I choked on my inhale. I recognized the blonde straightaway, though she was much improved from the last time I saw her. And she wasn't in Japan, which I thought she would be.
Her pallor was peachy instead of gray. Her hair had a soft sheen to it now, instead of being a lifeless pelt.
Elise was stunning, appearing more like the girl she was in the pictures of her and Servario I’d found at Drusack's. There were no pick sores or milky eyes. No strung-out heroin chic. She was stunning, as if it had never happened.
And it wasn't just her looks that had changed. She was so different from the last time we’d met. Her hands flailed about as she spoke animatedly, holding her fork before pausing the story to eat some of the meal. She laughed and shook her head, her blonde hair bouncing with life.
Servario was different as well, cutting a bite of his steak, smiling as he lifted the meat and chewed. He sat back, visibly enjoying her story and the taste of the food and life in general.
She was allowed to talk.
She was allowed to be animated.
They were in public being seen together.
He didn’t seem uncomfortable or grossed out or embarrassed.
He was enjoying himself.
It was a punch in the guts.
Not just because I loved watching him eat but also because he was so relaxed with her. She wasn't dressed like a whore and forced to give a blowie to a stranger in an alley to survive being with him.
They were laughing and eating and smiling, and it was nothing like how he was with me.
Sort of the same way Coop was with his blonde. He was happier, lighter.
My mind whispered that maybe it was me.
It was definitely me.
James had hated our life together.
It was me.
I drove Coop off, a perfectly sweet guy who wanted nothing more than a solid commitment.
The bad boy I chose foolishly turned out to be exactly the person I had feared he was.
And James was a twat.
Bad things happened in threes and this was by far the worst of it all, because somehow this was my fault. I should have known better. He had never hidden who he was. I should have been smarter. Here I was, upset a drug-dealing scumbag did exactly what a drug-dealing scumbag would do.
Tears lodged themselves in my throat as I adjusted my sunglasses before I headed for the crosswalk that was to Servario’s back. When the light went, I crossed quickly with the herd of Parisians and tucked myself behind the corner of the bistro, no more than twenty feet from where he sat.
Closing my eyes, I forced several breaths before I checked down at the phone and waited for Jack to finish.
It was a long enough wait that I lost the battle with the tears.
They streamed my cheeks as I held the phone out, waiting.
Finally his reply came.
Done!
I sent a text back, not trusting my voice not to crack if I spoke. Good. Going to find some chocolate and heading back to the chopper. Tell Judy to be ready to go home.
Pocketing the phone, I hurried into the chocolatier’s shop on the corner and grabbed several boxes of assorted sweets. Keeping my sunglasses on to hide my shame.
Like many women in Paris had at one point or another, I walked with a broken heart and a tear-stained face, clutching to chocolate while feeling hopeless and lost.
It was the ten minutes I allowed myself to be weak about it.
Then I forced on my big-girl panties, the Spanx, and hauled ass back to the chopper, hating men and life and even Judy.
She didn't so much as notice or care that my mascara was to my cheeks and my heart was destroyed, flaking off as ash trailing behind us like a smoke signal that I was not okay.
She flew us home while I ate my chocolates and sulked, reliving a wave of bad feelings and memories I suddenly had to refile as lies. Lies I should have expected.
When I finally got to the car, it was dark and yet Ernesto still cringed seeing me. He didn't try to say anything kind or comforting. He had to see the emptiness in me. And no man in their right mind would dare approach a tear-stained woman holding a half-eaten box of French chocolates next to several other unopened ones.
I didn't feel bad about the wrapper roadkill I’d left on the chopper. Judy was a dick.
I slumped into the back seat and sent Jack a text.
Send me the phone number to reach him at.
My phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Evie.” Jack sounded iffy. “We can’t screw the Servario thing up. We still need him.”
“I won’t,” I lied. “Besides, he’s all about the business. He doesn't care about me. It’s a quick breakup text for a fake relationship, nothing more. I will be professional and end things. I need closure, Jack.” The words burned, mixing with the chocolate.
“Evie.” His tone softened.
“Send it, Jack,” I snarled and hung up, staring at the back of Ernesto’s head.
The text with the number came a second later with a wincing face.
I pressed the number and sent a message, my fingers flying over the tiny keyboard as I raged, using words I didn't know the meaning of.
I stared at it, biting my lip and wrinkling my nose.
“Can I offer a bit of advice?” Ernesto interrupted in a soft tone, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror as he pulled the car over in some random spot.
“Uh sure,” I answered apprehensively.
“Breakup messaging is a challenge.” He switched on a light and turned and faced me over the seat, resting his arm on the stiff navy leather. “What might sound amazingly vengeful and perfect in the moment you’ve just broken up, might not sound so eloquent a few hours later.”
“You think I’ll regret this?” I faced the screen at him.
His eyes widened as he choked. “Indeed.” He narrowed his gaze, obviously confused on a few words as well. I’d heard Luce use them in one of her more badass moments. “What is a twatwaffle, if you don't mind my asking?”
“I honestly don't know.” I started to laugh weakly.
“Dear girl, don't send that. Hold your cards close. Don't let him know he’s hurt you. And whoever that slut Elise is, isn’t important.” He choked on the unsavory word. “They deserve each other. And you deserve to be free of them. But don't give him the satisfaction or justification of cheating on you by being anything like him.”
It was the best and worst advice I’d ever received.
“Your anger is your own. And I don't know about your man there, but when my wife goes quiet and offers me nothing, I feel quite lost.” He smiled like my father might have, if he were a sweet and kindly gentleman from England. My father likely wouldn’t have read “twatwaffle” aloud though.
“Okay.” I forced my eyes back down at the phone.
I couldn't
type any of the things Ernesto had said, so I pocketed the phone.
When I got home, I avoided everyone and hurried to Jack’s office, using Ernesto as my voice of reason to guide me.
“You type it. Break things off nicely.” I handed Jack the phone with my text still there.
His eyes bugged out of his head, staring at it. “Jesus, Evie. I don't know how to break up with someone. Especially not him. You can’t call someone like Servario all these names.” He started deleting the text.
“Just do it before I send something like what I already wrote.” I sat and began eating chocolates while the TVs showed Coop and his girlfriend walking around their office. It was a cold and twisted way for the day to end. “Type what Luce said to you.”
“Fine, but if he stops working with us over this, I’m not taking any blame, and I’m telling you I told you so.” Jack spoke as he texted, his voice cracking a bit, “Dear S, our little romance was fun while it lasted but realistically you are the wrong choice for me. I see that now. I’m sorry for wasting your time. Hope we can continue to be friends. If not, it doesn't really matter since one of us will likely die anyway. Your friend, Evie.” Jack handed me back the phone.
“That’s what Luce sent you?” I cringed at the coldness of it. “Jesus, she really does hate you.”
“I know.” His eyes lowered to the phone. “That killed me.”
“Then I guess it’s the right text.” I felt worse hearing that.
I popped open the chocolate box and handed it to him. He chose a rose-shaped dark chocolate and placed it on his tongue, closing his mouth and eyes simultaneously.
He moaned for a moment before I spoke, “I’m sorry, Jack.”
“It’s okay, Evie. I’m just glad you’re home safe.” His words were muddled from the chocolate melting in his mouth.
“Guess I’ll go tuck the kids in.” I got up, exhausted and devastated.
“Wash your face first, you look terrifying. Night.” He waved me off over the screens.
“Night.” I tried not to take his comment personally as I hurried to the bathroom to wash my face, avoiding the mirror.
I hated everything and everyone.
Well, apart from anyone in this house. I loved them. Even Jack.
Although I was a bit disappointed in them all when I found Jules still awake and Mitch playing The Last of Us with bloodshot eyes and a bit of dried drool on his cheek.
I kissed them and smelled their hair, savoring the memories the scent offered, before I sent them both to bed with a stern look.
When I finally got to the kitchen, I sat the chocolate, which I was still carrying, in front of me and popped the lid off one of the boxes.
“You’re back already?” Luce sat on the barstool next to me and reached over, taking one of the caramels.
“Caught him with a blonde.” I started to laugh.
“Fucking blondes.” She got up and grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and a bottle of wine from the stunning art deco rack, and poured us both a tall glass.
“What was I honestly expecting, Luce? He’s a terrible person. He never tried to hide that.” I asked myself more than her. "This is like that story where the mouse gets the ride on the alligator's back and the gator eats him and as he's dying he's asking, ‘Why did you do this?’ and the gator's like, ‘I'm a gator. It's in my nature.’"
“Did you drink before you came home?" she asked.
"No, why?"
"No reason. Anyway, no. This is not just some ‘it's his nature’ story. That fucker gave you a glass slipper,” she muttered, sitting back down and drinking her wine in gulps.
I clinked my glass into hers when she lowered it. “Yeah, he did. He gave me a ring and a glass slipper. I wasn't wrong to assume it meant something, was I?”
“No, ma’am. Harry Winston is not to be trifled with.” Luce finished the glass. I followed suit, shuddering from the bitterness of the wine compared to the chocolates. She poured more wine.
“Men suck.” I clinked against her full glass again when she finished pouring.
“They sure do.”
“But not Jack.” I turned, fighting tears. “He loves you so much. He’s a moron, and I’ll never defend him on the way he lied, but that guy adores you. You are his world. He is actually dying in there.” I pointed a thumb behind me like the office was right there.
“I know.” She was unfazed by my efforts. “One more week and I’ll forgive him. It was going to be two weeks, but Coop’s little bullshit plan of bringing Blondie here is cruel. I had to cut a week off for that.”
“You were always going to forgive him?” I asked, not hiding the amusement in my tone.
“Of course.” She scoffed. “I love him. And I know he loves me. But he needed to be taught a lesson about lying to me.”
“He’s learned it. You two need to mend things. I need you as a couple in my life. One happy couple.” I guzzled the second glass of wine, feeling it land with a thud in my stomach. I hadn’t eaten dinner. All the flying and rushing around and chocolate and broken hearts had distracted me.
“Your mom and Fitz are happy. Even if she’s married and he’s gay.”
“True story.” I ate another chocolate and called the meal dinner. “But I think I need more sex than that relationship offers.”
We giggled.
“What do you think the deal is with S and the blonde? ‘Cause I don’t believe he’d cheat on you.”
“I don't know. I guess it’s possible she’s a cover of some sort. Which normally I wouldn't have taken it so hard, but Elise is a touchy subject for him. And me.” Luce gave me a curious stare as I continued, “He loved her before. As in he doesn't date blondes because of her. I think deep down he still loves her. Maybe not deep down. Maybe it’s right on the surface.” The sentence sat weird in my stomach. “Like me and Coop and him. A ménage he cannot escape from.” I had to consider that.
“Fuck. You guys are the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen,” she lamented and poured us more wine, finishing the bottle, and got up to get more. “But I will say that working with exes is a firm and hard no-go. You never use someone you loved as a cover. Ever.”
“Right,” I agreed, wondering if she meant me and Coop as much as she meant S and Elise.
There really wasn't anything else to say about any of this. Unfortunately, I was as guilty as he was.
5
The end of trust
“Yes!” Jack shouted, bursting from the office and rushing down the hall, grabbing me by the arms and hugging hard.
It was too much for the hangover I suffered from as a result of the wine and chocolate bender Luce and I had the night before.
“I did it!” He squeezed and forced me to dance in a circle with him.
“Did what?”
“I hacked those little bastards. I did it!” he squealed.
Luce and Mom came running down the hall, followed by Fitz who held a gun.
“What in the devil?” Mom asked.
“He cracked the bots.” I didn't even want to hear the word “bots,” but if Jack had cracked their codes, we could finally start the plan and the last six weeks wouldn't have been totally wasted lounging by the pool and dying inside.
“Oh my God!” Luce launched at him, letting him wrap himself around her. “You did it!” She kissed his cheek, making me step back from them.
As I expected, Jack grabbed her face and planted the biggest kiss on her. It was like the one Coop gave to Simone, desperate and intense.
Mom’s lips curled into a grin and Fitz’s jaw dropped.
I stepped back further, slinking away from the awkwardness that was about to ensue.
I grabbed Mom’s arm and pulled her with me, heading for the kitchen. Fitz followed.
“Finally, we can start.” Mom grabbed the pitcher of raspberry lemonade from the fridge and poured us all a glass.
“And now they can finally stop being weird.” Fitz lifted his glass, clinking it against Mom’s and mine.
“Yeah, them not being together is a whole situation,” I concurred and drank a big gulp, noting the sourness didn't make me feel refreshed as I had hoped.
“Why are your eyes bloodshot?” Mom asked.
“Drank too much wine with Luce.”
“Why are you home?” She wasn't going to let this go.
“Didn't find what I was looking for,” I gave the simplest explanation I could without offering details.
“Bloody men,” she sneered. “None of them are capable of keeping it in their pants.”
“Hey, I resent that remark.”
“Present company excluded, Fitz darling.” Mom laughed halfheartedly. “Where is the chocolate?”
“I ate it.” That wasn’t a lie.
“Does he know you know?” Mom wasn't letting this go, no matter what.
“No. Didn't see me. I sent a quick text to break things off from here, sort of a nonchalant breakup. Peaceful.” I wasn't sure how to describe the coldness and detachment of what Jack had sent for me. It was the least passionate breakup ever. No doubt Servario was confused by it. He probably thought it was a code.
Which meant he would likely come and check on us.
I hadn’t thought of that.
Shit.
The idea of that made my stomach tighten, not a good feeling during a hangover.
“You need something greasy.” Mom turned and grabbed food from the fridge.
“You need to stop dating,” Fitz offered in a lowered voice. “You’ve had too many intense events in the past year. Husband died multiple times. Found out you were cheated on. Sold into sex slavery. Worked as a spy and almost died multiple times. Killed people. Moved like what, five times now? Dr. Phil says there are certain events we can’t handle stacked together. Birth, death, divorce, marriage, moving, job loss. They affect us negatively and cause stress and PTSD. You aren’t in your right mind. You can’t possibly get into a relationship during this time.”
“You watch Dr. Phil?” I was stuck on that more than the extreme common sense he was forcing on me.