by J. L. Mac
My head drops. My answer is simple and honest. “Damon and some orange-colored broad that has a way of crawling right under my skin.”
Andy’s hand goes to my chin, tilting my head up to look at him. Tears don’t threaten. I’m too tired to cry. I’m past crying and smack in the middle of general dismay.
“You are an incredibly beautiful, smart, driven woman who could have your pick of any man in this city. Don’t let one man ruin the rest of them for you.”
“Thank you, Andy,” I breathe. He’s right. I know he’s right, but it’s far easier said than done when said man happens to be the love of your life.
His attention drifts to my lips then back up to my eyes, asking permission. There isn’t any reason why I can’t or shouldn’t kiss him. He’s sweet and attractive and he likes me. He’s been a gentleman all night. If Damon can rebound already, so can I! Just a kiss. No sex. No relationship. Just a kiss. I chant over and over to myself like it’s my new mantra—Just a kiss.
Andy’s mouth lands on mine; he kisses me softly, coaxingly. I return the sensual kiss, hoping that it will stir something within me. A part of me hopes that kissing another man will rid me of some of my need for Damon. Andy’s fingers lace through my hair, pulling me closer, intensifying the kiss. His warm hands hold me immobile as he takes the breath from me. He takes and takes some more. He groans in appreciation then slips his tongue over the seam of my lips, gaining entrance to my mouth.
While he’s a great kisser, he isn’t Damon. A vision of a furious Damon bombards my thoughts and I break away from Andy. It’s so ridiculous, but I almost feel like I’m betraying Damon—like I’m cheating; like I’m giving away something that doesn’t belong to me, but to him.
“I’m sorry. I just—I can’t,” I mutter, wiping my lips with the back of my hand.
Andy squeezes his eyes shut and sighs in apparent disappointment and I can’t say I blame him. I’m disappointed too. I wish Damon didn’t dominate every part of me, but he does. At least for right now.
“I’m just going to go ahead and go to bed. Thank you for dinner,” I say cordially, fidgeting with my fingers in front of me, not knowing what else to do.
“Thank you for not taking off when you found out that I tricked you into coming.” Andy smiles sweetly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Want me to take you up?” He motions with his chin toward the penthouse behind me.
“Nah. I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Andy nods. “You know where to find me.” He turns his broad shoulders and walks away, leaving me alone.
I stand on the sidewalk feeling homeless again, physically and emotionally destitute. My home isn’t really my home, it’s Damon’s. And my heart isn’t really my heart. That’s property of Damon Cole too.
I walk past the abandoned security desk and take the elevator up. The moment I’m through the door I kick off my heels. One by one they skitter across the floor. I drop my purse strap on the banister of the stairs. The thin belt around my waist is next. I unbuckle it and pull it from the loops holding it in place. It drops to the stairs. Once I’m on the landing, I reach around and unzip my sheath dress, letting it slink to the floor. I’ve discarded everything haphazardly, needing desperately to sink into a hot bath. I can clean up my mess later, but right now soaking away my encounter with Damon takes precedence.
Water feels good on my face. I wipe away the makeup and examine my reflection in the guest bathroom mirror. I look pathetic. My eyes are tired. My shoulders slouch involuntarily. My muscles have softened with lack of use. I’m the poster girl for depression.
A loud crashing noise coming from downstairs has me standing still, listening closely for the culprit. It’s impossible to break into this place; it’s as secure as they come. I struggle to recall if I engaged the security alarm when I came through the door. Fuck!
I scurry to the closet looking for something, anything, to arm myself with before I go downstairs. Even if there was a weapon in this closet I doubt I’d be able to find it beneath the clothes, shoes, and random junk that’s strung all over the place. Housework has been at the bottom of my priority list lately.
I don’t even have my cell phone since it’s at the bottom of the stairs in my purse. I go over my options in my head for a moment while I stand in the closet in just my bra and panties.
I know my best bet is to get my phone and call the security desk. If I call whoever is on duty tonight, they can come up and check things out for me or call the police on my behalf, whichever comes first.
I peek out from my hiding spot to make sure the coast is clear then tiptoe to the guest room door. I peer into the dark hall looking for the first sign of trouble. I don’t see anything, so I tiptoe down the hall to the landing at the top of the stairs.
“Holy shit!” I nearly jump out of my skin when I see Damon coming up the stairs with my shoes, purse, and belt in hand. “What the fuck are you doing?” I screech. “You scared the hell out of me!” Blood rushes to my head, my ears ring, and my cheeks redden thanks to the copious amount of adrenaline humming through my veins.
“Where is he?” Damon growls, looking right past me.
My eyebrows furrow. “Who?”
“Is he here, Josephine? I’ll kill him,” he mutters and walks past me.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” I scurry behind Damon.
“Andy. Where is he?” he grates out, his jaw clenched tight and a muscle ticking in his cheek. He’s a walking time bomb of testosterone.
“You’re joking, right?” I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice. “Where’s Carrie?” I snap, bursting forward to step in front of him.
“Don’t toy with me, Josephine.”
“I’m not toying with you. I’m dead serious. What gives you the right to barge in here, scaring the shit out of me, might I add, just to try and dictate who I’m seeing?” I embellish the “who I’m seeing” part for effect. I’m in no way, shape, or form seeing Andy. He’s a friend and I don’t plan on taking things beyond that.
“This is my property,” Damon answers simply, eyeing my scantily clad body. The way he’s declared that this is his property has me wondering if he’s talking about me or the penthouse or both.
A thick vein in his neck bulges and palpitates, displaying how pissed he is. Something about an angry Damon sets my insides stirring. It always has. Stop! I reprimand myself. Turning on my heels, I stomp off to the guest room, desperate for space and clothing.
Damon’s footsteps match mine as he walks close behind. He’s goddamned impossible.
“Privacy? Have you heard of it?” I grind out over my shoulder.
“I’ve seen your body a thousand times, Josephine. Don’t be a child.”
“A child? A child? Who’s the child walking around acting like the whole world belongs to him and people should just watch out, else be squished beneath your shining fucking Oxfords?!”
Damon’s eyes widen, apparently shocked by my insult.
“Just leave, please.” I scramble for something resembling pajamas. A robe. A towel. Even a scarf would be better than standing here in my panties and bra.
“Are you fucking him?”
I gape at his forwardness. “That’s none of your business, Damon,” I assert, shaking my head at how stubborn and persistent he can be. I snatch my robe from the floor, slip it on and turn to face him.
“It damn sure is my business!” he roars.
“No. It’s not,” I reply calmly. “That’s the funny thing about ripping a person’s heart out and walking away from them. It means you no longer get a say in anything that person does.” I talk to him as if he’s a child, pointing from me back to him.
“Jo,” he breathes, shoving his big paws through his dark hair.
“He’s just a friend, Damon, and he damn sure isn’t here,” I admit feebly. Part of me wants to let him stew in his mess, wondering if I’m seeing Andy, but the part of me that’s still so completely in love with him hates to see him upset.
Irrational or not, in my heart, he’s still mine and I’m still his.
“Jo, I—” Damon visibly struggles with whatever he’s wanting to say.
My heart leaps, hoping that maybe he’s changed his mind, that maybe he’s realized that anything I ever did was because I love him so much. I watch him closely as his beleaguered eyes work at what he wants to say.
Nothing.
And with that, my heart breaks all over again.
“You can’t do this to me,” I whisper with a quivering chin. “You can’t make this ugly. A clean break is the only way I’ll survive this. It’s the only way I’ll survive losing you.” I make no effort at hiding the tears that have welled in my tired eyes.
Damon’s eyes slide shut. He shoves his big hands into his pockets in his customary way and turns away. Just like that I’m broken all over again. I’ve lost him for the second time in a matter of two weeks.
I stagger into the store after a night of tossing and turning. What little sleep I did get was dominated by dreams of Damon and the life we won’t be sharing together. Coming to the store this morning is actually far better than lying in bed feeling depressed.
Brian comes skipping into the store (literally) about an hour after I do with an annoyingly chipper disposition that I’m sure is thanks to a night full of sexual exploits. “Good morning, doll,” he singsongs, sounding all Broadway Cats meets Will & Grace.
I scoff at him, mostly out of jealousy. It’s nearly infuriating seeing happy people right now. Here I am opening box after box of deliveries feeling like death and Brian is acting like he’s a cast member of Mary Poppins. “What’s so damn good about this morning?” I bemoan.
Brian halts in his tracks as if someone has clotheslined him. “Eww. Snotty really isn’t your color, Jo. PMS much?”
I feel guilty almost instantly. He doesn’t deserve my shitty attitude. “I’m sorry, Bri. I’m just tired,” I lie.
“Awe, it’s okay. I forgive you,” he smiles and winks.
“What are you doing here?”
“Okay, so don’t shoot the messenger, but Damon sent me here.”
“What for?”
Brian motions towards the office and I lead the way. Once in the office, he squats to pet Hemingway, who is lounging under my desk as usual. Brian ruffles the hair on Hemingway’s head then holds his hand out to me. “Got any germ stuff?”
“He’s a dog, Brian. Not a corpse.”
“Same difference. Both are germy.” He shivers in mock disgust.
“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculous you are?”
“Of course,” he replies with a bright smile in place. He’s proud and confident in his own skin. I envy him. “Anywho,” he begins, rummaging through his man purse and producing his tablet, which I have to come to think of as an extra appendage, “Damon has some things he wants me to discuss with you.”
“Fine,” I groan as I sink back into Captain’s old chair.
“Okay, Damon has decided to wire money to your bank account in the amount of five hundred thousand. He’s signed the deed to the penthouse over to you. He wants to pay for your appointments with Dr. Versan for as long as you wish to go,” Brian swipes his screen, moving to his next page of notes, I presume.
I am wide-eyed and gaping at what he’s just said. Words escape me. He gave me what and what?
“He has also named you as his beneficiary in the event of his death.”
The mere thought of Damon dying has my stomach threatening to get me reacquainted with my breakfast burrito. “Don’t. Just stop,” I plead.
Brian arches his brows at me. “You okay, honey? Want me to grab a trash can?”
I shake my head. “Go tell him that I don’t want all of that,” I say softly. “I can’t. I don’t want his money. I want him. Never his money,” I reiterate.
“Honey, I know this. But he’s just doing what he thinks is the right thing. You know he’s just a caveman.” Brian shakes his head and I can’t help thinking he knows exactly how I feel right now.
I feel like a business transaction. Like an asset that’s being liquidated due to issues with demand, not supply.
“He already wired the money, Jo.”
I can’t even speak. I lean forward and let my head drop onto my desk. Maybe the biggest reason I don’t want all of this is because it screams, “It’s over!”
“It feels so final,” I whimper.
“Sweetheart,” Brian coos, scooting over to me. He rubs my back and lays his head on my shoulder. “You’re going to be okay. You have me. You have Noni. You still have Grams. You have Andy, who seems like a nice guy. And hot to boot!” He jabs a finger into my side and making me squirm. “I have a meeting in twenty. Are you okay?” Brian asks, stuffing his tablet back into his bag.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ve got tons of work to get done so that will keep me busy,” I say, looking around at the stacks of papers needing to be sorted. “Hey, is Lindsay still looking for a job?” I ask suddenly.
“Yeah, no luck so far.”
“Do you think she’d want to come work here? I wouldn’t mind having another person to help with orders, stocking, and inventory, and eventually the store will be open and I can’t run the register all the time, so I’ll need someone for that too.”
“Oh, that would be awesome, Jo!” Brian beams excitedly. “You’d hire her?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s not the best pay, but it’s something,” I reply with a shrug.
“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” he gushes, pulling me into a hug. “You’re a doll. I’ll send her over in the morning. Is that okay?”
“Fine by me.”
“And I’ll email you this information in a bit. Cheer up. I was serious about snotty not being your color.” He drops a kiss on my cheek. “Ciao!” He waves on his way out of the office.
Ciao? “What? Are you Italiano now?”
“Nope, but I plan on helping myself to one later.”
“Oh, God,” I groan and lay my weary head back down on my desk. I’m starting to feel really guilty about my snippy attitude with Brian. I owe him so much more than that. I need to practice more restraint. It’s just so hard to keep the heartbreak infection from spreading all over me. I’m grumpy and tired and beyond sad. It could be PMS but if I had to stamp a ratio on it, I’d say 90% breakup side effect and 10% PMS.
PMS? I pop my head up from my desk and scrunch my brows, thinking hard. My period. I dig for the calendar buried beneath a load of paperwork on my desk. I find the thing and scan it, counting as I go. I flip back one month and another. Oh hell no.
I grab Hemingway from his bed and jump from my seat like my butt is on fire. I emerge from the office to see Noni at the cash register, teaching herself every function. She did that yesterday too. I have a passing thought that she should train me on the register.
“Gotta run. Be back in a bit!” I call as I rush out the door.
My bathroom is in the same condition as my office and finding my pack of birth control pills proves to be a Herculean task. I need to count pills and days and try to remember the date of my last period. It’s a monumental effort on my part. My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. My head is spinning. I need help.
My queasy stomach goes into hyperdrive as I realize there’s a very real possibility that I could be… pregnant. Holy fucking hell. Instinct has me reaching for my phone. I swipe the screen to unlock it and scroll through my contacts with shaky hands.
I don’t have many contacts to speak of, so the scroll through the list is a short one. I make it to the bottom of the list then back up again. “Damon,” I mumble. I want nothing more than to call him and insist that he come to the penthouse, but I won’t. My pride and dignity are still partially intact and they’re all I have to work with at the moment. That, and one skinny jean wearing gay man. I quickly move to Brian’s number and click, waiting impatiently for him to answer.
“Hey hey, gorgeous!” he sings into the phone.
“Get you
r perky ass over here. Pronto. Emergency. Do me a favor and swing by the drugstore. Buy every brand of pregnancy test they sell. Use Damon’s money and keep your mouth shut.”
“Wai—what? Are you joking right now?” he says, sounding deadpan.
“Not in the slightest, Brianna.”
“Jo, I can’t. I’m with the boss man right now. Meeting. What would I say?” he asks in a hushed voice, all humor gone.
“Tell him it’s a goddamned family emergency!” I whine like a petulant child.
“K, sit tight. Be there in twenty.”
We hang up and I sit dazedly on the guest bed for what feels like an eternity. This can’t be happening to right now. I’m not pregnant. There’s no way. I’m on the pill. I take it at the same time every day without fail.
I begin scrutinizing the last two packs of pills and my responsibility about taking the magic little beasties. One pack was in the bottom of the bag I used before I switched to the one I carry now and the other pack of magic pills was in the drawer of my nightstand beneath my worn copy of The Catcher In the Rye. If the locations that I found both of them are any indication, I’m sure that I could have made it a point to be a little more diligent with taking them on time every day. I may have been a little late taking one or two of them but I’ve never missed a whole day. Hours, yes, but an entire day? No. I could slap myself right now. I’m an idiot. I’ve been playing with fire where contraception is concerned and I hadn’t even realized it. I’ve been so damn wrapped up in Damon and the store and the new house and wedding plans that don’t mean a damn thing now. I cup my head in my hands and do my best the quiet my spinning head and squeamish stomach.
“Jo, baby, where are you?” I hear Brian call out from somewhere in the penthouse.
“In here!” I shout from my perch on the guest bed.
A moment later I hear him scurry down the hall to me. He swings the door open wide, holding two plastic bags from the pharmacy down the street.