by Anya Sharpe
My desk phone rings and I stare at it.
I answer with a distinct lack of emotion and enthusiasm. Whomever it is can go to hell.
“Erynne Sommers.”
“Erynne…” I recognize the rich, deep voice.
“Jamie?” This is a first. Why on Earth is Derrick’s boss calling me? Did something happen to him? Panic rises in my throat. “What’s wrong?”
“Tell me what happened, Erynne.” His ever-present stern lawyer voice is replaced by the tone of a caring friend. “Derrick’s locked himself in his office and refuses to talk to anyone.”
“Oh, God, Jamie.” I begin to sob. “I can’t do this.”
“You’re scaring me, Erynne. What the hell is going on? Do you want me to come over?”
“No.” I panic at the suggestion. God, that’s the last thing I want right now. “I’m sorry, Jamie. It’s bad. But, I can’t talk to you. You’ll have to get through to Derrick. Look, I gotta go.” Before he says anything else, I hang up.
Within seconds, the phone starts ringing again. The sensation of being smothered takes over.
An urge to leave this building is overwhelming, so after grabbing my purse I race to the elevator. Please don’t let anyone see me—especially Evan or Maya. I need air. I need to be alone.
The crisp autumn air smacks me in the face when I whip open the lobby door, and inhale as deep as my lungs will allow. A cab slows in front of me. The bracing air is invigorating, so I ignore the taxi and begin walking. It’s a good twenty blocks from the office to our apartment, but I could care less.
The breeze is cold, lashing relentlessly through the city canyons, and I realize I am shivering in the sleeveless dress I borrowed from Maya. The punishing chill stings my skin. At least I feel something—including the blisters forming on my heels. I glance around, noticing I’m more than halfway home, and stop dead in my tracks, gasping for a deep breath.
How fast was I walking? The last ounces of energy which propelled me along the streets has vanished. I’m tired. So very tired.
Another cab pulls up next to me, and I get in.
In front of our building, I climb out and hurry into the warm lobby. As I press the button for our floor, I pray Derrick hasn’t come out of his hidey hole at the office and returned home.
Click. The lock turns and the door swings open. The apartment is eerily still. The kind of quiet that assures you’re alone.
Tossing keys on the side table, I spot evidence of Derrick’s presence last night or this morning. The coffee pot is half full of cold coffee, and a partially drunk cup sits on the counter. Derrick’s favorite silver tie has slid into a puddle on the tile. His gray suit coat is strewn haphazardly across a barstool, as usual.
I gather my courage and head down the hall. The strong scent of whiskey hits my nostrils at the same time as I spot the sparkle of broken glass on the floor. Streaks of dried liquor paint the wall. I walk right past the evidence of Derrick’s temper, into our bedroom.
Rumpled sheets. A damp towel on the carpet. A suit wadded up on a chair in the corner.
I survey the rest of the room. The drawers on Derrick’s dresser are open in various states, as if he riffled through his clothes in anger.
Good.
My purse lands with a soft thud on the ground, then I yank the sheets off the bed and lug them to the laundry room, where I toss them in a pile. Tears flow uncontrollably as I pull out clean white sheets and remake the bed. I want nothing more than to feel the hot spray of a shower, and to collapse under the blankets for a few days. Maybe a few months. Perhaps when I wake up this nightmare will be over.
Not likely. But I hope just the same.
****
“Erynne!” Through the dense fog of sleep, I’m aware of my name being shouted.
“Erynne!”
Confused, I sit up as Derrick bursts into the bedroom and flips on the light. He looks like hell. Unshaven. Tie askew, shirt untucked. His normally impeccable hair is a rat’s nest from running his fingers through it.
“Derrick? What are you doing here?” I stare at him as he looms in the doorway. His chest rises in anger and…panic?
“Where the hell have you been, Erynne?”
Puzzle pieces click into place, and I emerge further from my sleep-induced stupor, recalling the events of the last twenty-four hours.
“Huh?”
“Where. The. Hell. Have. You. Been?” He punctuates every word with contained anger.
A prickle runs up my backbone.
“What the hell do you care?” I glance down, noticing I fell asleep in nothing but a bra and panties, so I clutch the sheet up over my exposed body.
“Fuck, Erynne. Everyone’s been looking for you. You walked out of the office without a word and left your phone on your desk. No one could find you.” He sounds more relieved than angry now.
My mouth drops open, and I snap it closed. I should be angry and humiliated and hurt, but instead, I feel guilty for worrying everyone.
Shit. Why is this all on me?
“Get out.”
Derrick stares at me.
“Get out,” I repeat. “Let me put some clothes on.”
“I’m your husband, goddamn it. I’ve seen you naked for chrissakes.”
“Get. Out.”
Exhaling loudly, he stomps down the hall. The noisy rattle of glassware echoes as I slide out of bed and throw on sweats and a T-shirt, then do a half-assed job of smoothing out my tangled, long brown hair. Barefoot, I step into the living room, careful to avoid the shards of glass on the floor.
Derrick tosses back a pour of Scotch and turns toward me, a mix of emotions radiating from his body.
“Why did you do it, Derrick?” I remain standing across the living room from him.
“Do what for God’s sake?” He’s playing dumb, but the guilt is etched on his face, his shoulders stiff. The man I loved and trusted for so many years is full of lies. The thought makes me gag. I swallow down a rising sob. He’s going to make me say the words, the bastard. With his back turned to me, he pours more Scotch into his glass.
“Morgan. You slept with her, didn’t you?”
His torso freezes as he lifts the tumbler before slamming it onto the bar, sloshing the amber liquid everywhere. The air is thick with tension and the aroma of liquor. They kind of go together. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. Did you sleep with her?”
“Why the fuck would I do that, Erynne?” He hasn’t turned to face me. He’s lying. How can he stand there and lie to me?
“You did. This whole time, you’ve been fucking her, not working late.” I want to slap him and tell him to man up and give me the goddamned truth. If I do, I will explode into so many pieces, I’ll never be able to put myself back together.
“Erynne…” He groans, dropping his head and gripping the edge of the wood bar.
“Just tell me, Derrick.” My voice is even and calm, but I am shattering inside. Plink. Plink. Plink. The pieces of my soul crashing to the ground.
He turns and walks toward me, then grasps my arms—hard. He’s going to leave bruises again. I try to twist away, but he grips harder.
“This is so…fucked up. So…complicated. I never wanted to hurt you.” I wince in pain, and he realizes he’s hurting me and loosens his hold.
“Did you have sex with her?” The words come out in a whisper, because I’m barely holding on here. Tears are threatening to spill. I don’t dare blink, or that dam will burst.
His angry, defeated eyes stare into mine. He opens his mouth to speak. “I…”
Someone pounds on the door.
“Erynne!” It’s Maya.
Derrick releases me and I let Maya in.
“Here’s your phone. Girl, you scared us…” She comes to a halt as she spots Derrick across the room.
“I’m fine, Maya. Derrick was just leaving.”
“The hell I am, Erynne.” He glares at me. “We’re talking. Now.”
I shake my head.
“No. I can’t do this, Derrick. Take some clothes. Go. Please.”
His gaze flits from me to Maya and back to me.
“Fuck.” He mumbles as he stomps down the hall.
I collapse into a chair as he mutters obscenities amid slamming doors and drawers. He reappears holding a small duffel and a couple of suits on hangers.
“I’ll call you tomorrow. You’d better answer.” Rage is rolling off him as he slams the door behind him.
Chapter Nine
Derrick
How the hell did my life get so fucked up?
Dropping the duffel on the floor of the hotel room, I go directly to the minibar.
One minute I’m at the top of my game. Gorgeous wife I love to death. A career as a trial lawyer going gang-busters. Or was.
Then, fucking Morgan Banner crosses my path.
Again.
The day Jamie introduced her as the firm’s new hire, I thought I was seeing things. Nope. Definitely Morgan. To make matters worse, he puts us on the fucking Martin case together. Dammit.
I twist open a second mini-bottle of booze from the fridge. I don’t even care what the hell it is. Cyanide might be good.
Morgan has me by the nuts, and she knows it. I can’t believe she returned after all this time.
Stupidly, I thought I could mollify her with a few dinners. A little making out. Okay, far more than that. No sense in lying to myself. I flash to a memory of eating her out on her desk. On my wife’s birthday. I’m disgusting.
I should have known even that wouldn’t satisfy Morgan Banner.
I was cocky enough to think I had an extrication plan. I underestimated her, and she fucked with my marriage, demanding I come to her when she knew…she knew…I was supposed to be with my wife last night. For that matter, all those nights.
Her demands on Erynne’s birthday were bad enough. Then, she twisted the noose on our anniversary.
What were the goddamned odds Erynne’s friends would take her to that restaurant after I canceled? Of the thousands of restaurants in this city, they chose Malone’s.
My life is shit now. All because I wasn’t going to let her have my dick. This time.
Morgan called in her chips. She wanted me in her bed again. One hundred percent back. So she used my weaknesses against me. Every. Single. One.
I had to give in.
Now, that insatiable dark need is overtaking me again. I want—no, I need—to be back in bed with her. Morgan awakened a vile beast I thought was long buried.
Like a spoiled child, she got her way, and I let her. I’m just as bad as she is.
Now, I’m going to lose Erynne over this. If I haven’t already. The most important thing is to figure out how to fix this impossible mess…
Exhausted, I flop down on the bed, scrub a hand across my unshaven face, and close my eyes.
I’m so damned tired.
****
The office door closes quietly. I don’t need to look up to know who it is.
“Derrick. We’ve been friends for a long time. Tell me what’s going on.” Jamison takes a seat across from me, casually leaning back into the chair and lifting one foot to rest on the opposite knee. His typical, “let’s chat” pose.
I stare at the screen in front of me. What the hell can I even begin to tell Jamie about the mess this I’m in? He’ll crucify me. Fire me. Then, probably help Erynne set fire to me. Rightfully so.
“I tried to talk to Erynne yesterday when you holed yourself up in here all day.”
I peer over at him. Fuck. What the hell did she tell him? I exhale until my lungs feel drained of air.
“That was quite a sigh, old friend.” Jamie stares at me and scratches at his chin thoughtfully. “Derrick, I had two choices. To come in here as your friend or to come in here as your boss. I’m here as your friend right now.”
“Jamie…” God, I hate this. “I don’t even know where to begin. Or how much to tell you.” I’m pond scum. “I’ve fucked up so bad, I’ll never be able to make it right.”
Jamie nods. The silence is awkward.
“As your boss, now, does this have anything to do with the Martin case?”
I rub my hands over my burning, tired eyes before answering. “No. Not specifically.”
“What about all the late nights you’ve been keeping?”
My heart races. “Some.”
“Hmm.” There’s an uncomfortable pause. Has he figured out something’s going on between Morgan and me, or is he’s merely fishing? “I think some of this is my fault, Derrick.”
“What?” I’m stunned.
“I should have spoken up sooner. Yes, this case is important. You’re one of our best attorneys, and Morgan came to us with a good track record.” I am sure I pale at the mention of Morgan. “Derrick, you can’t let a big case screw with your life, or you’ll end up like me and Sophie. I’d hate for that happen to you and Erynne because you worked late too many nights.”
Holy fuck, if you only knew, Jamie…
“Wasn’t your anniversary the other day? You mentioned reservations for some fancy night out, didn’t you?”
“Um, well…yeah, it was…” I stammer like an idiot. Jamie’s eyes go wide.
“What happened? And, I’d better not hear you say you worked late…” For the first time in ever, Jamie’s growing angry with me. The ringing of my phone gains me a reprieve.
“Not now, Morgan.” Pause. “Not a good time, Morgan. I’m with Jamie…” How I wish this call could get me out of the rest of this conversation with my boss/friend. Somehow, fate intervenes. Jamie points at his phone. “Hold on a second, Morgan.” I glance over at Jamie.
“I gotta go.” He mouths, spearing me with a look that says “this discussion isn’t over,” and leaves my office.
“He’s gone. What do you need, Morgan?”
“You know what I need, Master.”
Oh, fuck.
****
Swish! Smack!
Swish! Smack!
“Tell me why I’m punishing you.” The flick of the whip slices sharply though the air, landing with a crack that makes my already harder-than-steel dick feel like it might just snap in half.
“B-b-because…” Morgan cries. Her ass is crisscrossed with pink stripes not many shades lighter than her pale red hair. She’s released the beast. The one I thought I’d finally caged. Now, she’s getting what she wanted. Fuck me, I love giving it to her.
Swish! Smack!
“Say it!” I demand. I am furious with both myself and Morgan. Unfortunately, taking it out on her ass isn’t doing anything but making me want to fuck her into next Tuesday. “Start talking or I won’t let you come. I’ll bring you to the edge over and over. But you won’t come. Not for several days.”
“Nooo! Please!” she moans, straining against the cuffs holding her arms and legs in place as she leans over the padded bench. “I got in the way.” She gasps as another powerful stroke lands. For as much as she cries, Morgan loves this, lives for this. This is why she came back. No one else filled the need for her, she claimed.
“Keep going.”
“I pushed you too hard about…” Morgan freezes as put the whip down. I love making her ass cherry red, but I’m not cruel enough to continue to the point it is harmful.
“Oh, don’t stop talking now, sweetheart. I’m not nearly done yet,” I warn.
“Derrick, please…” She begs beautifully.
“Start.” The buzz of the vibrator fills the room. “Talking.”
Chapter Ten
Erynne
There might as well be a one-hundred-pound anvil sitting on my chest. The nightly dreams plaguing me since I kicked Derrick out are exhausting. Despite his angry threat, he hasn’t called me—yet. What’s worse? The cheating? The fact he hasn’t called? The nightmare that is now my life? The emptiness growing like a cancer in my gut? The endless parade of questions stomping through my brain day and night?
What the hell am I supposed to do?
; I’d taken a couple days off to regroup. Thankfully the office is quiet this morning. Opening the door, I hang my coat behind it on the hook as my phone starts ringing, breaking the silence. Lately, nothing good comes with a phone call. Who is it this time? Derrick? Would I even want to talk to the bastard?
My hands tremble as I lift the receiver.
“Erynne Sommers.”
“Good morning, Erynne.” A familiar deep, smooth voice winds through the device making my breath catch.
“Jamie. Uh…hi. What’s up?”
“Meet me for lunch.” This isn’t an invitation—more like an expectation.
Well, talk about cutting to the chase…
“That’s very sweet of you, but not today, Jamie.”
“Diamond Sushi at noon.”
“You’re quite insistent, Jamie.”
“Not taking no for an answer. I’m worried about you—and Derrick for that matter.”
Oh, Jesus.
“This isn’t a good idea, Jamie.” I don’t want to talk to my scumbag husband’s boss about this nasty mess. Oddly, that seems—unfaithful. Even under the circumstances. “I’m sorry. Maybe another time?”
“I’ll pick you up. Be ready.”
Click.
I set down the phone, schlump into the swivel chair, and allow my head to bang down onto the desk. Why won’t people leave me alone? Just let me wallow in my misery quietly? Then, a pretty awful thought occurs to me.
Holy crap, I hope he’s not dragging Derrick along to this stupid lunch. Oh, hell no.
“Gahhhh!” I moan aloud, slapping my hand on the wood.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine.” Evan strolls in—tall, dark, handsome, smiling, and hands casually tucked into the pockets of his trousers.
“What do you want?”
“Again, good morning to you, too, sunshine.”
I scowl at him, but he continues to grin and chuckle.
“I’m guessing you woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
Evan approaches my desk, sitting in a chair across from me. The scruffy almost-but-not-quite-a-beard look he’s got going on is good on him. Quite attractive.
What the hell am I admiring Evan’s friggin’ facial hair for?