Gloria's Revenge (Gloria Book 2)

by Nelle L'Amour

  “Could you please tell me if Vivien Holden has a reservation for two at six thirty?” I asked.

  Standing behind a podium, the bubbly blonde, for sure a young, aspiring actress with her bombshell looks, scanned her reservations log. Her face brightened. “Yes!” She gazed up at me. “Are you, by chance, Ms. Long?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  “Follow me,” she said with a wide smile. “Ms. Holden is expecting you.”

  Keeping up with her, I had to say I was impressed that Vivien had thought ahead and made a table reservation. Noisy bars with horny singles were just not my thing.

  “She’s seated in the corner table to the right,” said the hostess as we wove through the busy restaurant.

  My eyes darted in that direction and my heart dropped to the floor.

  Sure enough, there was Vivien, all dolled up. And cozied up next to her was a drop dead handsome man with his lips latched onto hers in a passionate embrace. Jaime Zander!

  I stood paralyzed in shock. Every ounce of blood drained from my system. A bullet had once almost tore through my heart. This time it was as if it didn’t miss. The excruciating pain didn’t give rage a chance.

  “Are you okay?” asked the hostess.

  At first, I couldn’t get my mouth to move; it hung open but it was like my jaw was wired shut. I fortified myself with a deep painful breath, forcing reason and movement back into my being. “Yes,” I stuttered. “I can take it from here.”

  The hostess, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside me, told me to enjoy my evening and skirted away.

  Run, don’t walk, my inner voice urged. Which way? Out the door? My legs were buried in cement. I still couldn’t get them to move.

  Then, without warning, a sudden rush of adrenaline surged inside me. I stormed up to them. They were still in a heated embrace.

  “Is this your business client?” I grinded out the words as burning tears sprung to my eyes.

  The familiar sound of my voice stopped Jaime in his tracks. He abruptly jerked away from Vivien and gazed up at me. His face was drained of color, and his eyes were as round as two blue marbles. “Jesus fucking Christ” he gasped in shock.

  “Fuck you!” I screamed back at him.

  Vivien flung her head back and raked her fingers through her perfectly blown Cleopatra-styled hair. Some doctor’s appointment—she’d spent the afternoon beautifying for her hot date. She was perfectly made up, and her tight little red dress practically still had the price tag on it. A wicked, triumphant smile flitted across her face. “So nice to see you, Gloria. Do you want to join us? Jaime was just telling me about all the good ideas he has to get Gloria’s Secret back on track.”

  My eyes lanced into him. He remained speechless. Hurt and rage continued to battle for the prize of my broken heart. How could have I fallen for him? Put everything I had into him? Believed what he’d told me only a few hours ago? Let myself think there was a future with him? Suddenly, I felt god damn fucking stupid. I’d been played. Played by that vixen bitch Vivien, who cleverly lured me here, and used by a bastard sex god who used his cock to get to me and win my account. I’d been deceived. Totally, terribly deceived.

  Jaime attempted to say something. “Gloria, I had no idea—”

  I cut him off. “Take your fucking ring back. There is no toi et moi!” Burning now with rage, I tore the ring off my middle finger and hurled it at him. It bounced off his rock-hard chest and landed with a loud ping somewhere on the floor. My shaking finger stung like hell. I glanced down at it. Fuck. I’d torn off a sizeable chunk of skin on my knuckle. It was raw and bleeding.

  “Ooh, that must hurt,” cooed Vivien.

  My finger throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing in my heart.

  Alarmed, Jaime jumped to his feet and reached for my hand. “Let me see your finger.”

  I jerked my hand away from him. “Don’t touch me!” I hissed.

  I snatched a clean napkin off the table and wrapped it around the wound. With tears scorching down my face, I raced out of the restaurant.

  Thank goodness, I’d given the valet an extra ten bucks to keep my car parked nearby. It was still sitting in front of the restaurant. The cool ocean breeze sent goose bumps all over me.

  “That’s my car,” I told one of the attendants, pointing to the black Porsche with my good hand. My voice was hurried. Panicked.

  “The key’s inside.” Catching sight of the now bloodstained napkin wrapped around my other hand, he sensed my urgency.

  Without wasting a second, I stepped off the curve and rounded my car to the driver’s side door. As I gripped the cold metal handle with my good hand, I felt two powerful hands clutch my waist. They spun me around, and I was face-to-face with the man I never wanted to see again. Jaime Zander.

  “Let go of me, you bastard!” I tried to squirm away, but it was futile. He held on to me too firmly.

  His intense denim blues gazed into my wretched, watering eyes. “Gloria, it’s not what you think. You don’t understand. Please. You have to trust me.”

  “Trust you? You want me to trust you?” God fucking damn it. “I did trust you. I let you fuck me till I fell apart. I just wasn’t counting on you to make my heart fall apart so soon.” My nostrils flared as I sobbed. “You and Vivien belong together.”

  Desperation swept over his face. “No, I belong with you, angel.”

  “Don’t ever call me that!” Tears flocked my eyes. I turned my head away from him. With one hand, he clenched my jaw, forcing me to look his way. I resisted.

  “Stop it! You’re hurting me.”

  He immediately let go, and I turned on my own to face him.

  His eyes bore into mine, but his voice was soft and repentant. “I’m sorry, angel. I’ve never meant to hurt you.”

  “Well, you could have fooled me.” Tears streamed down my face. I was worn out, physically and emotionally. I pleaded with him one more time: “Please. Let. Me. Go.”

  To my relief, he released me and stepped back. He lowered his long-lashed eyes. “I’m sorry, angel. I wish I could explain.”

  “There’s nothing to explain. Actions speak louder than words.” With that, I clambered into the car, slamming the door behind me. I frantically locked it before he could yank it open. Cursing, he punched the roof as I threw the sports car into first gear. Fuck him! Without another look at him, I floored the gas pedal and peeled away with an ear-piercing screech.

  My hands shook on the steering wheel, and tears blinded my vision as I turned right off Ocean Avenue onto Wilshire Boulevard. Thank god, it was just one short, straight line back to my condo. My finger throbbed, and my heart was running a marathon with despair at the finish line. How could I have let this man get to me? How could I have been so spineless, so gullible? So stupid? I hated Jaime. I hated Vivien. But most of all, I hated myself.

  The sound of a loud horn blared in my ears. Distraught and distracted, I ran a red light and narrowly missed being hit. Shit. I was totally out of control. Silently, I prayed I wouldn’t get into an accident. In my condition, I wasn’t meant to be on the road. Focus, Gloria, focus! My face wet with tears and my emotions raging like a hurricane, I somehow managed to make it to my high-rise building. Coming to a skidding stop, I left the car with the valet and dashed past the doorman to the elevator before he could greet me. I pounded the call button and headed straight into the arms of the one person in the world I could trust. Kevin Riley.

  Kevin’s condo was one floor below mine. While not as big as my two-story penthouse, it was nonetheless spacious and enjoyed views of the city all around. It was impeccably furnished with high-end Italian furniture that complimented framed black and white photographs, mostly of beautiful men, on the walls.

  “Holy shit, Glorious. What’s wrong?” he gasped at the sight of me. With my tear-streaked face, bloodshot eyes, and bloody bandaged hand, I must have been a sorrowful sight. I kicked off my heels at the entrance and let myself fall into him, burying my head on his chest. Af
ter letting me sob like that for several long minutes, he wrapped a comforting arm around me and ushered me into his apartment. “Tell me everything.”

  I collapsed into one of his comfy cream leather club chairs, folding my good hand over the other with the makeshift bandage. Though I thought the bleeding had stopped, my finger throbbed more than ever. I continued to cry ugly tears. “Oh, Kev, I caught Jaime with Vivien. He told me in Paris there was nothing between them. He lied to me! He was all over her.” I launched into the day’s events—of how Jaime had driven me to his seaside property and made a commitment to me and of how Vivien had set me up to prove he was a two-timing prick.

  Reddening with rage, Kevin slammed his fist onto the arm of the chair; his temper was equal to Jaime’s. “Fucking Vivien!”

  “No, not fucking Vivien. Fucking bastard. Stupid me. It’s probably better I found out now that he was a cheating asshole and was just using me.”

  I lifted my good hand to wipe my tears. Kevin’s eyes immediately took hold of the bloodstained napkin wrapped around the other on my lap. Alarm swept over him.

  “Glorious, what did you do to your hand?”

  I slowly unwrapped the napkin. The damaged finger made my whole hand tremble, the ugly wound red and raw. “I tore off my skin when I tore off his ring.”

  Though not adverse to blood, Kevin scrunched up his face. “Sheesh, that looks really nasty.” He rose from the couch. “Don’t move. I’m going to patch it up.”

  A faint but grateful smile spread across my tear-soaked face. As he sauntered off, I thought about how lucky I was to have him in my life. My mind flashed back to our final days in Brighton Beach…hiding out in the small one-bedroom apartment we shared…Kevin taking care of me as I lay feverishly in his bed with an infected bullet wound…falling in and out of consciousness…waking to find him cleaning the wound and changing the dressing while my body shook from pain and fever. He nursed me back to health, with the help of a local doctor whose children he’d once tutored, and masterminded our escape. Our new life. Yes, Kevin was the only person I could trust in the world.

  One short minute later, he was back with first aid—clutching a bottle of peroxide, some cotton balls, and a box of Gloria’s Secret adhesive bandages in his hands.

  He lowered himself onto the arm of the chair, laying out the first aid supplies next to him. He grabbed a cotton ball and soaked it with the peroxide.

  “Glorious, this is going to sting,” he warned as he gently dabbed it on my raw, bloody wound. No shit. I winced. He dabbed it again and then pulled out a wide adhesive bandage from the box of Gloria’s Secret bandages. Earlier in the year, we had made a licensing deal with a major pharmaceutical company. Our focus group research had shown that single women loved to use the shiny white Band-Aids with our signature bright pink heart to hide hickies while moms reported that their little girls loved them to cover up boo-boos. Our first licensing deal had turned out to be a huge success.

  “Try to hold your finger steady.” I watched as Kevin peeled off the paper wrapping and then circled the bandage around my ravaged knuckle. The signature pink heart sat just above where two entwining diamond hearts had once been. If only there was a bandage big enough to cover my aching heart. Jaime had cut it open, and it kept on bleeding tears.

  Kevin admired his handiwork. “Try not bend your finger or get it wet while it heals.”

  I nodded. “Thanks, Kev,” I sniffled and lightly kissed him on the cheek.

  “Do you want to stay over?” he asked. “Or want me to come up?”

  I quirked another small smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I need some time alone to think things through. There was so much to think about—everything in my life was going so wrong. At the top of my list was the future of Gloria’s Secret, and my broken heart was not going to make dealing with it easier.

  I passed on a glass of wine and slogged one floor up to my condo. I was barely one foot inside it when the intercom buzzer sounded. I pressed the button on the wall by the door, careful not to use my bandaged finger.

  It was Walter, the kindly sixty-five-year-old doorman. “Ms. Long, there’s a gentleman by the name of Jaime Zander here to see you,” I heard him say through the speaker. My heart skipped a beat and my body shook. I quickly bolt-locked my door. “Tell him I don’t want to see him.”

  “He’s insistent on seeing you.”

  “Tell him to go away.” My voice was quivering.

  The next voice I heard was not the doorman’s. It was Jaime’s. “Jesus fucking Christ, Gloria, let me up!”

  “Go away,” I pleaded, my voice watery.

  Walter: “Ms. Long, do you want me to call security?”

  “Fuck security!” I heard Jaime growl. Shit! I hoped he wasn’t going to do in the poor, soon-to-retire doorman. With his red-hot temper and brutal strength, it was a possibility. I shuddered.

  Walter’s voice cracked with panic. “Ms. Long, he’s coming up. I couldn’t stop him. I’m calling security now.”

  “No, Walter. It’s okay. Don’t call security.”

  A combination of dread and despair filled me. My heart pounded and tears fell from my eyes. I sagged down against the door into a crouching position. There was a loud pounding on the other side. Jaime.

  “Gloria, let me in!”

  “Go away!”

  He pounded harder. “God damn it, Gloria. Open. The. Door.”

  “No!” I sobbed.

  “Just do it!” He gave the door a hard kick—so hard I could feel the vibration against my back.

  “I swear I’m going to kick the door down if you don’t open up.” He began to frantically kick the door. I painfully felt each angry kick.

  “Stop it!” I choked. “I’m going to call 911 if you don’t leave.” Of course, I wasn’t.

  He gave the door another loud, hard kick. “Fuck you, Gloria. You’re not the only one who can fall apart.” And then the pounding, screaming, and kicking stopped. He was gone. Heaving sobs wracked my body. I buried my head between my knees and just let the tears fall. I had won the battle, but victory eluded me. I forced myself to get up and stumbled to the window that overlooked Wilshire Boulevard. Gazing down at the busy street below through my tears, I watched Jaime Zander peel away in his Thunderbird convertible. I rubbed my throbbing finger as he raced down the boulevard and disappeared. Pain ripped through my body. My heart was still bleeding tears.

  CHAPTER 11

  My snooze alarm rang at six a.m. I pulled the covers over my eyes. I didn’t want to get out of bed. There was only one word to describe how I felt—sick. Very, very sick. My eyes stung from crying; a thick, painful lump in my throat made it almost impossible to swallow, and waves of nausea brushed against my chest. Madame Paulette had once said, “Love eez a disease for which there eez no cure.” I shuddered—were these the symptoms? Was this how I was going to feel the rest of my life?

  Yes, Jaime fucking Zander had broken my heart. He had asked for my trust—and my love—and all the while, he was deceiving me. Once the player, always the player. The heart-wrenching pain I felt from his deceit was in many ways worse than that of a bullet wound. It hurt physically and emotionally. As much as I willed the image of his beautiful face out of mind, it wouldn’t go away. Memories of all the good times we had together danced in my head and brought a rush of fresh tears to my eyes. I couldn’t stop reliving our most recent passionate encounter overlooking the Pacific Ocean. But each time I replayed it, the divine feeling of his fullness inside me succumbed to the excruciating emptiness I now felt in my heart.

  The alarm went off again, and I made my first executive decision of the day. Fuck it! I wasn’t going into my office—at least not this morning. Yes, I felt sick but that hadn’t stopped me before. The truth… I couldn’t face Vivien. The image of that vixen kissing Jaime flooded my head and made me shiver. If only I could fire her, but that wasn’t an option. Her type of betrayal wasn’t on the list of Human Resources’ causes for job termination. And there wa
s always Daddy to protect her tight little ass.

  With my burning eyes still closed, I forced Jaime to the back of my mind and focused on what I had to do today. To the best of my knowledge, I didn’t have any major meetings—except that dreaded lunch with Victor at noon to meet a potential business partner. I could work from home and then meet him at the Polo Lounge. Depending on how I felt after lunch, I would decide whether to go into my office. And then I remembered…

  Tonight was my big night—I was being honored at the Beverly Hilton for the charitable work I’d done as the founder and chief supporter of Girls Like Us. I’d been so looking forward to this event but now I dreaded it. Oh, God. How was I going to get it together? Face a crowd of over a thousand people? I hadn’t even written my speech. Maybe, I’d just wing it—that is, if I made it through the day.

  Sliding down the covers, I reached for my cell phone on my night table. I’d put the ringtone on mute before crawling into bed last night, not having the strength or desire to deal with anything or anyone. There were thirty missed calls—all of them from Jaime. As fast as I could, I deleted all his messages, not wanting to hear his voice. My middle finger still throbbed like my heart. Tears stung my eyes. I had cried myself to sleep so hard, it was hard to believe I still had tears to shed.

  Listlessly, I entered Kevin’s seven-digit phone number on the touch screen; I knew it by heart, and it was way easier to reach him this way than to scroll down my long list of contacts. He picked up on the first ring.

  “Morning Glory, how are you feeling?”

  “Like crap.” Kevin was the one person from whom I could never hide things, and just from my painfully hoarse voice, he would be able to detect my deplorable state of being. Shit! How was I possibly going to give a speech tonight when I could barely talk?