by Shelly Ellis
She and her family had packed up their things and moved out of the rental two weeks ago. After that, the only communication Evan had received from Leila was an impersonal postcard with her forwarding address.
That’s why Terrence’s little comment about not being able to keep an assistant felt like the ultimate betrayal, a stab to the gut when Evan was already lying on the ground bleeding.
“If you just came here to be an asshole, Terry, you can leave now,” Evan said, sliding back from his desk. “I don’t need it.”
“No, you do need it! You need someone to finally call you on your shit, Ev! Unlike everyone else around here who’s scared to talk to you, I’m not scared. I’m going to tell you the truth. I don’t give a damn. You want to hear it? Here it is: this misery is all of your own making. You’re in the situation because of the decisions you made. That’s the God’s honest truth!”
“And what decisions would those be?” Evan asked as he rose from his chair.
It sounded like a challenge, but it really was an honest question that he would love to have someone answer. Could someone tell him how this had happened? How had things gone so wrong?
Evan had spent almost a month wondering why Leila had ended their affair. He’d thought they were in love. He’d thought they were happy. Their arrangement hadn’t been the best, but even she had told him not to obsess over it, to focus on the here and now.
At first, Evan had placed the blame for their breakup squarely in Diane White’s lap, faulting the older woman with Leila’s sudden change of heart.
If that meddling old bitch would have just minded her own goddamn business Lee and I would still be together, he had thought in his darker moments.
But Evan knew better. Criticism from her mother wouldn’t have been enough to lead Leila to do what she had done. She must have been thinking about this for a long time. She had to have been harboring doubts but never voiced them aloud. If she hadn’t broken it off that day, she would have done it eventually.
Of course, none of this took away Evan’s heartbreak. Knowing that their affair had been doomed from the start didn’t take away the crippling disappointment that came with knowing that you had once had in your hands everything you had ever wanted, only to have it slip away.
“I’ve been telling you for months . . . hell, for years, to end it with Charisse, man.” Terrence leaned forward. All traces of humor had left his handsome face. “If you want Lee back, you know what you have to do. All you have to do is—”
“Damn it, I can’t! You know I can’t! It’s not that simple. Charisse would . . . she would slaughter me in divorce court!”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Terry argued, vehemently shaking his head. “You can get just as many high-priced lawyers as she can! You could—”
“Terry, come on!” Evan stepped around his desk and strode across his office to stand squarely in front of his brother. “Charisse thought I was fucking Leila even when nothing was going on between us,” he said, dropping his voice down to almost a whisper. “What the hell do you think will happen if I start walking around in public with Lee on my arm, if people realize we’re together? You honestly think Charisse wouldn’t bring that shit up in court?”
“If she brings up Lee, then you bring up her screwing around on you!”
“But I don’t know if Charisse is screwing around; I just think she is. I can’t prove it! But my affair would be for the world to see! They’d just see me as some rich, philandering asshole who wants to offload his wife.” He took a deep breath. His shoulders slumped. “If Charisse could get a judge to side with her, she could get half of everything, including my share of the company. Do you want that?”
“Of course I don’t! But you can’t keep using the company and the family as an excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse! It’s—”
“Yes, it is! You’ve hidden behind this ‘I’m the responsible one. I’m the one who meets my obligations,’ way too long. Dad put that burden on you, and even though he’s dead, you keep lugging it around like a sack of bricks. Let it go, Ev,” Terrence pleaded as he gazed into his brother’s eyes. “The company will survive. Paulette and I will survive, if the worst-case scenario happens. It won’t be the end of the world. Trust me. We know you’ve wanted Lee for forever. Do what you gotta do to get her.”
Evan stared at his brother, at a loss for words. He stepped back and watched as Terrence slowly rose to his feet.
“Look, I’m tired of talking about this. I’m tired of seeing you like this too. The ‘Grinch who stole Christmas’ routine is getting old,” Terrence muttered. “Just make a fucking decision and stick with it. Make the sacrifice you need to make and go after her. Or stay married to Medusa and shut the fuck up about it. But don’t act like you don’t have a choice, because you do!”
He then stepped around Evan and headed to the office door.
Evan didn’t watch his brother leave. Instead, he walked toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, shoved his hands into his pockets, and gazed at the view below. His eyes scanned the sparkling water of the Potomac River, the myriad sailboats and the occasional cruise ship that went by, and the power plant on the D.C. side of the river.
Could Terrence be right? Had Evan really wasted all this time keeping up pretenses and trying to avoid losing everything only to end up losing what he wanted the most—a life with Leila? His family name, his legacy had been so important to Evan for so long. Had he been dumb to put so much stock in them?
Evan sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass, hoping that it would quell his now-throbbing head.
Could he do it? Could he risk the scandal and the hit his reputation and livelihood could take if he decided to stop pretending and admit his marriage was a sham? Could he finally walk away? Years ago, he had been bold enough to take such risks. Of course that was before he got married, became the head of the family and company CEO, and became burdened with so many albatrosses around his neck he could barely hold his head up. But could he be bold like that again?
Evan raised his forehead from the glass. For a moment, he felt like the window in front of him had disappeared. Instead was the vastness of the river a thousand feet below him and the blue sky hundreds of thousands of feet above him. All he had to do was take one step forward and he would plunge into the unknown. And Evan felt finally ready to do just that.
The instant the driver pulled to a stop in the circular driveway in front of Evan’s home, Evan took a deep, trembling breath. He fidgeted anxiously in the Town Car’s backseat, telling himself that he was making the right decision, that telling Charisse he wanted a divorce was a bold and smart move. Of course, he could do all this and find out that Leila still wouldn’t take him back, but that couldn’t be his focus right now. He had to see this through, despite the aftermath.
He could have asked for a divorce by phone, but something like this seemed more appropriate to do in person. When he told Charisse that he wanted to end their mutual misery, he wanted to do it to her face—not hiding behind his BlackBerry.
He had left the office abruptly, canceling all his meetings for the rest of the day. He didn’t want to save this for the evening. He wanted to do it as quickly as possible, before he lost his nerve. Because Charisse rarely roused before noon, it was a pretty safe bet she was at home. Evan glanced at his watch. She had probably just stumbled out of bed only a half hour ago. But if she had already left for the day, he’d wait for her to return. There seemed to be little alternative at this point.
“Sorry that I can’t pull all the way up to the front door, Mr. Murdoch,” the driver called over his shoulder from the front seat. “There seems to be a car blocking the entrance, sir.”
Evan looked out the window and instantly recognized the car parallel parked in front of stone steps leading to the mansion’s French doors. It was Dante’s silver Jag.
“What’s Dante doing here?” Evan muttered aloud as the driver climbed out and walked toward the back passeng
er door.
Five minutes later, Evan walked down the silent corridor that led to his wife’s bedroom in the east wing. She had moved to this part of the mansion two years ago, when they officially started sleeping separately. Evan hadn’t kicked her out of their bedroom; she had made the request to move out.
“If we aren’t having sex, why bother sharing a bed?” she had spat before storming out one night in a huff.
Whenever he went to this part of the mansion, it felt like he was walking into a separate apartment.
Evan looked around him. He still hadn’t spotted Dante, and as he neared the bedroom door he realized why.
“You want this? You want this?” he heard Dante bark.
“Yes! Oh, God, yes!” Charisse yelled in response, making Evan’s hand pause near the brass door knob.
His heartbeat quickened. His eyes widened. He turned the knob—surprised to find the door wasn’t locked—and stepped inside his wife’s bedroom.
The lovers weren’t in the four-poster bed, though it was obvious they had been at some point. The sheets were thrown back and the pillows were askew. Charisse’s robe dangled over the headboard. Dante’s pants lay crumpled on the floor near the foot of the bed. Evan walked silently across the room’s plush carpet and glanced in the trash can near her night table. A knotted, used condom lay at the bottom along with a torn packet.
Well, at least they’re using condoms, he thought dryly. Better safe than sorry.
He continued unhurried to Charisse’s bathroom, where the moans and yelling were a lot louder. He slowly pushed open the door and found the couple in the shower stall. Charisse was pressed back against the tiled wall, screaming in ecstasy, closing her eyes as the rainfall showerhead poured water into her face. She was being held in the air by Dante, who was pounding into her and moaning and grunting like some water buffalo.
Evan inclined his head as he watched them. He had suspected Charisse was having an affair, but he’d had no idea with whom. Now he knew it was with his own brother.
Instead of being overtaken with rage that his wife was having an affair with Dante, instead of wanting to beat Dante into a pulp for the betrayal, he slowly smiled. He couldn’t have arrived home at a more fortuitous time. Now he didn’t have to worry about losing everything in a divorce. Charisse was the one who should be worried.
He reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out his BlackBerry. He held it up and snapped a few quick pictures of the couple for evidence before tucking the phone back into his pocket. Evan then raised his hand and loudly rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door. It sounded like a gun being fired in the echoing bathroom. “So I see Dante decided to pay a visit!” he called out.
At the sound of his voice, Charisse’s eyes shot open. Evan almost laughed at the look of horror she gave him through the foggy shower glass. Dante abruptly whipped around, still holding Charisse. He lost his balance on the slippery, wet glass tile and dropped her before falling to his knees. They both cried out in pain.
Dante scrambled to his feet first, leaving Charisse sprawled on the shower floor.
“This . . . this isn’t what it looks like,” he said and Evan couldn’t hold back his laughter any longer.
“Really? Because it looks like you were fucking my wife!”
“Oh, like you give a damn,” Charisse grumbled, finally pushing herself from her knees to stand beside Dante. She pushed her tangled, wet hair out of her face. She reached beside her and turned off the faucet, then shoved the shower stall door open and groped for a towel hanging on a chrome rod. “So what if he’s fucking me! It’s not like you want to!”
“Shut up, Charisse,” Dante whispered fiercely.
“No, Dante, it’s the truth!” She wrapped the white towel around her, then turned her cool blue eyes on her husband. “So what? So what if you caught us? News flash, Evan! We’ve been having an affair for almost a year now!”
“Shut up, Charisse!” Dante said. He then turned to his brother. “Evan, she doesn’t—”
“Don’t worry. I know my husband. He’s not going to do a damn thing. He’s just going to turn around, shut the door behind him, and pretend like none of this ever happened.”
Evan raised his brows. “You think so?”
“I know so! If I’ve been playing the role of your wife the last five years—as you claim, then you’ve also been playing the role of my husband. We keep pretending that everything is perfect, that we’re a happy couple. But that’s why you married me, right?” she asked, stepping out of the shower. She walked across the bathroom and glared up at Evan. “I’m willing to put on an act. I’m the perfect wife to have on your arm so everyone thinks Evan Murdoch is so goddamn wonderful.” She sniffed and looked him up and down. “If they only knew . . .”
Evan gazed at his wife. How had he managed to stay in the same room with this woman let alone married to her? She radiated so much contempt! She couldn’t even pretend to be ashamed or apologetic about being caught screwing his brother.
Evan watched as she casually walked toward her vanity and grabbed a comb. The whole time, Dante stood awkwardly in the shower stall, like he was unsure of what to do next.
“Why are you home anyway?” she asked as she faced the mirror and began to tug at the tangles in her hair. “Ran out of supplies at the office? Had to come home to get your toothbrush?”
“No,” Evan answered flatly, “I came home to tell you I wanted a divorce.”
She stopped combing her hair, whipped around from the mirror, and faced him. He could tell from the expression on her face that of all things, she hadn’t expected him to say this. “W-w-what?”
“I said I want a divorce. Unlike you, I’m tired of this charade. I had come here to tell you that you could have whatever you wanted just as long as we could make the divorce quick. I was willing to give you the house, alimony . . . anything just so that we could get out of each other’s lives as soon as possible. But”—he paused to glance at Dante— “it looks like circumstances have changed.” He glared at her again. “I’m not giving you a goddamn penny. I’m keeping everything. You hear that? Every-fucking-thing! And you’ll be paying my legal fees.”
Her face crumbled. Her plump lips twitched. The comb she held tumbled from her hands to the bathroom floor. “You . . . you can’t do that!”
“Oh, yes, I can. Read our prenup! You signed on the dotted line just like I did. All the terms were clearly stated.” He pointed to Dante. “You’re a fucking lawyer. Explain it to her.”
Evan then turned on his heel and walked toward the bathroom door.
“See you in court, Charisse!” he called over his shoulder before striding out of the bathroom.
“Evan, wait! Wait!” she yelled shrilly after him, but he didn’t stop. Instead, his smile widened into a grin and he kept walking.
Chapter 24
LEILA
Leila stepped back from the cabinet underneath the kitchen sink, examining the contents of the plastic bucket she held. Between the Pine-Sol, heavy-duty anti-bacterial cleanser, Windex, sponges, and toilet brush, she would be able to attack any lingering dirt and grime that had been left behind by the former tenants of apartment 402 at Buena Vista Terrace. More importantly, she could hopefully finally eradicate the phantom smell of cat pee that seemed to be haunting their living room. But she wondered if she would have to buy a heavy-duty carpet scrubber for that one.
“You sure you don’t want to come to the movies with us?” her mother asked, walking up behind her. “I heard Beyoncé is the voice of one of the platypuses.”
Leila carried her cleaning bucket across the kitchen. She dropped the bucket to the floor to adjust the handkerchief on her head. “I don’t think even Beyoncé can make me want to spend two hours watching animated platypuses sing, Mama. No, you and Izzy go ahead to the movies without me. Have fun.”
“But it would get you out of the house, Lee!” Diane pleaded. “Is this really how you want to spend your weekend. . . scrubbing bathroom an
d kitchen floors?”
Leila tugged on her rubber gloves. “It needs to be done.”
“But don’t you want to take a break, honey? You worked hard all week. Get off your feet for once.”
Diane was right. Leila had worked hard. She was waitressing again at Dean’s Big Burger until she found a better position somewhere else. Her replacement hadn’t worked out too well so the manager was elated that Leila wanted her old spot back. Hannah hadn’t been as happy to see her old friend though.
“Why the hell are you back here?” Hannah had lamented while Leila tied on her apron. “I thought you had gotten out! You know . . . sailed off to that happy place where people tip you more than a quarter and you don’t get varicose veins from standing on your feet all day. I thought you got an office job somewhere.”
“It just didn’t work out,” Leila had whispered in explanation. She hadn’t elaborated.
For the past week and a half, Leila had been pulling double shifts to make enough money to pay for rent, though she could pull double shifts and her salary still would come nowhere close to what she had been making while she worked for Evan.
She might have been able to get another job as an executive assistant somewhere else if Evan had written her a recommendation. In one of the many messages he left her, he had offered. He said he’d sign one for her if she would see him, if she would just talk to him. She hadn’t taken the bait.
She didn’t want to see Evan again. She knew if she did, her resolve to end their affair would fade. Hell, it had taken all her willpower, the moment she’d stepped out of his office almost a month ago, not to turn right around and tell him she took it all back.
“I didn’t mean it, Ev!” she wanted to tell him. “Being a mistress isn’t that bad. As long as we get to be together, what does it matter, right?”