by Amy Brent
I forced a smile and lightly touched Charlotte’s hand. “Just tired, angel. I haven’t been sleeping too well.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” Her dermatologically enhanced lips smiled at me in a way that almost convinced me that my sulkiness wasn’t boring her to death. “How’s Grace?”
My brow raised in curiosity. In all the years, we had known each other she had never once asked me about Grace. I honestly had no idea Charlotte even knew her name.
Considering Hawthorne’s warning, I took her question carefully. I had given up too much to maintain the structure and security Charlotte provided to my social standing, and I wasn’t willing to risk it because of her curiosity.
With a disinterested look on my face, I shrugged. “Don’t know. She quit on Monday.”
“Oh,” she said, shocked. “And you haven’t tried to talk to her since?”
There was a quality to her tone that confused me. It was as if me not calling a former employee was the craziest thing on Earth.
“Why would I try to speak to her?” I asked in a very matter of fact tone. “She was my assistant, and now she isn’t. I don’t call every employee who quits.”
Beside me, Charlotte let out an audible sigh. When the sound failed to extract a reaction from me, she slapped me in the arm.
“What the fuck, Charlotte?”
“My question exactly,” she deadpanned. At my confused expression, she continued, “We’ve been coming together to parties like this for years, Fletch. And, in all those years, there hasn’t been a single party where you haven’t tried to fuck me in the bathroom or at least grope me under the table. Today was the first.”
My brows were pulled so close together my forehead hurt. “I’ve told you, I’m tired. Also, what the hell does that has to do with Grace?”
“Don’t be dense, Fletcher. And don’t insult me,” Charlotte said with a roll of her large green eyes. “I may be blond, but I’m not dumb. For the last year, Grace has been calling me late at night to say you want to see me. She always sounds like a puppy who’s been kicked, and you always call me ten minutes later, drunk out of your ass and sounding like death, to say you’re still very busy and won’t be able to see me. It’s clear that something happens in the office when it’s just the two of you around, and based on the shitty way you’re acting, I can see why she left you.”
Worry and outrage filled me in equal amounts. Although her explanation made sense, I still sensed Hawthorne’s hand in this. He was one of the nastiest, most competitive men I had ever had the displeasure to meet, and despite his little speech about how good Charlotte and I were together, he was recently divorced, and she was the most eligible bachelorette in our circle. There was no question he would try to get her for himself.
“Did Hawthorne say anything to you?” I asked, my gaze firm.
Charlotte sighed. “Yes, he said you two were flirting like teenagers in front of a locker, and I told him I didn’t care. That I was glad, actually.” My brows pulled together, so she explained. “I really like you, Fletch. You’re a great lover, but more than that, you’re a good friend.
“With that said, I know you have no romantic feelings for me, and I’m okay with that. You needed an anchor into this world, and I needed someone to take my mind away from my dead husband. We helped each other, and it was great while it lasted, but we both deserve more than that. I think Grace could be that more for you.”
My heart pounded violently, and my hands were sweating profusely. I had hurt and humiliated Grace to maintain my relationship with Charlotte, and now she was breaking up with me because of Grace. I was the punch line of life’s worst joke, and it felt like crap.
I shook my head and held her hand with a little bit more urgency. “I’m not going to lie. I do have feelings for Grace, and there was something between us, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for you, Char. I do. When it came to it, I chose you.”
Charlotte’s smile broadened, and she cupped my cheek with one of her hands. “You didn’t pick me. You chose the security you think you need, but you don’t. You’re the richest man here. You’re way richer than me, to be honest, and because of that, no one cares how you got your money or how new it is. No one cares that you didn’t come from a great American family or that you didn’t go to their fancy prep schools because they all know you’re still their better. That fear of being rejected or labeled as unworthy is in your head, and honestly, letting go of a woman you love because of social standing is a shitty thing to do.”
“But Hawthorne . . .” I started, but Charlotte quickly cut me off.
“Is an insecure asshole with, from what I hear, a very small dick who wants to see you miserable, because that way, he might feel a little less like a loser.”
Taken aback by her words, I blinked a couple of times and then started laughing. Charlotte’s blunt honesty was one of the things I liked about her, and seeing that trait focused on Hawthorne made my day.
She laughed as well and winked. Then, once our chuckles died down, she exhaled a deep breath. “She’s smart, polite and gorgeous, Fletch. If you truly like her, stop drinking, get your shit together and go after her.”
Deep down, I knew that getting Grace to forgive me and take me back after all the crap I had put her through would be hard, but Charlotte’s words gave me the strength to at least try.
With my mission for the night complete, I kissed Charlotte’s cheek and wished my friend all the luck and happiness in the world. She wished me the same as I left her alone at the party and went home.
Once I arrived at my apartment, I put my self-improvement plan into action. I cleared my liquor cabinet, trashed every item that belonged or reminded me of other women, and even emptied a whole session of my closet for Grace. I knew that most people would think me crazy, but I was determined to get her back in a big, permanent way.
* * *
The next day, when I arrived at the office, I ordered Tina—my new assistant—to go to HR and get me Grace’s information. It was mindboggling to me that after four years working so closely together and the beautiful days we had spent together, I still didn’t know where Grace lived. It was yet another thing I had to apologize for once I saw her again.
When Tina walked back into my office, it was almost lunch time. Her hands shook as she handed a strip of paper with Grace’s address and I couldn’t help but smile.
“Don’t worry, Tina,” I assured her in an honest but respectful tone. “You’re doing very well. I’m not replacing you.”
The woman’s shoulders visibly relaxed at my words, which made me chuckle. Shaking my head, I requested that she called my driver and then cleared the booze out of my office’s cabinet. Regardless of how good or bad my meeting with Grace was, I was determined to be the kind of man she deserved, and that man was clearly a sober one.
It took me about fifteen minutes to arrive at Grace’s apartment. Although the building was close to the office, it was in an older and more run-down area. To be honest, the place didn’t seem dangerous, but to me, it was still beneath what Grace deserved. I was determined to change that as soon as possible.
I told my driver to wait in the car and walked toward the building entrance. Since there wasn’t a buzzer or anything, I walked straight up the stairs and knocked on the door. When there wasn’t an answer, I knocked again. And again. And then one more time. At that last vigorous knock, the door right behind me opened.
“Can I help you?”
The voice made me turn around. Framed by the door frame was a tall, curvy woman with a spatula in her hand. I cleared my throat.
“Yes,” I started. “I’m a friend of Grace Taylor. Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“Never,” she replied, and for a moment I thought she was making fun of me. Then, she added some words that chilled my soul. “She moved out yesterday. Went to Boston with that hunky boyfriend of hers.”
With a breath caught in my throat and a sharp pain in my chest, I forced my voice to as
k. “What?”
“I know, right?” the woman said in a strong southern drawl. “It was all so sudden. She never talked about moving, then one weekend she went away, and when she returned, she knocked on my door and asked me to forward her mail. It was all very strange because she didn’t even seem to like the boy that much.”
I did my best my keep my face straight and breathe as I said, “I thought she didn’t either. Guess we were wrong.”
“Maybe, but maybe not,” the woman said, and I frowned. “She cried a lot, you know? It wasn’t always, but sometimes she would come back from work and bawl for hours. It was none of my business, so I never asked why she cried so much, but maybe that’s the real reason she left. Sometimes we just need a fresh start, ya know?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said with a sigh. Feeling like I had been hit by a truck, I forced a smile. “Well, thank you for your help.”
The woman nodded, and I turned around. I was about to reach the stairs when her voice filled the hallway once more. “Wait.”
I did and turned to look at her. My brows frowned as she walked into her apartment for just a second, then came right back out again. She stopped right in front of me and held my gaze. There was a stern light in her dark brown irises that was made a bit softer by the smirk in her lips.
“My momma used to say that if a man looks genuinely regretful after making a woman cry her eyes out, he should be given a chance to make her smile.” She extended her pudgy fingers out at me and handed me a folded piece of paper. “Don’t make me regret this. Grace is a good girl.”
I unfolded the scrap of paper and saw an address written inside—a Boston address. My mind told me that I should just leave Grace alone and allow her a chance to be happy with someone who didn’t hurt her, but every other cell in my body told me that she would never be truly happy unless she was with me.
As per usual, my head and heart were conflicted over Grace, but this time I knew I would make the right choice. Whatever that was.
Grace
After two whole weeks as a Bostonian, I decided that the only thing I liked about this place was my apartment. Despite Harrington’s insistent requests for me to move in with him, I had put my foot down and gotten a place of my own. Even though I stood firm in my decision to give us a decent shot, living together after only two weeks of an actual relationship seemed just plain crazy.
My new job as an office manager allowed me to get an apartment that was a million times better than my previous place. It was larger and fully furnished, located in a nice part of the city and, because I was on the ground level, even had a small back yard. Amid so much change and chaos, it served as a sort of sanctuary where I could relax and forget, if only for a moment, that I lived in a city I didn’t understand, worked at a place I didn’t like and dated a man I didn’t love.
As I turned the corner on my way back home from work, I saw the patio lights were on and was reminded the one problem with my sanctuary. Harrington had it’s key.
I stopped just outside my door and took a deep breath hoping it would prepare myself to seem happy and comfortable with him. It didn’t.
“You’re here,” I said as I opened the door.
As per usual, Harrington either missed or ignored the hint of a bite in my tone as he walked toward me and kissed my lips. “I am, and I have Chinese.”
“Yum,” I replied with a fake smile and absolutely no enthusiasm at all.
He winked at me as I walked around yet another bouquet of flowers on my way to the kitchen. When he gave me that gorgeous bouquet of roses back at my old apartment and said I was the kind of woman who should get flowers every day, I had no idea he would be so literal about it. There were so many flowers in my home, I sometimes felt like I was living in a funeral home. Despite being sweet, the gesture was quickly becoming oddly depressing.
“Those are lovely,” I said pointing at the sunflowers by my TV. “But you really shouldn’t have. I’ve got plenty of flowers already.”
Harrington chuckled and kissed my cheeks. “Nonsense. No number of flowers will ever be enough for you.”
With that practiced smile still on my face, I sighed as he went to get some plates from the kitchen. I hated that he always pulled out plates and glasses when we were eating take out and drinking beers. The way I saw it, there was absolutely no point in getting things dirty when we could simply eat out of the container and then toss it once we were done.
It was funny to me how even the most perfect man in the world could be annoying as hell, while the most imperfect man in the world felt like a dream come true. Harrington was the absolutely perfect boyfriend. He was honest and kind, treated me like a freaking princess, and did all the right things. Still, I found his little quirks incredibly annoying.
On the other side, was Fletcher. The world’s biggest asshole. He was a drunk and a mess, treated me like crap, and didn’t get a single thing right. However, even though he exasperated me at times, he never annoyed me or made me wish I was with someone else. No matter what kind of crap he pulled on me, I knew that I would rather be with him than be with anyone else. And that, right there, was everything that was wrong with my life.
Try as I might, I still couldn’t stop thinking about Fletcher. Every time my phone rang, I couldn’t help but hope it was him. And every time I kissed or made love to Harrington, it was Fletcher’s face I saw behind my lids.
Deep down, I knew I should end things. It would be better for both of us in the long run, but he seemed so happy, and I had no life to return to. So I stayed in this trap, consumed by self-hatred and guilt until I had become a drunk and phony that mirrored the man I truly loved.
“How was your day?” I asked, trying my best to seem interested.
Harrington smiled warmly at me. “It was long. We should be finishing this project, but every single thing that could go wrong is going wrong. It’s so frustrating.”
I patted his hand and tried to sound sweet. “You’ll get there. You’re good like that.”
My comment made him chuckle. He took a long sip of his beer and shifted the conversation to me. In return, I told him about my day and how weird and lonely the office still felt. As usual, he assured me that it was only a matter of time and that I would be settled and surrounded by great friends soon enough. I tried to pretend like I believed him, but I honestly doubted that I would ever enjoy working as much as I did at Fletcher’s.
But this was my life now. I had to get used to it.
We continued to talk about meaningless things as we finished our meal. Then, after a little bit of TV, we made out, but I stopped it before it went too far with a lame excuse about being tired and having a busy day the next morning. Understanding as always, Harrington left without any complaint, which served no other purpose other than make me feel like shit.
Once he was gone, I took a shower to wash the guilt away, wrapped myself in a fluffy robe and walked back to my kitchen to clean up. I looked at the pile of dirty dishes and decided I had no energy for them. Instead, I poured myself a glass of wine and carried the bottle with me towards the patio.
I sat in of the lounge chairs and contemplated just how messy my life was. I wanted to cry so I’d feel better, but after two weeks of holding my tears in for Harrington’s benefit, I really felt like I was no longer able to cry—which was probably a good thing. So, I just sat there, looking at the stars and drinking wine.
Time passed slowly, and I completely lost track of it. Like most nights, the minutes no longer had meaning as my eyelids grew heavy with that mind-numbing mixture of exhaustion and inebriation. Then, just as I was about to fall asleep, three consecutive knocks sounded at my front door, and my mind was jolted awake.
Considering that the only person I knew in this town had the key, my brows pulled together in worry and confusion. I got up to my feet and with my glass and bottle in hand swayed my way towards the door. Moving lethargically and too drunk to think about my own safety, I opened the door and, for the first time in weeks,
I could actually feel my heart beating.
Fletcher
I had no idea what to expect when I knocked on Grace’s door. If I had to bet on a reaction, though, my money would have been on a very well deserved slap in the face. We both knew I more than deserved it and, honestly, I was prepared for it.
However, to my absolute shock and surprise, a second after she opened the door and looked at me, Grace’s arms wrapped around my neck and she whispered, “Are you a dream?”
It was clear to me that Grace was drunk on a lot of cheap wine, the smell emanating from her was more than proof of that fact. Still, the idea that I was her drunken dream made me smile. She was, after all, my drunken dream as well.
From the way her hair smelled to the way her body melted into mine, there wasn’t anything I didn’t miss about Grace. She was like sunshine after a weeklong storm and a fresh breath after being underwater for too long. She was life after two weeks of death.
“I’m not a dream, Gracie.” I folded my arms around her midsession and felt her body relax as I pulled her closer to me.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, still holding on to me. With her voice a little louder, her drunken slurring was more pronounced.
I hated that she was so drunk. Aside from the occasional office party, Grace wasn’t the kind of person to overdrink. She was too real and centered for that. The notion that her life was so messed up she was getting drunk alone made me feel incredibly guilty.
Trying to soothe both her and my aching heart at the same time, I ran a hand through her damp hair as I tried to recall the speech I had spent the past two weeks and the last eight hours perfecting, but I drew blank. Having her in my arms once more was just too much.
“I came to apologize and talk to you,” I replied.
Unfortunately, my answer made her release her hold on me and push me away. I released her but kept my gaze fixed on her face. Staggering back, her eyes narrowed and her face turned into an incredulous mask as she looked at me.
“You don’t talk about things, and you don’t apologize. All you do is push me away and break my heart,” she said in an accusing tone.