An hour later, Ian wanders into the kitchen, plopping down on a bar stool.
“What time did I get home last night?” he asks, rubbing his temples.
Rolling my eyes, I pour him a cup of coffee, adding two spoonfuls of sugar and set it in front of him.
“After two.”
“Oh, God. No wonder I feel like shit. Every time I turned around someone was handing me a new drink.”
Right, I think to myself. Place the blame on someone else. They forced him to drink all of them too, I’m sure.
“That’ll do it,” I say, my lack of compassion evident in each word. “Do you remember coming home at all?”
Let’s see what he knows before I lay into him.
“The last thing I remember is being put into a cab.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” I say, raising my voice as memories of last night replay in my mind.
“Shhh.”
“Oh, sorry. Does your head hurt?” I ask sarcastically. “Is it from the alcohol or from when you fell off the bed?”
“I fell?”
“Yep. It was glorious.” There’s a hint of laughter in my voice that I don’t bother to hide.
“What the hell is your problem this morning?” he asks angrily as he takes a sip of his coffee, wincing when it burns his mouth.
“You are my problem this morning.”
“Me? I’m your problem? You ditched me last night for your boss and you’re the one being a bitch.”
Oh. Hell. No.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He knows how much I hate being called a bitch. The only fight I’ve ever been in started because a drunk hussy called me a bitch. Her boyfriend was smart enough to pull her away before I pulled most of her hair out.
When I open them, I find Ian staring at me, waiting for me to say something, his “I dare you” look front and center. Guess what? I’m not going to back down like he thinks I’m going to. This is usually the moment I walk away from him. Not today. Today he’s going to listen to everything I have to say. And he’s not going to like a single word of it, but I couldn’t give a shit less.
“Let me show you how much of a bitch I can be,” I start, leaning across the counter so we’re face to face. He doesn’t flinch, but the look of surprise in his eyes gives him away.
“You decided it would be a good idea to come home drunk last night, after we spent the day fighting, and have sex. Well, I wasn’t interested. When I refused your advances, you got pissed and rolled off the bed. I wasn’t about to have sex with someone who couldn’t even say a two-syllable word without slurring. In fact, I don’t think I ever want that to happen again.”
What am I saying? Where are these words coming from?
“I’m tired of fighting with you over stupid shit. Things that you make an issue. You treat me like you own me. You expect me to do things because you think I should. The job. Sex. Everything. I’m not your possession, Ian. I’m a person. One who can make her own decisions. One who no longer needs you.”
Oh, shit! Did I just say that out loud?
“So, I’ll be moving out today,” I declare, raising my voice, which causes Ian to recoil. “You can find another woman to manipulate into thinking and acting like you want her to. That’s not me. Not anymore. I’m done trying to please you just to be treated like shit.”
Pushing off the counter, I turn and head into our bedroom. His bedroom. Reaching into the bottom of the closet, I pull out a duffel bag and start shoving clothes in it. I’m not sure where I’m going to go yet, but I don’t want to stay here. I can’t. Not anymore.
My limit has been reached. He’s pushed me to my breaking point. Instead of breaking, I’m leaving. I’m done. With him. With this relationship and all the fighting and drama that comes with it. I deserve better than this, than him. If you love someone, you should hold them in high regard and treat them like a prized possession. You shouldn’t push them away, which is essentially what he’s done.
Congrats, Ian. Mission accomplished.
“You’re really leaving?” Ian asks from behind me. When I turn, I find him standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. I expect him to look apologetic or worried. Instead, he’s still sporting his “I dare you” smirk.
“Yes, I’m really leaving. Is it that hard to believe?”
Afraid my resolve will weaken, or that he might see how scared I am, I break eye contact and turn my back to him.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
“Him?” I ask, spinning around quickly. “You think I’m leaving you for another man? That’s rich. I’ve never given you a reason to think I would cheat on you. I’m loyal to a fault. I should have left a long time ago. We’re not the same people we used to be, Ian. You’ve changed, I’ve changed, and we’ve grown apart. We don’t want the same things in life. It shouldn’t have taken us this long to realize it.”
“So, it has nothing to do with him?”
“Him? Who is this him you keep referring to?” I scream at him, throwing my hands in the air. I’m tired of this conversation already.
“Ryder Dixon.”
My jaw pops open in surprise. Recovering quickly, I laugh at his accusation.
“My boss. The one who yells at me and bosses me around. You think I’m leaving you for him?”
I don’t bother to mention our late-night activities last night. Or the fact that he’s the leading star in my daytime fantasies. Because, really, he has nothing to do with this.
“Let’s just say I’ve heard a few rumors,” he retorts quickly.
“About what?”
“The two of you.”
“Really? Like what?”
“Just that you look awfully cozy at work.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Since when do you believe rumors anyway?”
“Since someone sought me out to warn me. Why do you think I wanted to get you away from him? I knew this would happen if I didn’t. I knew he would sweep you off your feet and you would fall for him. He has a reputation with the women. I know more about him than you think I do. People talk, Emerson. Right now, they’re talking about the two of you. You might want to be careful. I doubt his wife will be as forgiving as I am.”
“Forgiving!” I scream. “You call this forgiving. You’re accusing me of something that’s not true. You aren’t even asking me if it’s fact or fiction. Assumptions, Ian. They make an ass out of people every day. You know what, though? I don’t need your forgiveness. My conscience is clean. Besides, even if there was something going on between us, it’s none of your business now.”
Shoving a pair of heels into my bag, I zip it up, pull it high on my shoulder and move to stand in front of Ian. I want to make sure he can hear me clearly.
“Let me be perfectly clear. I’m not leaving you for anyone. I’m leaving you because I don’t love you anymore. I’m leaving you because you think you own me. You don’t make me happy, Ian. I deserve to be happy and this is the first step to making that happen.”
Pushing past him, I grab my purse and slam the door behind me. Once I’m in the hall, the tears begin to fall, but I don’t stop and I don’t look back. I’m moving forward in my life, on my own, without Ian.
“It’ll only be for a few weeks. I promise,” I say as Angela hands me a key to her apartment.
“Whatever. You know you can stay here as long as you want. There’s plenty of room.”
“I know, but that’s not the plan. You have your own life, and I don’t want to be in the way. Plus, I’m ready to be on my own, I think. I feel…”
“Free,” she offers. “Alive. Available. Happy. Hopeful. Relieved.”
“Yeah, yeah. All those things and more. I didn’t realize how trapped I was until I started trying to explain it to him. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. It was like the words were coming out and I wasn’t even able to stop them. It was one of those out of body experiences. The ones where you’re watching yourself. Well, I watched as I
ripped into him and told him everything. The truth should have hurt him, but I don’t think it did.”
“Good. I hope he heard everything you said.”
“I doubt it. He actually asked me if I was leaving him for Ryder,” I reply dismissively as I roll my eyes.
Angela busts out laughing. For a moment, I giggle along with her. When she bends over and grabs her stomach, I stop and stare. What the hell is so funny about that? He’s obviously very attractive. Is it that hard to believe that he would be attracted to me?
“Knock it off,” I say, nudging her with my elbow.
“I’m sorry. It’s just, of course he would think that. It couldn’t possibly be that you were unhappy with him. It couldn’t be the fact that he was an asshole. You have to be leaving him for someone else. He’s such a douche bag. When it’s good, it’s about him. When it’s bad, it’s about someone else. He’s always pointing his finger in a different direction.”
“Exactly. I tried to explain that to him, but he doesn’t get it. I don’t think he ever will.”
“You don’t have to worry about him anymore. When are you getting the rest of your stuff?”
“I don’t know. I’m not ready yet. Maybe next week? I’ll take a look at Ryder’s schedule and talk to him. I want to make sure Ian isn’t there when I go back, so it’ll have to be on my lunch hour. I don’t want to see him if I don’t have to.”
“Ryder will give you a day off I’m sure. Maybe you should bring him with you. You know, rub it in Ian’s face,” she jokes, wiggling her eyebrows at me.
“There’s nothing to rub in his face,” I say defensively.
“Then why are you blushing every time we mention his name?” Her tone has gone from playful to serious. “It’s okay to have a crush on him, Em. He’s hot, there’s no denying it.”
“Yes, he’s easy on the eyes, but he’s also my boss. Plus, I just got out of this relationship and I’m not sure I’m ready for another one just yet,” I tease.
“Not yet, but maybe someday. You never know. Plus, everyone already assumes you two have a thing going on. Might as well give them something truthful to talk about for a change. The gossip around that place is at an all-time high right now.”
“Seriously!”
“What? Like you didn’t know that everyone was talking.”
“Um, no. Justine and Allison—”
“Those girls are not your friends, Em. Let me explain something to you. For starters, they’re best friends with Megan. She’s the biggest gossip there is. Let’s just say she’s a bored housewife. Those two though, they’re single. They feed off each other. They see things that aren’t there so they can talk about it over breakfast, lunch, dinner, and drinks. Rumors are like air to them. Without them, they stop living.
“Someday they’ll grow up, but it’s going to take a strong man to tame each of them. I’m not sure there will be many up for the challenge. Until then, we’re stuck listening to them spread lies about everyone.”
“So what do I do? I don’t want people thinking I’m sleeping with Ryder when I’m not.”
“Well, you could just sleep with him. That would make you two a lot less interesting,” Angela suggests, holding back her laughter.
Only my best friend would tell me to sleep with my boss so people would quit talking about how I’m sleeping with my boss.
Chapter Nine
Staying with Angela is a lot like living alone. She spent most of Sunday with Tyler, out and about. Having fun. Enjoying each other’s company. With them, there doesn’t seem to be any pressure to be someone they’re not. He loves her crazy, tell-it-like-it-is mentality, and she likes his laid-back, go with the flow attitude. They ebb and flow seamlessly.
When they first started dating, I was sad. Angela had come home for the weekend to celebrate her little brother Henry’s eighteenth birthday. I was invited to come with her, to celebrate with the family, but had a huge exam the following week and refused to leave my apartment.
That’s when she met Tyler.
Ang was in charge of picking up the cake. She forgot, of course, and ended up rushing to get it and get back to her house in time for the party. It was a surprise party so if she was late, it would be ruined. She’s always had a bit of a lead foot, so I can only imagine how fast she was driving that afternoon.
Fast and furious from the way Tyler describes it.
So fast that she was swerving in and out of lanes on the highway and almost clipped Tyler’s car. Instead of flipping her off, because he knew she wouldn’t have seen him anyway, he followed her. He claims that he was only going to yell at her for driving like a mad woman. By the time she made it to the bakery, he was intrigued by the woman behind the wheel.
He waited while she ran in to pick up the cake. When she came back out, Tyler was leaning against her car, smirking at her. This is where their stories start to sound different.
Ang claims she cussed him out, accused him of stalking her, threatened to call the cops on him and then drove away before he could follow her.
Tyler says that she stuttered through an apology and asked if he liked cake, invited him to the party, and drove like a saint back to her parents’ house.
I’m guessing it’s a mix of the two, but I’m sure the real story will never come out. They enjoy telling the story of how they first met, both versions.
I’m glad I didn’t come home that weekend. If I had, they never would have met. I would have reminded Angela about the cake and she wouldn’t have been rushing to pick it up. It’s the one time I’m glad I had my priorities out of line. Henry forgave me for not being there when he got my gift, his very first Michigan State football jersey. Angela’s entire family went to MSU, and Henry was keeping the tradition alive when he started that fall.
Angela being gone for the day allows me time to get my shit together, mentally at least. After getting settled in her guest room, my temporary home, I start making a list of all the things I need to make sure to grab from Ian’s place. It’s a long list by the time I’m done. Reading it over, I realize that most of the things on my list are disposable.
They’re not important to me anymore.
Things we acquired together.
Memories of our relationship like the picture frame on my bedside table. It has a picture of Ian and me from my graduation ceremony.
The dried roses that hang on the inside of my closet door. Those are the flowers that Ian bought me for our one-year anniversary.
There are so many little things that felt important for me to display when I moved in with Ian, things I made sure not to put in storage with most of my other possessions. Those are the same things that I don’t want to take with me this time. Reminders of what we use to have and what he threw away like a piece of trash.
Because that’s what he’s done. He threw our relationship away. He refused to listen, to find middle ground. He was a concrete barrier. Instead of being flexible and allowing our relationship to bend and sway, he stood tall and made sure things that he didn’t agree with didn’t get past him.
Tossing my list in the garbage, my plan is to grab all my clothes and personal items. Everything else can be replaced. Including him at some point. Once the aching in my chest, the feeling of emptiness, goes away.
Monday morning brings with it its own set of challenges.
Angela is out of coffee.
Digging through her cupboards, because she’s not here to tell me where it is, I spend fifteen minutes looking before I see the note she left herself on the fridge to pick up more. This sets me a few minutes behind, so I decide to take the highway instead of side streets since I’m not familiar with the traffic on this side of town. That ended up being a mistake. There’s a car accident that stops me between exits for ten minutes. As soon as I can get off, I do, only to get stopped by a train for another five minutes.
By the time I’m pulling in the underground parking garage, I’m praying for a do-over. This is not how I wanted to start my week. That’s
when I notice the out of order sign on the elevator.
Yep.
I definitely need a do-over.
I’m already twenty minutes late, I haven’t had my coffee, and now I have to walk up six flights of stairs to reach the office. Letting out an aggravated growl, I hear a man chuckle behind me. I’m about to tell him where to shove it when I turn and find Ryder staring at me.
“Rough morning?” he asks, a knowing smile on his face.
“Something like that,” I reply, blowing the hair out of my face.
“Coffee?”
“Yes, please,” I say, turning away from the elevator bank, following Ryder toward the stairwell.
His arm brushes mine as we climb the narrow steps in silence. Each time it reminds me of the fact that we are alone together. Walking close enough to touch, close enough that I can smell his aftershave. It’s a smell I’ve come to look forward to.
This causes memories of the other night, him shirtless and sexy as hell, to come rushing back. The feel of his thumb against my lip. The fantasies of him doing amazing things to me on his desk.
Shake it off, Emerson. You can’t spend your day thinking about your boss naked. It’s not professional.
As we round the last corner of the stairwell, I hear the opening and closing of a door followed by footsteps coming toward us. A frazzled-looking man, maybe a year younger than me, is running down the stairs. He cuts between us, hollers an apology and keeps going. At least I’m not the only one that’s running late this morning. Speaking of…
“So I hate to point out the obvious, but you’re late,” he says as we enter the lobby.
Damn, he beat me to it. At least this means he’s not sleeping in his office anymore.
“So are you,” I retort before I can stop myself.
“Touché. Feisty this morning, I see.”
“I just hate being late,” I lie.
If he only knew the real reasons why I was late, or why I was feisty. Neither of those topics are great conversations starters. I’m going to have to tell him later this week when I ask for time off, but right now it’s not important. It has no effect on my performance at work. Well, aside from being late this morning, which won’t happen again if I can help it.
Rumors: Emerson & Ryder Page 7