by Fall, Carly
“Hey, man. What’s going on?”
“Listen, are you up for some golf this weekend?”
Mason hesitated. If a partner of the firm asked him to play golf, he most likely should. However, he had his plans set with Bridget. Mason also knew that John was going through a divorce, and John had confided bits and pieces on how hard it was. Mason knew that he needed to get his own marriage back on track, and playing golf with John this weekend would definitely not be a step in that direction.
“Sorry, John, I can’t. Valentine’s Day. I’m planning on spending the weekend with Bridget.”
John sighed, and it sounded like defeat. Mason wondered how many other people he had called to try to fill his weekend schedule, and how many times he had been turned down. “Alright, Mason. Have a good weekend.”
Mason hung up the phone and exhaled. He wanted to become partner so badly. It would be like reaching the pinnacle of his career, like he would finally get his hand on the golden ring, so to speak. When he made partner, he would be working less hours, make more money, and he would finally feel secure.
However, there wasn’t any talk of him making partner. It could be years before that subject was broached, and sometimes he wondered if all of his effort was for nothing.
Chapter Four
Bridget was certain her eyes were going to cross as she looked over the inventory reports. This was one part of her job that she hated.
Sighing, she sat back in her chair and looked around the office. Her working space was just outside her boss’s door, which was closed. The area had thick, gray carpet, two couches, and a small glass table for people to cool their heels while they waited for their appointments with her boss. The building was eerily quiet as the phones had gone silent about an hour ago. She had called the phone company using her boss’s cell phone, and they said it wasn’t just their building, but two others as well. This had her boss ready to go through the roof.
Bringing her fingers up to her chin, she lightly touched the bruised area. Tomorrow she would most likely look like she had been someone’s punching bag. Damn cat. And damn that stupid floor. Thinking about the floor only made her more depressed and angrier at Mason.
Checking her watch, she saw that it was three o’clock. She’d hidden in her office most of the day, not wanting to see all the beautiful flower arrangements that had been delivered, or hear the hushed whispers of women talking on their cell phones to their wonderful husbands or significant others.
She realized that she had held out a little bit of hope that Mason would remember the day, but now she was close to having a crushing defeat roll around within her. Certain he had forgotten, she felt tears sting her eyes. She had been on the verge of a hysterical crying fit all day long.
She stood and walked over to Elizabeth’s desk, one of her co-workers.
“Hey, Liz.”
“Hi, Bridget, what’s up?”
Bridget noted the large arrangement of red roses on Elizabeth’s desk, and felt a pang of envy. Elizabeth stared at her expectantly, her brown eyes the same shade as her shoulder-length hair.
“I was wondering if I could borrow your cell phone,” Bridget said.
“Of course!” Elizabeth turned, grabbed her purse, and began rummaging through it. “What happened to yours?”
“It’s . . . I broke it this morning.”
Elizabeth handed her the phone, and her eyes narrowed. “How did you do that? And what happened to your face?”
Bridget touched her chin again and took the phone. “I slipped on that stupid stone floor in the kitchen. My phone and my chin were the casualties. Is it okay if I take this back to my desk?”
She really didn’t want to talk about her chin, or her phone. She just wanted to try to reach Mason.
“Sure, go ahead.”
Back at her desk, she dialed Mason’s work number, and the receptionist answered.
“Hi, Lila, it’s Bridget. Is Mason around?”
“No, he’s left for the day, Bridget. He said he wouldn’t be available.”
Bridget hung up.
Was Mason having an affair? Maybe he hadn’t been working long hours; maybe he was with a girlfriend. Was he really that crass that he would ignore Valentine’s Day with her and spend it with someone else? Wouldn’t he at least try to cover his tracks by sending her a damn bouquet or something?
She dialed his cell phone, and it went straight to voice mail without ringing. He had turned it off.
Apparently, he wasn’t kidding when he said he wouldn’t be available.
A tear slipped down her face, and she angrily wiped it away. She wasn’t usually a teary girl, and she had cried enough today to suit her for years. Inhaling deeply, she mentally put on her big girl panties. She didn’t know what was going on with Mason, but what she did know was that he hadn’t acknowledged Valentine’s Day and he was totally unreachable. With Mason forgetting today and what it signified, she felt like he had also forgotten their marriage.
Her boss opened his door and leaned out. His face was round, his cheeks rosy, and Bridget had always imagined that if he grew a beard he could pass for Santa Claus. Too bad he didn’t have the demeanor for it.
“Bridget, any updates on the phone?”
She shook her head, and her boss swore.
“Would you mind running down and getting Frank? Then let’s get this meeting started, okay?”
Briefly she thought about telling him to shove it and to waddle himself over to get Frank. She knew she would be taking her feelings for her husband out on her boss, and she needed the job, especially if her marriage was going to be ending in the near future.
“Sure,” she said forcing a smile.
Chapter Five
Mason sat in the bar of the Biltmore, sipping a scotch and soda, excited by the upcoming evening.
After his initial phone call to her, he’d lost himself in his work again and was surprised when the alarm on his computer rang, letting him know it was twenty minutes before three.
He made a few last minute calls, put his papers away, and arrived at the hotel at four. The first thing he did was check in and take a look at the suite, which was elegantly comfortable. Decorated in warm desert tones, there were a lot of pillows on the plush bed, a gas fireplace, and a balcony that overlooked the pool. The bathroom housed a big Roman tub, perfect for seating two. He imagined lounging in it with Bridget, sipping wine with rose petals floating around them, and his groin came to life.
The room had the five-dozen red roses in five vases strategically placed around the suite. He double-checked that dinner would be served at six and then went down to the bar.
Looking at his watch, he saw that it was after five and picked up his phone and turned it on, hoping to see a message from Bridget. He hadn’t been kidding when he told the receptionist he wouldn’t be available. He wanted this night to be about Bridget and him—no distractions, no one calling with petty emergencies.
Not seeing a message, he texted her. Often times she could respond faster with a text than voice mail. He waited ten minutes then decided to call her office.
We’re sorry but we are experiencing technical difficulties. Please wait a few minutes, and try your call again.
He set his phone down, hoping she was just running late, but a nugget of uncertainty sprung within him.
As he sipped his cocktail, he thought about what tonight meant. He wanted it to signify a new beginning for them. He wanted to make sure Bridget knew how important she was to him, how much he loved her, and he also wanted to apologize for being absent for the past six months of their marriage. Mason hoped they could have a conversation about him making partner without it turning into a fight. He wanted to renew his commitment to her and to their relationship. Maybe even talk about finally having those kids.
Professionally, he was almost at the top of his game. He had worked his ass off in the hopes of making partner one day, and he felt pride in the financial success he had achieved, but he wanted more. Mason had grown up in po
verty in a gang-infested part of Phoenix. He never knew his father, and his mother had worked two jobs to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table. She had been relentless in her encouragement that Mason make something of himself, and while the other kids in his neighborhood were smoking weed or committing more serious crimes, she made sure that Mason studied.
He eventually received a partial scholarship and went on to college. He and Bridget had recently paid off the last of the loans he had taken out to attend. He’d come a long way.
Mason glanced around the bar, watching as couples celebrating the day trickled in. Romance was in the air as they exchanged special smiles. He checked his watch again. It was now five-thirty.
He tried to call her cell and office again, getting the same results. She was a stickler for a charged cell phone, so it hadn’t gone dead, and the message at the office sounded like a problem with the phone company.
Maybe she’d left a message for him at the front desk.
He walked over and waited as the girl registered a couple, then he asked if there were any messages.
The girl flipped her blonde ponytail over her shoulder, and her orange-tipped fingers flew over the keyboard. She looked up at him and gave him a sad smile, almost as if she pitied him. “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no message from anyone named Bridget Jackson.”
He nodded and slowly walked back to his table at the bar, his heart growing heavy with worry. Had she been in an accident? Or was it something else? Maybe she didn’t get his message, or perhaps this was her way of letting him know it was over.
His throat constricted as he thought about his marriage being over. It just couldn’t be too late. Not now.
Chapter Six
Bridget arrived home around six, with a kernel of hope that Mason had a surprise waiting for her, but the house was empty. Her stomach bottomed out as all hope disappeared.
She said hello to Lucy, walked carefully through the kitchen as the cat threaded itself between her feet, threw some food in the cat’s bowl, and went into the bedroom. She changed into her pink and blue flannel pajama bottoms and pink tank top and then went to the bathroom to scrub her face.
After the grime of the day had splashed down the sink, Bridget made her way to the kitchen and surveyed the wine rack. She smiled as she took out the most expensive bottle of Merlot, one that Mason had been saving for a special occasion.
Too bad. She was drinking it.
After opening the bottle, Bridget grabbed a glass and took both into the living room, plopped down on the couch and turned on the TV. Flipping mindlessly through the channels while sipping the wine, she waited for the numbing effects, upset that she wasn’t really enjoying it.
She had decided to tell Mason that their marriage was over. It wasn’t something that she wanted, but it had to be done merely for self-preservation. She couldn’t go on living with a man who constantly hurt her.
It wasn’t just the fact that he’d forgotten their anniversary and Valentine’s Day, but the fact that he had obviously chosen his job over her and their marriage. She was done playing second fiddle to a bunch of papers and a desk. She felt he had truly checked out of their marriage because he was so hell-bent on getting the partnership. Who knew—maybe he was having that affair she’d be suspecting.
The thought of ending her marriage made her stomach turn, but she also knew she couldn’t go on like this. She deserved better.
The rumble of the garage door made her tense, and she took a long drink of wine, steeling herself for the talk they were about to have.
Bridget didn’t turn to look at Mason when he came in; she just stared blindly at the TV.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as he dropped a suitcase on the floor and threw his tie over the back of the chair. What the hell did he have a suitcase for? Bringing home clothes from his girlfriend’s house?
“Hi, B,” he said. His tone was quiet.
“Hi.”
There was a moment of silence, and she sipped her wine.
“I’ve never seen you watch Sports Center before,” he said.
She finally focused on the TV and, yes, Sports Center was on. Talk about being distracted. She flipped the channel until the local nightly news came on. It wasn’t much better than Sports Center, but at least she could pretend to be interested in it.
“Why didn’t you respond to my texts and voice mails today?”
She turned her gaze to him. “I didn’t get them.”
“Why not?”
“Because my phone shattered into pieces this morning while I was trying not to trip over Lucy.”
He sat down in the chair, and his shoulders sagged as if he were happy to hear it.
Mason studied her then cocked his head to the side. “What happened to your face?”
“My phone wasn’t the only casualty of the accident.”
“Are you okay?”
Bridget turned back to the TV and shrugged. “I’ll live.”
The weatherman prattled on about the chance of rain.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply and shook her head. “Just don’t, Mason. Don’t go there.”
Opening her eyes, she tried to focus on the TV through the tears.
“Why not? Today is Valentine’s Day, and I wanted to be with my Valentine.”
Turning to him, her anger roared within. “Then get in your car and go back to the fucking office! Or to your little whore! Wherever the hell you’ve been the past six months!”
He winced at her words, and she turned back to the TV. “Just go do whatever you do back at the office, Mason, or wherever the hell you’ve been. I don’t want to talk to you or see you right now. You’ve made it clear which is more important to you, and it certainly isn’t me.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him get up and then step in front of the TV and turn it off. He turned to her, crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at her.
“You are what’s most important to me, Bridget. I had a big surprise for you planned at the Biltmore, but you never got the message about it.”
She stared at him, not believing one word out of his mouth. She knew he’d forgotten about Valentine’s Day, and the fact that he was trying to cover it up made her anger spike even higher. Before she knew what she was doing, she threw her wine glass at him. He ducked and the glass hit the wall behind him, the red liquid splattering the white paint. A shard bounced back and nicked him in the neck just below his ear.
“You are such a fucking liar!”
Bridget realized she was very close to hysteria, and that was a place she didn’t want to go. She had been there once before, when he’d forgotten their anniversary three months ago. She had lost control, raving and screaming like a lunatic.
Mason brought his hand to his neck and looked at his bloodied fingertips. He turned his angry gaze to her.
“What the hell, Bridget?”
“Don’t patronize me and tell me that you had some big surprise for me. Just admit that you forgot about Valentine’s Day the same way you forgot about our anniversary!”
Blood began trickling down the side of his neck, and he wiped it away with the sleeve of his shirt. He reached for his back pocket and took out his wallet.
“Seriously, Mason. Save it.”
She turned and headed for their bedroom.
Bridget didn’t hear him come up behind her. He spun her around and pressed her up against the wall in the hallway. She tried to wiggle out, and even threw a few weak punches, but he kept pressing himself into her, not letting her go.
“Listen, Bridget,” he hissed, his voice angry. “I know I’ve been a crappy husband. Today, I was trying to make up for it. I wanted today to be something special, like a new start for us.”
Bridget’s breathing was heavy, and she realized that this was the most intimate they had been in two months. She felt a low ache in her belly and couldn’t believe she was getting turned on in the middle of a fi
ght.
She wondered if Mason had sensed the shift in her as she felt his groin grow hard against her lower stomach.
They stared at each other, their bodies pressed together, and Mason kept glancing at her mouth.
A moment of silence passed as neither of them moved, and then Mason brought his mouth down to Bridget’s and kissed her hard.
As their lips moved together, tongues dueling, Bridget’s head screamed at her to push him away, yet her body had other ideas as she pressed herself against him, fisted a clump of hair, and pulled him close so he couldn’t go anywhere.
His hands made their way roughly through her hair and then down her torso. Without finesse, he pushed her pink tank top up, grabbed her breasts and ran his thumbs over the erect nipples, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout her system. His hands moved roughly over the gentle swell of her hips and he hitched one of her legs up and drove his hips into her pelvis.
She met him thrust for thrust, all rational thought gone. All that mattered was this moment with the man she loved, the man who made her feel as though she had fire rolling through her veins when he touched her.
Chapter Seven
Mason knew what he was doing was wrong. What he should be doing was talking to Bridget, not manhandling her in the middle of the hallway. However, he couldn’t stop himself. It had been over two months since he had made love to his wife, and he felt all the frustration of that knowledge building in him and resulting in a painful erection. He needed to be with her. It was something primal and instinctual; there wasn’t any thought behind it.
He untangled himself from her and dropped to his knees, taking her flannel pajama bottoms with him. As they pooled at her feet, he lifted her left leg up and slung it over his shoulder. He smelled her arousal, and his tongue found her slick, wet center. He wasn’t gentle as he lapped at her, and her screams, as an orgasm ripped through her body minutes later, only made his cock harder.