The Most Eligible Bachelor: A Texas Love Story

by Bella Winters

  Chapter 3

  Jason

  The day was moving by at a glacial pace, and for some reason, I couldn’t get my brother’s divorce from Tiffany off my mind. Everything had gone down the day before, and I had made sure to steer clear of the family dinner. I knew if I heard him gloating about his divorce, or celebrating in any way, I might not be able to keep myself from jumping over the table and hitting him in the head with one of mother’s silver platters. Instead, I propped my feet up on the couch and watched television until it was time for bed, something I didn’t do very often. Laying there, my mind had wandered all over the place, trying to imagine what Tiffany was doing. I knew she was struggling. I mean, how could she not be? She had been blindsided by her husband during a time in her life when she’d needed him the most, and then, he’d cast her aside, leaving her to clean up the mess. I shook my head as I stared at my computer screen, trying to wrap my head around the fact that she was done so dirty and done so by my own blood. It was almost embarrassing to think Jordan and I were related.

  Growing up, we’d gotten along well enough, both knowing our lives were pretty much mapped out for us. In college, I distinctly remembered Jordan pulling me to the side and pointing Tiffany out to me. She was just as beautiful then as she was now, if not more. Her long blond hair would blow in the wind whipping across the campus courtyard, and her smile lit up my world. Apparently, it lit up Jordan’s too because from then on, he was determined to get this girl. When our father announced the new pool of employees for the company, I thought my brother’s head was going to pop off. Tiffany was strong, assertive, and just the woman this company needed to propel us forward. She had worked her way up quickly, and though the whispers said it was because of her relationship with Jordan, those of us who knew her understood it was because of the type of woman she was. My brother had started to change, calming down a bit, staying away from the bars and clubs, and devoting his time to her. I thought about how lucky everyone was that Tiffany had come into our lives, especially since she had a way with Jordan that no one else did. Part of me couldn’t help but think this was all more because he wanted to be single than it was over a family, but either way, he had used that as his cause. It had hit home hard.

  I could hear Jordan out in the hallway flirting with the new secretary and for some reason, it fucking pissed me off. I scooted back from the desk and stood in the doorway staring at him as he leaned over her, showing her something in the paperwork on her desk. I strolled over to the desk and tapped on the wood, drawing both of their attention.

  “You seem pretty happy,” I said looking him in the eyes. “I thought since you just got divorced yesterday, you might be in a bad mood, or sad, or any of those human emotions we tend to have.”

  Jordan’s face faded from smiling to irritation as he stared over the desk at me. I smiled back at him, my hands in my pockets. He looked down at the secretary and smirked, pointing one more thing out before standing up. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie.

  “Sorry about that,” he said to the secretary before moving forward and grabbing me by the arm and dragging me into my office. “What the hell? What is your damn problem?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said smartly. “The fact that you broke it off with your wife for something she couldn’t control? The fact that it was one of the biggest dick moves I have ever seen, which is saying something.”

  “Look,” he whispered angrily. “It’s none of your God damned business, but if you must know, it wasn’t an easy decision for me. I know you are sitting over there imagining this evil nemesis making plans to completely ruin Tiffany, but that is not at all how it went. This was hard on me. I’m just not going to walk around wearing it on my face. I sat on this information for a while before I decided to divorce her. I was miserable, beat down, and didn’t know what to do. I did know I wanted a child of my own, a baby that came from me, and she couldn’t give that to me. I knew if I continued in that relationship, no matter how much I loved her—which I do love her very much—then I would just end up resenting her in the end. I thought it was better to end it upfront than wait until years down the road, when it would get harder to walk away. So there, I hope you are happy.”

  He dropped his hand to his waist and walked out the door, slamming it as he left. Maybe I was being a little too hard on Jordan. Maybe I wasn’t there to help him through this when I should have been. Everything he was saying made perfect sense, and I couldn’t fault him for ending something he knew would eventually end in a fiery blaze anyway. I guess in a way he saved Tiffany years of disappointment, fighting, and ultimately, a really nasty divorce. Still, I couldn’t help but think he didn’t really let the news sink in before making the decision to get divorced. I felt like he did what he always did, which was making a major life choice based on emotion, not rational thought. Unfortunately for everyone around Jordan, when he thought with emotions, he was the only one who didn’t get the shit end of the stick. I took a deep breath and walked out into the hall, looking both ways but not seeing Jordan. I turned right and walked down the hallway, glancing into Tiffany’s empty dark office. As I turned, Tiffany’s secretary walked up behind me.

  “Hey,” she said cheerfully. “Hey. Um, do you know if Tiffany will be coming back anytime soon?”

  “I don’t really know,” she said shaking her head. “She is on sick leave right now.”

  “Okay,” I smiled letting out a deep breath. “Thanks, I’ll just try to give her a call.”

  I walked back to my office and closed the door, turning my phone over in my hands. I didn’t know whether I should call Tiffany, this family probably being the last people she wanted to talk to. I didn’t even know what I was going to say when she answered, but I wanted to make sure she wasn’t going through this alone. I also wanted her to know no one in the family stood beside Jordan’s decision. In fact, I was pretty sure my parents didn’t know why Jordan was divorcing Tiffany because that would have made him look bad to our parents. Instead, he was a coward and joked his way through the conversation until my mother finally changed the subject. I did know that my mother and father loved Tiffany like their own daughter and were really worried about her. They didn’t want to intrude, knowing their son was the culprit behind her disappearance, but they were constantly whispering to one another about how she was doing. If nothing else, maybe I could be the middle man between them.

  I scanned through my contacts and pressed call when it landed on Tiffany. I pulled my cell phone to my ear and listened to it rang on the other end. After several rings, the voicemail picked up, but before the beep, I hung up, not knowing what I would say on an answering machine. Tiffany and I weren’t close by any stretch of the imagination, but I had never called her and not gotten an answer. We always were in contact with the business, and she was very serious about her career, something I admired in her. So, anytime I called her, she immediately picked up, knowing I wouldn’t call unless it was important. I guess today she wasn’t in much of a mood to care about whether the business needed her help or not, and I really couldn’t blame her. She was employed at a company soon to belong to her ex-husband, working alongside him at every turn. If I were her, this would be the last place I would show up and deal with Jordan flirting with girls right in front of her.

  Still, there was something that really worried me about the fact that she wasn’t answering the phone. She was in a very fragile state, and from the way my brother phrased giving her their joint bank account as a parting gift, I could only imagine how that slap in the face must have felt. To really think about it, I probably would stay away from the office too, but more so that I didn’t try to murder Jordan in his designer suit, at his own mahogany desk.

  I leaned back in my chair, trying to put Tiffany out of my mind, still perplexed as to why all of this was affecting me so damn bad. Sure, I thought Tiffany was gorgeous, kind, sweet, and intelligent, but she was now my brother’s ex-wife, and not really someone I should be comforting during a
divorce. I may have a big heart, but I also knew the very important value of family and support. In Jordan’s case, it was difficult for me to show support when I didn’t agree with anything he did. When you felt like your own blood was out there completely obliterating a woman because she couldn’t have children. The thought itself was absolutely mind-boggling, and I needed to make sure she was okay. She deserved so much better than that on so many levels. It probably wouldn’t make anything easier, but I thought she should know she wasn’t alone. Before I could give the thought any more attention, my father stuck his head into my office.

  “Can I come in?” He smoothed the lapel of his thousand-dollar suit, a charcoal gray that paired well with his perfectly coiffed black peppered hair. I only hoped I aged as well and looked as good as my father when I got older.

  “Sure, Dad, come on in.” I cleared my desk and shut my laptop. “What can I do for you?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were doing okay,” he said smiling. “I know with the divorce and everything else going on with Jordan and Tiffany, he may not be the most reliable person right now. And she won’t be back for about a month, which kills me because she’s my right-hand woman. Don’t get me wrong. I completely understand why she would want to be at home. She has handled all of this with grace and dignity, and I want to make sure we do the same with her.”

  “Absolutely,” I said nodding my head. “And I am all here, so anything you need you just come and grab me.”

  “Thanks, son,” he said tapping his fist on the desk. “Oh, your mother wanted to know if you were coming to dinner Friday?”

  “I have plans right now, but I’m not sure what time they start,” I replied. “I’ll let her know as soon as I can.”

  “No problem,” he said. “We missed you at the last dinner.”

  “Missed you, too,” I said, watching him walking from the office.

  In all reality, missing me was probably the farthest thing from their minds. They missed Tiffany and the light she brought to the table every time she approached. I wasn’t going to lie. I missed her, too, maybe too much.

  Chapter 4

  Tiffany

  I pulled my soft plush blanket from the dryer and wrapped it around my shoulders, soaking in the warmth it brought to my body. I sighed, rubbing the fabric against my cheek and dragging myself to the couch. I looked at the display I had laid out on the table in front of me. There were several bottles of wine, some snacks, a lot of junk food, and about five cheesy romance movies. It was like the divorced woman’s starter pack, and I had bought right into it. I had spent the week pretty much asleep most of the time and decided it was time I take the next step, moving my body from the bed to the couch and shoving useless calories, hand over fist, into it. I knew it was pathetic and not grown up of me at all, but my heart was broken, my brain was tired, and I still hadn’t had the chance to come to terms with being infertile, with not bearing my own children. It was extraordinarily depressing and read like one of the movies I was about to watch, except there was no happily ever after in my case.

  I groaned as I reached across and grabbed the remote, laying my head down on the pillow and pressing play. I pulled the blanket farther over my head and placed the wine glass I was drinking from down on the floor below me. I plopped a straw in it and sipped slowly as my face still rested on the couch. It was probably the laziest thing I had ever done, and though I knew I had pretty much hit rock bottom, I didn’t really give a damn. While I was here, eating my twenty-thousand-dollar check in the form of Twizzlers and wine, Jordan, my now ex-husband, was out perusing the bars, looking for the next Mrs. Banks who could produce an heir to his pathetic and sad empire. I chuckled to myself wondering how he would ensure his next bride was fruitful. Would he require a gynecological examination as terms for the marriage? Would he make them sign a waiver saying they could produce human beings from their loins? I guess, for the right girl, especially one looking for the money, they would jump at the chance to give Jordan Banks a child. That would seal the deal and create a comfortable living situation for the rest of their lives. I guess I had been the guinea pig.

  I knew I should get up, shower, get functioning, but I gave into my desire to spend my Friday night, Saturday night, and possibly Sunday into Monday, lying here on the couch crying away the minutes. Hell, I had accrued enough sick time and vacation that I could stretch this self-pity party out for an entire month if I wanted to. John, Jordan’s father had been so kind and sweet to me, knowing his son decided to skip out on our marriage but not knowing why. I was pretty sure if he knew why, he might punch Jordan over the head and as much as I would love to see that, I also knew it would completely destroy Jordan’s relationship with his parents. I was angry, but I had never been a vindictive person, truly believing that those who did harm to others would find their penalty later in life. I guess you could say I believed in karma. And Jordan’s karma wasn’t racking up too good in the background. I almost expected to see a nuclear explosion when all his bad deeds came rolling around back to him.

  I had been so thankful for Jordan’s family, for their love. They’d sent me flowers throughout the week and insisted I not use my vacation time and sick leave when taking a month off. I loved my job, and I loved working for Mr. Banks. He was like family to me, and up to five days ago, legally, he was family to me. I didn’t know what to expect when Jordan first served legal papers about the divorce and was afraid the Banks would take his side, firing me from my job, and demeaning me to everyone. However, just as I knew it would be deep down, they reached out to me, and I couldn’t have been more thankful. Still, as I laid on my couch searching for an answer to my heartbreak, part of me didn’t even know if I wanted to go back to the company when the air had cleared. It was one thing to work for your ex-in-laws, it was another to work side by side with your ex-husband. I just didn’t know if I could sit back and deal with being around him on a regular basis like that. And God forbid the day he started dating someone else who worked in the office. I would have to endure the hell of watching him flirt and talk to another woman the way he used to with me. Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach, and I tried to push the thought from my mind.

  I sipped harder on my straw, bleeding the glass dry and looking down into my empty glass. It kind of resembled how my soul felt, sucked dry and left to wonder where to go from there. Luckily, as far as my wine glass was concerned, I knew exactly where to go from there. I pulled myself up and situated the blanket over my shoulders, reaching for the next bottle of wine, or what I liked to refer to as, my next victim. I chuckled to myself wondering if that was how Jordan referred to the women in his life. Did he number them? Victim one, victim two, and so on? Did he sit back and laugh evilly from the throne room of his castle in Manhattan, looking down at all the “little people” of New York? I shook my head, realizing I really needed to put down the bottle, my imagination was starting to get away from me.

  As I popped the cork on the next bottle of wine, watching it fall to the floor and roll into the kitchen, I heard a knock on the door. I rolled my eyes and groaned, wondering who in the world would come knocking, willfully destroying the flow of alcohol into my veins. I dragged myself, still wrapped in the blanket, to the door and opened it wide, staring at Mona, my best friend.

  “Oh,” I said turning and walking back toward the couch.

  “It’s good to see you too,” she said, shutting the door behind her.

  “I was hoping you were the grim reaper, come to take me to the land of plenty,” I said sarcastically.

  Mona looked down at the array of junk food on the table and poked at the stale pizza sitting in the box. “Appetizing,” she said, looking down at my glass and straw. “Oh, that’s very inventive of you.”

  “Yeah, I thought about just going in one hundred percent and starting an IV, but I figured I’d probably screw it up,” I replied, pouring the wine into the glass. “I didn’t want to be found with one lung full of chardonnay and be labeled the old l
onely divorced woman with a thousand cats.”

  “You don’t have any cats,” she said flatly.

  “Yeah, but when I had finally died, I’m sure they would sense me and come crawling through the windows,” I replied, lying back down on the couch and sipping my wine through the straw.

  “Girl, I think it's time for an intervention,” she said, picking up the empty bottle of wine and grimacing at the label.

  “What? I’ve only had one bottle this afternoon,” I whined.

  “No, not the wine,” she chuckled. “You need to stop moping around like this. You are starting to freak out the neighbors.”

  “Whatever,” I replied. “I don’t even think they know I still live here.”

  “Well, from the looks of your yard and the papers stacked up out front, they might think the house was taken over by squatters,” she replied.

  “You do remember it’s only been five days since I signed away my future,” I said, feeling my heart drop back down into my stomach.

  “Yes, I remember. But I also remember it’s been a month since you found out about it,” she reminded. “This guy is such a loser. Like, grade A loser. Seriously, on the women’s timescale chart, you seriously should have only spent twenty-two hours and thirteen minutes of grieving on him. That makes you, like, I don’t even know how many hours behind.”

  “Why is everyone on my ass?” I was starting to get irritated, and Mona quickly caught on.

  “Hey, weirdo, calm down,” she said, throwing a cork at me. “I was only kidding. Well, mostly kidding.”

  “So,” I said taking a deep breath and changing the subject. “What can I do for you?”

  “I came to get you out of the house,” she said triumphantly. “You need some air, some fun, and you need to take a damn shower.”

  “No,” I groaned. “I have plans.”

  “With what? These cheesy romance videos? Come on, girl,” she said pulling me up to a sitting position. “You are so much better than this. I promise Tom Hanks and Tom Cruise will be waiting for you here when you get back. I’ll even chill your shitty-ass wine so you don’t have to continue to drink it warm.”