by R. R. Banks
“Look, I had a lot to drink that night –”, he starts.
“Don't even give me that bullshit, Brian,” I snap. “The only reason I didn't tell your wife is that I actually respect Morgan and I know what this would have done to her.”
“And I appreciate you not telling –”
“Shut up, Brian,” I sneer at him. “I didn't do it for you. I did it for Morgan.”
He sighs and runs a hand through his blond hair. “Look, I don't want to keep rehashing the past with you –”
“Given your past, I wouldn't want to either,” I say.
“Paige, believe it or not, I'm trying to help you here,” he says. “Your shop is going to go under. We both know it.”
“And, so what if it does?” I ask. “How would that impact your life in any way, shape, or form?”
“Honestly, it wouldn't,” he says. “I'm simply trying to help you get something out of this deal before you lose everything, Paige.”
“Oh, well isn't that sweet of you, Brian?”
He sighs again dramatically. “Paige, I can help you negotiate here,” he says. “I can force these developers to pay you top dollar for this land. They're desperate to have it because it sits in a prime location.”
“Prime location, huh?”
Goodrich nods eagerly. “Absolutely,” he says. “They want to develop this whole street. Bring in some high-end, name brand retailers. It'd be a huge boost to the local economy.”
“Not to mention the fact that having some big-time donors in your pocket when it comes time for your congressional campaign wouldn't hurt your chances, right?”
He tries, but can't quite keep the smirk completely off his face. Which makes me angrier and even more disgusted with the man than before. And I didn't think that was possible.
“That's not very fair, Paige,” he says. “I'm just trying to do right by Port Safira and the people.”
“Do right by the town and the people?” I ask, laughing out loud. “By pushing out the people who've lived here their whole lives? By making the place so expensive that the people who built this goddamn town can't afford to live here anymore? Is that how you're doing right by the people of Port Safira, Brian?”
“Again, you're not seeing the bigger picture –”
“I swear to God, if you tell me I'm not seeing the bigger picture one more time, I'm going to find a big picture and cram it up your ass.”
Brian looks aghast for a moment then just chuckles and shakes his head, obviously amused by me. The usual cue that he's about to say something terribly demeaning, sexist, and altogether annoying.
“I sometimes forget what a spitfire you are,” he says. “Not one of your finer qualities, but adorable nonetheless.”
And there it is. Right on cue. I have to physically restrain myself from punching him in the nose. It's really, really hard though.
“I think you should go, Brian,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Just listen to me for a minute, Paige,” he says. “The development of Sapphire Avenue is going to happen. I'm just trying to help you maximize your opportunity.”
“Gee, what a guy.”
“If you don't sell the land here, and the development goes ahead without you,” Goodrich says like he's explaining something to a child, “your property is only going to be worth half of what I can help you get right now. Maybe even a quarter. If you sell now, you'll get top dollar, Paige. I'll make sure you come out of it smelling like a rose and with a ton of cash in your pocket.”
A wry grin touches my lips. “You know what I like better than the idea of a pocket full of cash, Brian?”
“What?”
“Having my little bookstore stuck in between two of your high-end, name brand stores,” I say. “I'd be willing to bet it would irritate the crap out of your snooty, hoity-toity developer friends.”
“Paige –”
“I've told you a million times already, Brian,” I snap. “I'm not selling my property. Not ever.”
“You're making a huge mistake,” he says, his voice turning cold. “Your shop is going to go belly up and you're going to be begging me to get you pennies on the dollar for it when you could have had a pile of cash.”
“Even if I do go bankrupt,” I seethe, “I still wouldn't give you the satisfaction of selling my shop to you. Maybe I'll just put up a lemonade stand. Or better yet, I'll leave it as an empty lot just to piss you off”
He sighs and shakes his head. “You're being incredibly stubborn and short-sighted about –”
“Get out of my shop, Brian,” I say. “Now.”
He gives me a long look before turning and heading out onto the street. I watch through the front windows as he puts on his best politician's smile and starts talking animatedly to the developer. No doubt assuring him that he can get me on board with the program.
“Asshole,” I mutter to myself and return to the backroom to continue my inventory.
Chapter Four
Liam
I sit across the table from Brittany, doing my best to pretend that everything is okay. Inside, however, I'm alternating between sadness and rage. Sadness that my marriage is about to end and rage – well – for the myriad of reasons my marriage is about to end.
The night is cool and it's drizzling outside. Which is perfect for the mood I'm in. I look out the windows and see the lights of the Space Needle in the distance, the soft rain outside casting a halo around the structure as it juts upward into the dark sky.
“You okay, baby?” Brittany asks.
“Fine,” I say and take a sip of my wine.
“You just seem a little – off.”
I shrug. “Just a lot on my mind.”
We're sitting at a table near the windows inside Savato's, a wonderful Italian restaurant that I've been coming to for years. It's where I took Brittany on our first date. And now, it will be the place I end things with her. I figure it gives a nice symmetry to our whole relationship. Closing the proverbial circle, so to speak.
It has been a few weeks since my meeting with Adam. I had him put together a nice, thick file for me to reference as needed. It has all the pertinent information and facts that he'd managed to gather together – along with copies of the emails that I'd discovered on my own.
In those few weeks, I'd already made all the necessary arrangements. I want this to be as quick and clean as possible. I'm not an over-sentimental kind of man, but I'm not going to lie – this hurts. It hurts like a son of a bitch. I love Brittany with everything in me and I tried to give her the best life possible. I doted on her and catered to her every whim. Her every need and desire. Her happiness and contentment were the only things that mattered to me and I did everything in my power to ensure she had both.
And what I get in return was lies. Deception. Unfaithfulness. For years, she'd played me like a fool and I never saw it. My love for her blinded me to all the terrible shit she was doing behind my back. To the fact that she was using me. Taking advantage of the lifestyle I had provided for her. Took advantage of my trust.
“Care to talk about it?” she asks.
I can tell by the look in her eyes that she actually couldn't care less about what's on my mind. It's something I never noticed before, but once I started to uncover the truth about Brittany, I started paying more attention to her behaviors. And as I did, it hit me that she was simply playing a role – the role of the dutiful, caring wife. She says and does all the right things, and always acts like she cares. She's good at her role, I’ll give her that.
Of course, I'm always so consumed with work and trying to make her happy that I've been blind to the fact that she's been playing a part. That she has a second life completely separate from the one we'd built together. At least, the life I thought we'd built together.
Clearly, the only thing we'd built was a house of cards. And now, it was about to all come crashing down.
Brittany sips her wine and sits back, giving me a small smile. Even though outwardly, she looks li
ke she's focused on me and is being attentive, I can see that her mind is clearly somewhere else. Probably with her lover. Probably recalling the things they do together when I'm not around. It's morbid and serves no actual purpose, but that doesn't stop me from wondering if she's ever brought him into our home. Fucked him in our bed.
Part of me still loves the woman sitting across from me. Still sees her as the sweet, soft, college co-ed I met all those years ago. And yet, another part of me hates her. Despises her for the deceitful, unfaithful, money-grubber she's become.
The tension and sense of expectation in the air between us is thick. She can obviously tell that something is up with me and it's making her nervous. She's great at hiding it, terrific at playing things off and pretending that everything is okay.
But then, I suppose she's had a lot of practice at leading a double life. At hiding things from me. There are always tells though. Subtle clues that give her away. Things I hadn't noticed until recently – things I really hadn't thought to look for because I believed in our marriage. Believed in her.
Obviously, I'm a bigger idiot than I ever thought.
“So, Savato's,” she says, clearing her throat, and giving me a wide smile. “It's not my birthday. It's not our anniversary. What's the special occasion?”
I take a sip of my wine and set the glass back down. “I suppose you can call it the start of a new chapter.”
“Oh?” she asks. “What sort of new chapter?”
A busboy arrives before I can answer the question and clears our dishes. Our waitress, Maggie, arrives right behind him, her smile bright. She's a sweet girl who is very good at her job and normally serves us whenever we come in.
“And how was your meal, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?” she asks cheerily.
“Excellent,” I say. “As usual.”
“My veal was kind of on the dry side, to be honest,” Brittany says, not even looking at the girl. “Not up to your usual standards, I'm afraid.”
“Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that,” Maggie says quickly. “Let me go get Wes –”
I hold up my hand and cut a quick glare at Brittany. “It's fine, Maggie,” I say. “Really, everything was excellent.”
She looks at Brittany – who rolls her eyes – for a moment and then back at me uncertainly. I give her a smile and a small shake of the head. It's one of Brittany's tells. When she is nervous and feeling uncertain, she always finds something to complain about. When we're out for dinner or another occasion, she tends to be rude and dismissive of people she considers to be beneath her – like waitresses.
She's always been like that. Honestly, that probably should have been a red flag for me. In my opinion, treating somebody like they're a second-class citizen because of their occupation or because they haven't been able to enjoy the advantages you have, is reprehensible. And, it shows a lot about a person's character. Shows you who they really are.
But again, it's one of those things I've always been blind to because I was so head over heels in love with her.
“Well, is there anything else I can get for you?” Maggie asks, her face still a mask of uncertainty. “Cappuccino? Dessert?”
“No, thank you, Maggie,” I say. “We'll just finish our wine. You can bring the check whenever you're ready.”
She looks from me to Brittany and then back again. Perhaps sensing the tension in the air between us, she just gives me a nod and then turns on her heel, walking briskly away. Brittany looks at me and I can see a mild trace of irritation in her eyes. But, always the master of her expressions, the look is quickly gone, replaced by the feigned good cheer she'd forced onto her face all night.
“I was actually interested in a piece of their tiramisu,” she said.
I shrug. “We're just about done here,” I reply. “Besides, I'm sure you would have found something to complain about and wouldn't have really enjoyed it anyway.”
She looks at me, slack-jawed for a moment before composing herself again. Her face tightens up and a small frown tugs at the corners of her mouth, but as quickly as it appeared, it's gone again. Although her expression isn't nearly as warm as it had been earlier, at least she doesn’t look like she's been sucking on lemons.
“What's going on with you tonight, Liam?”
I sigh and lean back in my seat. Picking up the bottle of wine, I pour the last of it into my glass and set it back down. Never taking my eyes off my wife, I pick up my glass and take a long swallow of the merlot. Brittany shifts in her seat and avoids my eyes, her discomfort growing by the second.
“So,” I finally say, setting my glass down on the table. “Why don't you tell me about Travis Waltham.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and she can't quite suppress the look of shock that crosses her features. She gets herself back under control in the blink of an eye, but for that one moment, her mask slipped, and I saw all that I needed to see.
“I – I don't know what you're talking about, honey,” she says sweetly. “I don't know who this Travis Waltham person is.”
“Oh, really?” I ask. “No clue?”
She shakes her head. “None,” she says. “What's wrong, baby? You seem really tense. How about we go home, and I make you feel all better?”
That's another of her tells, I've come to learn. When she feels put on the defensive or wants to worm her way out of something, Brittany never fails to use sex as her weapon of choice. It's difficult for me to say no. Even now, with this dark blend of rage and pain boiling in my gut, I want nothing more than to take her home and fuck her.
Brittany oozes sex appeal. Tall and thin, she's got the kind of body that makes men do stupid things. Her long blonde hair is lush and thick, and her cornflower blue eyes can seem bottomless. It's easy to get yourself lost in them. She's a stunning, sexy woman who never fails to draw attention whenever she enters a room.
And in the bedroom – well – let's just say, the woman knows what she's doing.
As much as I'd like to take her home and bang her senseless, I know that it's not going to change a thing. After getting off, the problems are still going to be there. She and her lover will still have conspired to either steal my company or bleed my bank accounts dry. And they'll still be fucking each other – while fucking me over at the same time.
No, as much as I'd like to give into the lust that still fills my heart whenever I look at Brittany, I'm not about to let her get out of this simply because she's a great lay.
“Are you really going to sit there and pretend that you don't know Travis Waltham?”
She shakes her head again. “I really don't, baby,” she purrs. “Why don't we go home –”
I sigh and reach down into my satchel, pulling out the file Adam had prepared for me. Brittany eyes it with trepidation as if it's a bomb ready to go off. And I suppose, in her case, it is. I flip open the folder and take out the sheet of paper that happens to be on top – one of the emails I'd discovered.
I look Brittany in the eye and then back at the page and start to read from it.
“Travis, baby,” I start reading her own words to her, “L is leaving town on business tomorrow. Can't wait to spend the week worshipping your glorious cock. Can't wait to feel it deep inside of me. You always know how to make me cum so hard and so good, baby. Looking forward to being your fuck-bunny for a whole week! Love and kisses, Brit.”
I set the paper down in the folder and pick up the next as I watch the color drain from her face. She looks at me with her blue eyes, wider than I've ever seen them. Those eyes I used to love staring into, shimmer with tears as her body trembles. She raises her shaking hands and covers her mouth as the dam of her resolve breaks and fat tears begin to roll down her smooth cheeks.
Feeling vindictive and like I want to grind her down even more, I start to read the next email. “L is gone for a few days and you know what that means, baby,” Brittany wrote. “In case you don't, it means that we are going to spend every minute of every day fucking each other's brains out. I can't wait to have you fill me
up. Have you in my mouth. I can't wait to do all those dirty things you make me do – things I never thought I'd do before. Just to whet your appetite, I'm including a photo for you to get yourself off to until you can have the real thing. Love and kisses, Brit.”
I set the page down and pick up the next but look up at Brittany. Her face is streaked with tears and she's trembling so bad, it's almost like she's having a seizure.
“Stop,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Just stop. I don't need to hear any more.”
“You sure?” I ask, my voice hot with anger. “Because I've got hundreds and hundreds more we can read together if you still can't quite recall who Travis fucking Waltham is.”
Brittany looks up at me, her eyes still leaking tears. “I'm sorry, Liam,” she says. “I never meant to hurt you –”
“Spare me,” I cut her off. “I know everything, Brittany. I know that you and your boy toy here were trying to steal my company. I know that you were going to embezzle millions from me if you couldn't pull that off. I. Know. Everything. Which also means, I know that you are not sorry for shit. So please, you can spare me the tears.”
And as if on cue, the tears dry up. Brittany sits up a bit taller in her seat and her body magically stops trembling. She looks at me through narrowed eyes and the soft, gentle woman I'd fallen in love with all those years ago is gone. In her place is somebody I don't recognize. Somebody harder. Someone infinitely crueler.
Now that the need for pretense is gone and she no longer has to play her role, the real Brittany is free to come out. Seeing her – the real her – for the first time, I have to say, she is not very attractive. And once again, I'm forced to ask myself – how could I not have seen through her facade sooner? How could I have been so blind?
And the only answer I can come up with is that it's because I was in love with her.
“I haven't been happy for a long time now, Liam,” she spits.