All of her questions this morning have revolved around Madox. That whole crew seems to be seriously invested in knowing the details of what’s going on between us. It’s like we’re their only entertainment and the rest of them are just sitting in a circle, passing around the popcorn.
We hooked up, I text her and then quickly add, I couldn’t help myself.
“Would you like to order anything while you wait?” The waiter’s voice makes me jump in my seat and he apologizes, but I wave it off.
“Just nervous for my first meeting on the job.” I shake my head, swallowing thickly before realizing what he asked and reply, “Just water for now, please.” As he nods and makes to leave, I’m quick to add, “And a coffee.” He smiles and nods.
It’s not until he’s gone that I look back down at my phone.
I never told you – but he asked about you all the time. I didn’t want you to feel guilty.
My fingers hover over the keys, but I don’t write anything back. I can’t believe she never told me.
I had no idea he ever even thought about me. A little hurt, along with a lot of betrayal stir inside of me, and I know I shouldn’t text her back right now. How could she never tell me?
Emotions swarm in my chest at the thought of him wondering what I was doing and if I would come back. I always walked away because he was so quiet and distant. There are only two times we were together when I felt like he let me in. Like he showed me a piece of him that was just for me.
In all three years we were together, if you can even call what we had being together. Only two times he dropped his guard and let me in.
The second and last time was the night he came to my apartment, the night I left him. Before it all happened, I’d gone to see him, to be with him and then I took off, leaving him when I realized how fucked I was in the head.
I didn’t know what to expect from him when I escaped back to my place. But certainly not him banging on my door, demanding for me to tell him what happened.
I’d never seen him worried like that. Especially not over me.
I knew I shouldn’t have been with him that night. I knew going to him because I was in pain was wrong. I was falling into an old pattern of behavior, relying on a bad habit simply because I felt a gaping hole in my heart I knew he could fill. And when I realized that, I knew it had to be the last time.
So when he let me go, when he told me he’d come in after me, back to the bar and back to an old group of friends I’d missed so much, I gave him a small smile and kissed the edge of his lips, noting how rough his stubble felt against the pads of my fingertips. He didn’t realize it was goodbye, or that I already missed him. I said I’d go to the bathroom first and he should go in before me.
I didn’t expect him to search for me when I never went back to the bar; I didn’t expect him to be so angry, so hurt, since he never was before. He never came for me ever. And he never yelled at me like that either. Maybe that’s why I slammed the door in his face.
Time changes a lot of things, but it’s never changed the way my heart feels when I think of the look in Madox’s eyes that night. When I told him I regretted being with him, and that I wished I hadn’t seen him that night. I pushed him away as hard as I could.
I told him I wished I’d never opened my heart to him again, to a man who has no room or need for me in his life. It was my own fault, and I told him so. I’m not sure how much of that is the truth, and how much is a lie.
I was a silly twenty-year-old girl, suffering through life and running back to my first love every time I felt alone. Since I was sixteen that’s what I’d done. Madox Reed was a hard habit to break, but I broke it that night, three years ago.
I imagine he expected me to come back to him, like I always had, but I didn’t. A very large piece of me loved him for what he’d done for me when we first met, but what we craved from each other only led to pain.
That was the second time that Madox showed me how he really felt. He didn’t hide behind a wall of armor and disinterest.
The first time though, I thought there was a real shift between us. Even if we never spoke about it afterward, I know things changed. We’d been seeing each other for only a few months when it happened.
He was always in control and private, but on the anniversary of his father’s death, Madox came and got me. He told me he needed me to stay with him and I didn’t question it for a second, even though I knew something was wrong.
When he told me his parents had gotten into a fight over the business and his dad killed himself a few years back, I cried for him while he didn’t respond. The pain in his eyes was obvious, but he didn’t show it. No tears, nothing but the absence of the man I knew he was. He went cold and silent.
It wasn’t until we were in bed, and he held me just a little tighter while he cried silently. He pretended not to, he said he had no right to be upset when there was so much in his life that other people didn’t have. That his father chose to do that and leave him, and at those words his voice cracked. He tried to get up and leave, but I only hugged him harder, pulling him back into the sheets and against my body, and finally he caved, letting me comfort him.
It didn’t matter that he was suffering, because he was so aware that many others had it worse than he did. I remember whispering quietly and gently in between soft kisses on his jaw, that if you’re having a bad day, you’re entitled to feel those emotions. It’s okay to have a bad day even if someone else is having a worse day. It doesn’t detract from what you feel inside. If it did, you couldn’t be happy for the good times, because someone else always has it better. I told him that it was okay to feel. That it wasn’t wrong to be upset or hurt. I don’t know that he believed me though.
And that was when I said I loved him. I told him I loved him, and that night he told me the same. But neither of us ever said those words again.
Just from that memory, the emotions cloud my judgment of today and where we stand now.
I have to remind myself that I gave him the chance to keep me. And he didn’t take it. The message I sent him was marked read. He saw it, and still he let me leave.
Because he never bothered to show me that he wanted me. Madox Reed couldn’t be bothered to show anyone at all that he needs them. It’s simply who he is.
“Sophie!” I hear my name and turn in my seat to see the one and only Adrienne Hart walking toward me with a nude leather bag draped over her arm. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you in person.”
My fingers wrap around the edge of the chair as I stand up to greet her, but Adrienne keeps moving, not slowing her pace at all to sit across from me at the table.
And here I was wondering if I should give her a hug or a handshake.
She doesn’t look me in the eyes as she speaks, slipping off her tweed Chanel jacket. “I trust you found everything you needed last night?” she asks and as I begin to answer, the waiter comes to the table, digging in the black apron hung around his small hips for his pad of paper and pen.
“Just a chai latte, no sweetener,” she orders before he says a word, and my lips slam shut so I don’t cut her off.
Placing one forearm on the table, and the other on top of the first, Adrienne squares her shoulders, making her slender neck look even longer and letting her platinum blonde bob swing perfectly into place before questioning me, “So… last night?”
I have to clear my throat and give her a fake-ass smile as I say, “It was wonderful. I missed the city.” I keep it professional and reach for the goblet of water the waiter left behind for me. There’s a dark ring on the black tablecloth from where it sat. The beads of condensation make my hand slip slightly, but she doesn’t notice.
“I was going to recommend a bar around the corner to help with the jitters from traveling all day, but I forgot to write you… what is it?” She ponders as I take a sip, and I cough up the small bit of water when she says, “The Tipsy Room.”
Fate just wants to fuck with me today.
Luckily,
the cruel joke goes unnoticed by Mrs. Hart as she greets two more people, waving them to the table to join us.
This time I stay seated, and this time both of them offer their hands to me. Of course mine is cold and wet from the goblet and I feel the need to apologize awkwardly.
“I’m thrilled to finally meet you; we’ve heard so much about you,” the woman tells me. She’s got to be in her late forties or older, judging by the wrinkles around her eyes, but overall she looks so young. If it weren’t for the crow’s feet, I’d have guessed she wasn’t even thirty. Maybe it’s Maybelline, or maybe it’s Botox.
“Lara Bolton.” She tells me her name before I have to ask. I had no fucking idea anyone else would be here, and I haven’t met anyone other than Adrienne. The second I hear her name, the butterflies in the pit of my belly morph into a hornet’s nest. “And this is Hugh North, he’ll be training you on all of the technical processes at work starting tomorrow.”
“Pleasure,” Hugh says with a charming smile. As Lara takes her seat, she hands him her coat and he takes his time removing his navy bomber jacket, which complements his light black skin.
“It’s wonderful to meet you both. I’ve heard,” I say and gesture in my hand toward Lara, “everything about you.” My pulse ramps up as I think about every article I’ve read. Lara is a restaurant stylist who’s absolutely to die for. Her designs aren’t just on trend – she makes the trends.
“Same to you, Miss Miller,” Lara replies with a grin and then the waiter comes to the table, forcing me to be quiet. Which is probably best at the moment.
Before Lara’s finished ordering, Hugh places a manila folder and a brand-new laptop in front of me. “Your first assignment.”
I’m too eager to wait for anything more, and as I flip through the pages, most of them photographs, I say absently, “This is an easy fix. It’s an Irish pub, judging by the name of the restaurant, but there isn’t an ounce of green in the branding; no dark woods, the menu is right though—beer-infused cheese dips and all sorts of burgers.” When no one says anything, I continue voicing my thoughts aloud.
“The food appears to be on point, but everything else seems wrong.” All their heads nod, and I continue to skim through the pages. It’s all white, almost sterile and clinical in appearance, but it’s just about getting the aesthetic right. I could rebrand this place in my sleep.
“Your budget is high too,” Hugh says, and I peek up to see all of them grinning at me.
“What about the location?” I ask, not finding it easily in the pamphlet.
“High competition, but if they could draw in the right people, they’d make it work,” Lara answers before Hugh can.
“How much time do I have?”
Lara and Hugh share a glance, and Lara offers me a wicked smile. “You’re hosting the client meeting tomorrow. But from the sound of your initial assessment, I’m confident you’ll have amazing ideas.”
Hugh adds as my anxiety spikes, “It’s trial by fire here, but I’m sure you’ll do just fine with your presentation.”
Holy shit. My heart’s pounding so fast, it feels like I at least earned one of the curtains in my expensive-ass dining room.
With a feigned smile, I let the folder close and tell the table I’ll be ready.
Chapter 9
Madox
The King of Cups is compassionate and diplomatic; willing to negotiate to get what he wants. The unfortunate side of this card is that he stays calm in the worst conditions, because his deep feelings and the needs of his heart are inevitably repressed.
Everyone wants something. It’s fucking constant.
If I had nothing, no one would message me. My inbox would be empty. No one would have to wait for an appointment to sit in the chair across from me.
I know it’s true, because I was there at one point when I took over this failing company and worked tirelessly to bring it back to its former glory and then surpass it. I was only fifteen when my dad died, and eighteen when my mother shoved me into this role. I learned young that nothing comes without a price.
The patter of rain has been a constant all day, hitting the glass wall behind me and lulling me into a false sense of peace.
I keep staring at my phone, noting how only ten minutes pass each time I check. I’m waiting for a text, or an email… something from Sophie. As if she has any reason to want a damn thing from me.
Of everyone who desires a piece of me, or something I have to offer, I just want one of them to be her.
The rap of knuckles at my door breaks my thoughts of what used to be, and I’m grateful for it. Until it opens before I can answer, and Ryan strides into the room.
“So?” Ryan’s smirk is cocky and confident as he settles into the seat across from me, tapping the tips of his fingers, eagerly waiting for details.
“So, what?” I fuck with him, keeping my own smirk in check. “Did you get your notice?”
“Notice?” he asks, and the smirk fades as his lips droop down.
“You’re fucking fired for two reasons.” I keep my voice hard as I lean forward and tell him, “One: You put your manwhore hands on Sophie the other night. Two: You knew she was here, and you didn’t tell me.”
“Oh fuck off, I only knew she was there for a minute more than you. Come on and tell me what happened.” Ryan brushes me off, but I don’t budge. He can suffer for a moment like I did. The exasperated sigh that leaves him is what gets me to show a little humor.
“Tell me what happened,” he presses.
“Lunch with my mother was awful, thanks for asking.”
“That was a given.” Ryan disregards my comment and leans forward to ask, “You and baby girl back to normal?”
No. I know the answer, and simply shake my head, feeling the deadweight sit against my chest as I turn off my computer. I still have hours before dinner, but I’d rather distract myself with Ryan and anything other than work before meeting Sophie tonight.
“We hit it off just like normal, but she’s not …” The back of my throat goes dry, so I pick up my coffee, drinking it black as always.
“She still loves you,” he tells me gently as if that’s what the problem ever was.
“She’s resistant.” I finally settle on that truth, spacing out the words and letting them sit in the air while Ryan considers them.
He slumps back, letting his back hit the chair and turns his hands up, “Well you didn’t think she’d just fall into bed with you and go right back to being what it used to be, did you?”
“You’re the one who said ‘normal,,’” I remind him, barely hiding my irritation. He’s never had a stable relationship. He doesn’t mind living vicariously through the only one I’ve ever wanted.
“See, I thought you had a stick up your ass the last few years because you hadn’t gotten your dick wet, but here we are, and that stick hasn’t budged.”
“How’d you know?”
“That you guys fucked?” he asks me with a brow cocked and his forehead scrunched. As if it’s an odd question to ask. I just gaze at him coolly and he shrugs.
“She told Trish, who told Brett, who told me about ten minutes ago.”
“Word travels fast.”
Ryan shrugs unapologetically. “It’s been a long time coming… So you got her in bed… and then what?”
“That’s none of anyone’s business.”
“Aw, come on, Brett and Trish only know so much. You’ve got to give me something.” Brett and Trish know too damn much. Trish I can understand, although I’m still pissed she didn’t tell me Sophie was coming back. And Brett needs to mind his own fucking business.
“Can we talk about something else?”
“So your lunch date with your mom went poorly?”
“I hate you.”
“You love me so much. I could feel the waves of adoration from all the way down the hall to my office.”
“You should have stayed there and finished the numbers for the meeting tomorrow.”
“Al
ready done,” he tells me and I’m quick to retort, “For the meeting Friday then.”
He only snorts a laugh and there’s a moment of awkward silence. The kind that comes when someone’s begging to ask you a question, but they don’t know how you’ll react.
“What did she want?” he asks me with nervous hesitation. My mother is never a topic of pleasant conversation.
“To tell me she’s getting another divorce.”
“I thought she just married …Steve?”
“She divorced Stewart last year, this one’s name is Jerry.” Although the conversation is almost casual in tone, it’s anything but.
“Ah.” Ryan nods and raises his brow as high as he can before sucking in air through his teeth. “Well, maybe the next one will be a winner.”
“Doubtful,” I mutter under my breath and stand abruptly, ending the conversation. My mother wouldn’t know love if it sent her the biggest paycheck she’d ever seen.
Chapter 10
Sophie
It’s an awful feeling to be dealt the Eight of Swords. You feel powerless and stuck. It’s not just in your head; the swords surround you and you’d see them, if only you opened your eyes. But why would you? Even when you see them, there’s nothing you can do.
Madox was always good at wining and dining me. At spoiling me with pretty things. That’s how he apologized. It’s how he said thank you. He spoke with gifts.
Trish told me it’s one of the ways to express love. She got it from some book. Even if it is, it never felt right. Not to me.
He could have bought my entire world a million times over. And all I did was run to him, spread my legs and stay in his bed instead of going home. It felt like… it felt like he was buying me. I didn’t want his gifts.
I told him that once. It didn’t end well. One of our many breakups.
When we got back together, he told me the Tiffany necklace he put around my neck was from a dollar store. So it didn’t count as ”buying my affection.”
Cards of Love: Three of Swords Page 6