by Monica James
Parking my car across Liz’s manicured gardens, I don’t bother closing the door as I make my way toward the front door. I bang on it, then press the bell and allow it to ring in one long-drawn-out shrill.
“Excuse—” However, when Liz yanks open the door, ready to give whoever is disturbing the peace an earful and instead sees me, her mouth gapes open. “Jayden?”
“Hello, darling wife,” I sarcastically quip, my finger still pressed to the doorbell.
Her shock is apparent, but she quickly composes herself. “Please, come in.” She steps from the doorway, granting me permission to enter.
Only when I tap out AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” on the bell do I come in.
She clears her throat, clearly concerned for my well-being, but there is a lot more crazy where that came from. “Can I get you a drink? I have your favorite scotch.”
“Sure, why the hell not.”
She nods, pleased with herself, but her happiness will soon turn to shite. That’s the plan anyway.
She leads the way to the kitchen, looking over her shoulder to ensure I follow. I do.
Her heels click along the polished tile, highlighting the differences between her and Carrie. But I quickly push her from my mind because if I’m going to do this, I can’t allow her to distract me.
The house is exactly how I left it, and when we step into the kitchen, my gaze instantly drifts to the hot tub. I thought I’d feel something when I saw it for the first time—I don’t. Liz reaches into the cupboard and retrieves a crystal goblet and the bottle of whiskey.
I take a seat at the breakfast counter, ensuring to scrape the chair across Liz’s precious flooring she has Juanita scrub daily. When she passes me the glass, I reach across for the bottle instead. “Jayden? Is everything all right? You’re acting strange.”
Unscrewing the lid, I throw back the whiskey, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Strange?” I purse my lips, cocking my head in mock confusion. “Really? I think I’m acting perfectly fine for someone being blackmailed.”
She tugs at her pearls. “Blackmail is such an ugly word.”
“Try being on the receiving end of it,” I refute, leaning back in my chair and placing my boot on the counter. She wants me? Well, she can have me because this is the man I will be if she forces my hand.
My insolence pisses her off, but she doesn’t let it get under her collar. “I only came to Paris to give us another chance. But then you had to flaunt your little whore. What other choice did I have?”
Counting to five, I calm the fuck down before I ruin my plan. “You could leave me alone. That’s a choice you’ve had these past six months. But instead, you insist on punishing me. This is a new low, Elizabeth, even for you.”
This is Plan A. I hope I don’t need to resort to Plan B.
But trying to appeal to her compassion is a dead-end. She has none. “I want things to go back to the way they were.”
A laugh erupts from me, but it’s not a pleasant sound. “I’m not sure if you remember, but things were fucking horrible. You were screwing anything that moved, and I was too blind to see you for the adulterous slag that you are.”
“How dare you. What has gotten into you?”
“The better question here is who haven’t I gotten into?” She pales while I sip my drink victoriously.
“This isn’t you. The Jayden I knew wouldn’t be dressed like a homeless person, speaking such vile things.”
“This is the new Jayden, poppet. Get used to it because that’s what you want, isn’t it? You’ll keep quiet if I come back home.” There is no point in dragging this out. I came here for answers.
Her long blonde hair is twisted into a high chignon, and her once delicate features now look pointy and harsh. I suddenly miss the smell of strawberries and cream.
“Yes, you have my word. I don’t want to do this, but you’ll see it’s for the best.”
I’ve heard enough. “Fine. But if you break your promise, I swear to god, I will find every man you fucked and tell their wives their BFF screwed their husbands on our ten-thousand-dollar Persian rug. We clear?”
She gulps as my threat isn’t empty. Neither is the fact my promise holds merit. God knows how many of her pretentious friend’s husbands she blew.
“We’re clear,” she states, reaching behind her back, and the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered fills the air. “Now, fuck me.” Her black dress pools at her feet, revealing a lacy underwear set with garter belts.
Once upon a time, I would be salivating at the sight, but now, I can’t help but wonder who the hell wears something like this around their home. She unfastens her hair, shaking it out like a primed lioness.
But it’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever touch her again. Looks like I’ll have to resort to Plan B.
“Sorry, wifey, but I can’t. I’m having issues downstairs.” Just in case she’s lost in translation, I point at my groin.
She gasps, horrified. “That’s impossible.”
Although I’m flattered, I shrug offhandedly. “It’s very possible. Check out Yale’s website.”
There is no further direction needed as she dives for her cell off the counter while I casually sip my whiskey.
I went into this with no real definite plan other than saving Carrie. I intend on telling her everything, but not before I gauge Liz’s motives. She said she wants me back, but I know Liz. If I don’t put up a fight, she will eventually figure out she’s being played. This will buy me some time to devise a plan that saves both Carrie and me.
I need to be where I can watch Liz, and what better place than her abode.
When her horror-struck eyes flick up and meet mine, I smirk. It appears she’s stumbled across the photos Yale posted of me emerging from the pharmacy with two bottles of Viagra in hand as I read over the label. Who knew my supposed impotence would save my manhood.
“Oopsie. I have whiskey dick, after all.” To accentuate my point, I drink the remaining liquor and slam the bottle onto the counter.
It’s a challenge to her. One she accepts.
Sauntering toward me, I try not to laugh at her attempt to seduce me. She runs her fingernail down my shirt, toying with the button on my jeans. When she gets to my junk, I resist the urge to jump up off the chair as though it’s on fire.
“That’s just because you’ve forgotten the touch of a real woman. Here, let me remind you.” Before I have a chance to back the fuck off, she thrusts her hand between my legs and begins massaging my dick.
My skin crawls and bile rises, but I push it down. This is what she wants. She wants to be in control. If she thinks she is, she thinks she’s winning, and Carrie is safe for now. My cock goes into hiding as it has no interest in coming out to play.
After a few minutes of her rummaging around, she gives up. She purses her pink pumped lips, which look like flailing hot dog buns. “This isn’t part of the deal, Jayden. For things to go back to the way they were, we have to act like a normal married couple.”
When she attempts to manhandle me once again, I latch onto her wrist, stopping her. My aggression turns her on, and she gasps. Slowly coming down from my perch, I stand, towering over her as I pin her with a glare. “There is nothing normal about this, Elizabeth.” Her name has never sounded so dirty. “Maybe for us to go back to the way things were”— I begin to stalk her as she steps backward, her arse hitting the counter, trapping her —“you should watch me fuck somebody else. An eye for eye and then maybe, maybe, we can think about going back to what we had.”
Her chest rises and falls. It sickens me that this is turning her on.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to sleep.” I don’t wait for her to reply and leave the kitchen, needing to put as much space between us as possible.
There is no way I’m sleeping in her bedroom, so I take the guest bedroom down the hallway. For good measure, I lock the door. Needing to take a literal breather, I inhale, filling my lungs with air that isn’t tainted
by Liz.
What the fuck am I doing? I’m in way over my head, but I’ll figure something out. I have to.
My cell vibrates in my back pocket. If this is Liz paging me, I’ll throw the infernal thing out the window. However, the caller is my savior. “Dove,” I say, watching my volume as I push off the door. I don’t want prying ears to hear.
“Hey. Where are you? Why are you whispering?” Just the sound of her voice confirms what I’m doing is right.
There is no way I’m going to keep this from her, but I decide not to tell her everything until I’ve figured out a solid game plan. “Can you talk?” I ask, sitting at the foot of the bed.
“Yes,” she replies, her suspicion shining. “But let me tell you something first. I’ve wanted to tell you this since we met. I—”
But whatever she has to say can never compare to the bombshell I’m about to drop. Exhaling, I can’t believe this is my life when I reveal in a rushed breath, “Liz is blackmailing me.” If I didn’t say it now, I was afraid I’d chicken out.
“What?” she says after a short pause.
“I know how clichéd this sounds, but it’s the truth.” I’m about to pull the phone from my ear to see if she’s still on the line.
“How?”
“She knows about Gerry and his deal. She also knows I haven’t been able to write…until I met you. She’s threatening to tell Gerry. If she does, he’ll no doubt run. He won’t take the risk.”
“What does she want?” she asks in vain.
“What do you think?” I give her the time she needs to process this because I know it sounds like an episode of Days of our Lives, but god help me, it’s not.
“You’re not going to give her what she wants, are you?” she questions, horrified.
“Of course not!” I declare, leaping from the bed, needing to move before I hurl. “But dove, she knows you’re Axle’s daughter. She’s not just threatening me…she’s threatening you too. She is out for blood and apparently just mine won’t do. She said she will tell Axle you knew about the deal. I’m sorry. This is all my fault.” I run my fingers through my hair, exhaling in frustration.
I’m expecting anger, maybe even for her to hang up on me, but what she does next just cements how incredible this woman truly is. “So we tell my dad then. Get to him first.” But we both know it’s not that easy.
“He won’t be so understanding. We both know this. He will make sure I don’t work in this town again. And god knows what he’ll do to you. He’ll disown you and probably make your life hell.”
“I couldn’t care less about me.”
“Well, I do,” I argue.
It’s no surprise when she asks, “So your career is more important than me? Than us?” I can hear the hurt in her tone.
“No, I just need to figure this out.”
“How?”
“I need to prove myself,” I reply, the wheels in my head turning.
“And how do you intend to do that?”
“By writing a kick-arse book.” A light bulb flickers. I need Liz to believe that my writer’s block is back and worse than ever before. This will buy me time to blindside her when I give Gerry my motherfucking masterpiece.
“Well, you’re already there.”
I pace the room as a plan begins to flourish. “You’re right. I just need to finish it.” What I say next, winds us both. “Give me some time?”
“Time? Time for what?”
She has every right to be suspicious, but she is a distraction, and I need my head clear, especially where Elizabeth is involved. “Just trust me.” I know it’s asking a lot, but this will ensure she’s not dragged into Liz’s twisted plans.
“I don’t like this.”
“Well, I don’t like ruining your relationship with your family because of me. I’ll fix this. I promise.”
She sighs, clearly not happy with my plan. “Can I come see you?”
My heart aches. “I’d love that, but I need to focus on finishing this book now more than ever.”
I feel like a bastard for lying to her, but what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, which is exactly the reason I don’t tell her where I am. I won’t make this an issue. I will deal with it, and it’ll be over before we both know it.
“Okay, you’re right.” She doesn’t sound happy about it, but she knows I’m right. “Be careful. I have a bad feeling about this.”
An ominous premonition maybe?
Her fear springs me into protection mode. “Don’t. Liz is harmless.” For the most part. “Let her think she has leverage. It’ll buy us some time.”
“I miss you.” She’s finally surrendered but at what price.
“I miss you, too. Now, sorry, I cut you off. What did you want to tell me?”
Silence.
“It’s fine,” she finally says. “It can wait.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you soon.” I wish she was here, but I hang up, afraid Liz has her ear pressed to the door.
For this to work, I can’t flaunt Carrie in her face. That’s how arrogant she is. She believes I’ll just forget about Carrie now that I’m “back.” She clearly thinks the magical potion to saving our marriage is blackmail.
Sighing, I kick off my shoes and fall face first into the mattress. Welcome to my hell.
I wish I woke oblivious to where I was, but sadly, no such luck. I’m still in hell.
Reaching for my cell, I see that I mercifully passed out last night, and it’s now just after six a.m. Thinking back to my conversation with Carrie, it’s obvious what I have to do. I have to finish my book and show Gerry that my drought is over, proving Liz wrong.
In regards to Axle, I can only hope once I deliver the manuscript to Gerry, Liz’s plan will fizzle, and she will go away. Besides, Axle is going to be so pissed at me, he won’t want to talk to anyone associated with me. Liz won’t even see the inside of the foyer before security throws her arse out.
All in all—everything is riding on me finishing this book.
It’s a weak plan, but it’s a plan nonetheless.
Rising, I quickly shower and change into the only clean pair of clothes I have left. Sadly, it looks like I will be forced to stay here and make sure Liz believes this bullshit charade of hers has actually worked.
I am about fifteen thousand words short of finishing my novel. At the longest, I’ll be here for three days. Those three days will amount to ten thousand, but I have to do it for the greater good. Carrie can’t know I’m here because I know what she’ll do—she’ll tell Axle the truth. She won’t care what that means for her, but I refuse to cause her harm. Lying to her is the lesser of the two evils, and besides, it’s only for a couple of days.
With a new mindset to start the day early and write at least five thousand words, I decide to do a load of washing, seeing as I’ll be staying. There is no way Liz is up at this time, which has me venturing out of my room, intent on doing what I have to before she stirs.
Walking the hallway brings back memories—some good, some bad. No matter that Liz has tainted these walls with her infidelity, there are still some memorable moments I’ll never forget. Like sitting in my office, completing a manuscript I’d worked on for nine long months. I don’t remember ever feeling more victorious than I did that night.
Or the time Nick threw up all over Liz’s hideous abstract art piece that looked like an elephant taking a shite after one too many shots of tequila.
Good times.
Speaking of Nick, I decide to send him an email, informing him of my plans. If he has a better idea, I’m all ears, but for now, this will have to do.
The laundry is equipped with high-tech apparatuses, but I doubt Liz would even know how to turn on the washing machine. Dumping my clothes into the drum, I pour in the detergent and set it to a quick cycle.
As it’s doing its thing, I send Nick an email.
Gone into the lion’s den. I have a plan. Stall Gerry. Give me three days.
Not exactly informative, but he�
��ll get the gist.
As I close my email, I can’t help myself as my finger hovers over my photos app. The need to see Carrie is overwhelming, and for the next few days, this is all I’ll have—stolen moments. Opening the folder, the first photo I see is a candid shot I took of Carrie in bed.
I stroke my finger over her face, tracing her lips which are parted mid laugh. She’s wearing my Manchester United T-shirt, which is about five sizes too big, but it looks perfect on her nonetheless. Our time together has been nothing short of epic, even the times when I wanted to throttle her.
Her free-spirited nature breathed new life into me, and before we met, I didn’t realize how stagnant my life had become. What I feel for her, is it something like love? This insta-love stuff only happens in my novels, not in real life. But could I be the person to test that theory?
I wonder what she wanted to tell me last night. Nothing she could say would change my feelings for her. Nothing.
Groaning, I run a hand through my damp hair because it’s not even been a day and I’m already having Carrie withdrawals.
“Good morning.”
There is certainly nothing good about it now.
“You’re up early. Did someone die?” I ask, not bothering to look up from my phone. I do close my photos, however, as I don’t want Liz seeing me fawn over her archnemesis.
“Very funny,” she replies. Who said I was joking? “Juanita could do your laundry. She’ll be here soon.”
“It’s okay. I’m quite capable of doing my own laundry. I have fended for myself these past six months, you know.” Casually making eye contact, I try not to gag when I see her in some netted white nightie that makes her look like a Christmas ham.
“Fair enough.” She takes the jab as I knew she would. For this to be believable, I have to behave like a scorned husband. And eventually, she’ll believe with enough begging and parading around in dental floss that I’ll forgive her and all will go back to normal.
To any sane person, this is absurd. But that’s how self-absorbed Liz is. She can’t believe I would want anyone but her. She does think she’s perfect, after all. She all but threw that in my face when she blamed me for her infidelities.
