by Ava Harrison
It’s been a week since my date with Ryan. He asked me out again, but I turned him down. It just didn’t feel right to lead him on. At this point, I’m in no place to start dating again. Besides, work demands too much of my time.
My desk overflows with work that still needs to be completed, but before I can dive in my phone rings. I’m not surprised to see it’s Paige calling.
“What’s this I hear about you not seeing Ryan again?” she asks.
“Wow! Not even a hello.”
“I don’t understand. You had an amazing time. He really likes you,” Paige says.
I groan. “He’s very nice, but I don’t think he’s my type. I don’t want to lead him on.”
“What exactly is it about him that’s not your type? He’s charming and thoughtful. I think he’s perfect for you. Plus, he’s gorgeous. The two of you would make beautiful babies.”
“Babies!” I shout and then remember where I am and quickly lower my voice. “I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself. Look, Paige, he’s very nice and, yes, he’s very cute, but I just don’t feel it.”
“Why don’t you go out with him one more time? You might find you actually do like him.”
I laugh. “Why are you forcing this? Just because you and Jared are so happy doesn’t mean I need a boyfriend too.”
“I don’t know. I guess it would be fun. You know, the four of us.” It’s not hard to see she just wants another couple to do the whole double dating thing with. I don’t want to commit because right now it just doesn’t feel right.
“I’ll call you later. I really do have to go. Some of us do work in this office.”
“Funny. I work.”
“You’re doing a bad job, then.”
She laughs and says her goodbye before the line goes silent.
Opening night. The official opening of The L. I smile to myself as I look around the room. I can’t believe it’s finally here after everything I’ve been through. It feels like an eternity.
“I got you a glass of champagne,” Ryan says, pulling me out of my thoughts and handing me my drink.
“Thank you so much.” I smile up at him.
“Thanks for inviting me. This place is insane.” I had no intention of bringing Ryan, truth be told, I didn’t want to lead him on. But I am so happy I did. I let Paige convinced me it would be a good idea and now standing here waiting for Grant to arrive, I realize it is helping . . . a little.
“Right? I’m so proud of what we’ve done. It’s fabulous.”
“There’s a line of people waiting to get in. Is that normal?”
“I don’t know, but I doubt it. The buzz surrounding this place has been crazy.”
I look around at all the people milling about. Smiles are plastered on everyone’s faces. It’s clear The L is a success.
“I see Jared. Let me go grab him,” Ryan says.
“Great idea. I’ll be right here.”
Ryan saunters off in pursuit of Jared. He isn’t even gone a second before I feel eyes on me.
Grant.
Only he can evoke such a reaction from me. It’s been weeks, but the pit in my stomach tells me I’m no closer to moving on. I’ve missed him with every fiber of my being. Not even Ryan’s company can lessen the pain. If anything—and this is the worst part, the part that I’m dreading, the part that makes it so difficult for me to live with myself—I always find myself comparing them, and Ryan is lacking. Not because how deep Grant’s pockets or eyes are, or because of his dirty mouth, devotion for Isabella or even his shark-like business instincts. Ryan is lacking simply because he is not Grant. Only Grant is Grant. And as long as I don’t have Grant, I will always feel hollow. Like my body is empty and light and floating in the world without an anchor. Without a home. It hits me fundamentally. Dumpster Dude is my home. I am, therefore, homeless now. Which is ironic, seeing as what we did—what we worked on—was a hotel. A hotel that is about to accommodate thousands of hearts. Temporarily, of course.
Grant’s gaze is unnerving as he walks my way. Anticipation makes me shiver down to my toes. Time slows and it feels as though it takes hours for him to reach me. When he’s finally standing in front of me, the space between us is heady with unsaid words.
“Hi,” I say. My voice is lame. My posture is lame. God, my whole being is.
His sad eyes roam over my body as if they have permission. “You look beautiful, Bridget.”
I smile but don’t respond to his compliment. If I were to speak, I couldn’t hide how broken I am.
“I miss you,” he adds, the words somehow like a knife. My temporary home. It’s not fair that he says that after we threw away the key.
Silence descends upon us.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” His eyes are dull as if he’s been through a war. I image mine are much the same. His jaw is set hard, holding back words I know he wants to say but doesn’t dare.
We still can’t be together, so what’s the point in punishing ourselves with pleasantries? There’s nothing good that can come of this. Only more heartbreak.
He finally speaks. “Who is he?”
“Excuse me?”
“Him,” he hisses, glaring at someone behind me.
I follow his line of sight until my eyes rest on Ryan. I shake my head and the green of his eyes pierces me. His stare is so hard it shakes me to the core of my being. If it were possible, the heat of his gaze would singe my skin. “He’s no one, Grant.”
“Then why are you here with him?”
I’ve wounded him by showing up with someone else, but what did he expect? The last time we attended one of these events, his wife was on his arm. I wouldn’t put myself through that again. No way in hell.
“What does it matter?”
“You shouldn’t be with him.” His gaze drops to my lips, and it’s like a gentle caress across my skin. Ripples of sensation move through me. Down my mouth and across my collarbone until I shiver. “He’ll never make you feel the way I do.”
“That’s not fair,” I rasp. “Why are you doing this to me? It’s your life that’s keeping us apart. Stop torturing me, Grant.”
His eyes close as if he’s in pain.
“You’re right.”
He starts to walk past me but stops at my side, leaning into my ear. “Just know that my feelings for you haven’t changed. They never will.”
Every hair on my body stands on end. Every nerve ending wakens. He doesn’t say anything else, simply walking away before anyone spots him. I stand alone in a room full of people, growing colder with every step he takes. I watch him for several minutes from across the room.
It’s not long before Chelsea slithers over and drapes herself across his arm. Photographers approach them and snap several photos. From here, they really do play the part well. The L’s power couple cozies up for the cameras. I can see the headlines now. My hands clench into fists.
Watching her. Watching them. It kills me to see her touch him, even if I know it’s all a lie. She makes a laughingstock of him and there’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing he can do.
Some time passes and I’m growing tired of being here. Ryan is off in the bathroom and I decide to grab a breath of fresh air. I need to breathe. Watching Grant with his wife is too much, no matter how fake it is. I’m stepping toward the back hallway that leads to the bathroom and feel a presence behind me.
“Do you want me as much as I want you?” his husky voice asks.
“Not really,” I say. “I want you more.” I turn around and we lock eyes. This one look . . . He has the power to completely undo me. I won’t allow that to happen.
“I asked you earlier not to do this. Not to play games with me, Grant.”
“I’m not trying to play games. This is fucking killing me, Bridget. I need you.”
His words light me on fire, sending heat spilling to every part of my being. I want to hold onto his words desperately, but in this moment, doubt also creeps in.
Jealous
y. It creeps up inside me like a vine, feeding on my insecurities. Playing off my fears. It’s hard not to allow it to take over. To not allow it to strangle me. All I can do is tell myself I will not be that person. I will not let it win. He’s not mine to care about. Stop doing this to myself.
“Seeing you with her is killing me.”
He runs his hand through his locks as he stands in front of me. Tall and powerful, his frame towers above me as I move to pass. But he blocks me. Doesn’t allow me to move.
“It’s not real.”
“It doesn’t hurt any less.”
His hand reaches out, the pads of his fingers skimming over my skin. Across my jaw. Running down the hollow of my neck and across my collarbone.
Tracing.
Teasing.
Like a desperate whisper against my heated flesh.
He moves further, caressing the swell of my breast. The curve of my hip.
Lower.
Lower.
Until he’s inches away from touching me.
“She means nothing to me,” he states. “All I see is you, Bridget. All I want is you.”
“Please don’t.” I squirm under his touch, desperate for more. Aching for it.
“I want you. That hasn’t changed.”
“Yet it still can’t happen. So why do this?”
“I can’t help it. This is my fucking life and I want you,” he snarls. “I want to keep you here with me until I’ve had my fill. I want you begging and pleading, and then I want to give you exactly what you want. Only then will I be satisfied, and maybe I can finally kick this damn obsession I have with you.” He says this almost desperately. My chest heaves at his words. “But I can’t,” he finishes in defeat.
“Why do you keep doing this to me?” My voice cracks with emotion and I think he might touch me, breach me. But he pulls away, taking my hand in his instead. Holding it steady. As if it’s the last time he ever will.
“Because I’m a selfish prick. Because I can’t stand the thought of you moving on. Because I’m so fucking lost without you, and the only thing I want to find is a way back to you. Because our kismet meant something. Because we mean something.”
“You’re lost, but I am gone. That’s the difference between us. I’m done, Grant. Done trying. I might never feel the way I do toward you ever again, and it’s breaking me,” I say on a sob.
His hand shoots out to wipe away a stray tear that is freefalling from my cheek. “I’m not your perfect love story. There’s no fairy tale with me. No happy ending will happen for us, Bridget. You have to come to terms with that. So do I.”
His stony eyes have me backing away. “Then stay away from me,” I whisper, allowing one final tear to fall.
With those final words, I leave.
The following day at work, I’m determined to set my mind on being productive. The opening was a huge success from what everyone in the office is saying. I left after my showdown with Grant. I told Ryan I had a headache and left him with Paige and Jared. Luckily, no one pressed the issue. A part of me expected Paige to call and check up on me, but she never did. I’m so thankful she didn’t, because I probably would have broken down. What would I have said? I couldn’t be there anymore.
Even today, I find myself avoiding her. Faking being happy is becoming more difficult by the day. I only have a few short weeks before I leave The L—and my time with Grant—behind for good, so I’ll suck it up. I have no intention of pursuing a career here. I’m not looking to torture myself. I do a good job at staying busy, but every now and then I catch myself thinking about him.
I want to say fuck it. What’s one more night with Grant? To feel his lips on mine again. The truth is, I don’t only want to touch him, I want to heal him. I want to make him less sad, less empty. I can’t, though. I won’t. It’s not my place anymore.
A few hours in, my stomach rumbles. It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent meal. I don’t even want to know how many pounds I’ve lost during this breakup. I decide to head to the corner deli for a sandwich. Just before I reach the main entrance, a lady walks through the door holding Isabella’s hand. I consider hiding, but it’s too late. She sees me.
“Bridget,” the girl says excitedly.
“Hi, Isabella,” I say as she runs into my arms.
The woman introduces herself as Rhonda, the new nanny. “We were in the area and she insisted on coming to see her daddy,” Rhonda explains.
“Hey, munchkin,” Grant says from behind me. I freeze in place, not wanting to see him but knowing there’s no way around it.
“Look who I found. It’s Bridget,” she tells her father with so much happiness it breaks my heart. I turn around in time to see his sad eyes.
“So I see,” he says.
“We’re going to the park. What are you doing?” she asks me, her big brown eyes filled with curiosity.
“I’m going to the deli for a sandwich.”
“Ooh, I’m hungry. Can I get a sandwich, too?”
Grant’s eyes grow wide. “Not today, princess, but maybe another time.”
I narrow my eyes at Grant. He knows damn well that’ll never happen. Filling the girl’s head with false hope surrounding me is not cool. “Next time I see you here you can come with me for a sandwich. Deal?”
Isabella giggles. “Deal.”
“Come now, my girl. Say goodbye to Bridget and then you can go to the park.”
“Bye, Bridget,” she says, giving me another huge hug.
“Goodbye, sweetheart.”
I hold back the tears threatening to spill. In a short amount of time, I’ve grown attached to Isabella. I understand Grant’s need to protect her. She’s not mine, but I’d do anything to make her happy after only knowing her for a short time.
I watch as Isabella walks over to give her father a hug. Grant takes her in his arms and kisses her on the cheek. My entire body melts and my heart breaks in the same moment. How long will Chelsea hold Isabella over him? Will he ever be free to love?
I shouldn’t have stopped her. I shouldn’t have spoken to her. But seeing her with him was too much. So once again, I put my own needs before hers and pulled her aside. I’m not blind. I destroyed her. I destroy everything. For a moment there, I was dumb enough to think that I had a chance at happiness.
I was just fooling myself.
Chelsea would never have let me be happy.
Now, I can’t help replaying last night over and over again in my head. It hurt to transfer her to marketing, but I had no choice. It’s for the best. No matter how much it sucks.
“Licking your wounds.” Chelsea saunters into the living room where I’m downing a glass of scotch. At first, I don’t answer. That’s how little she means to me at this stage. But of course, Chelsea has mastered the art of poking the bear and is now someone on PhD level.
“Shame. This one was your favorite flavor. A pretty, broken Barbie doll with eyes like saucers and pure intentions.”
Right. I’m done playing civil with this bitch. “Leave me the fuck alone. Haven’t you done enough?”
“Not nearly.” Her smile is sugar, her words venom. I have no idea what she means, but something tells me by the Cheshire grin on her face that she’s about to tell me. “The opening was a huge success, shouldn’t we be celebrating?”
“I wouldn’t celebrate with you if you were the last woman on earth.”
“Grant, stop being so melodramatic. She was a child. I let you have your fun. Now it’s time to get back to the task at hand.”
“You let me have my fun?” I seethe.
“Certainly, you didn’t think I hired her just because of Spencer, and I thought she’d be perfect to get you out of your funk. Now that you fucked her a few times maybe you’d be motivated to work. Think of it as a thank you to me for getting you laid.”
“You are unreal. You think that’s all she was? A quick fuck. She’s not some pawn to be used in your devious plan.”
“I don’t care what she was. I expect y
ou back to yourself come Monday.”
“Never going to happen.” I slam my tumbler on the table and stand. It shatters beneath my skin, biting into my flesh, making me bleed. With that, I leave the room.
Two weeks. Two weeks of pure hell. I have stayed too true to my word and have left Bridget alone. I thought time would make it easier, but the pain doesn’t dissipate. It only amplifies as more time goes by.
Plus without Bridget to calm my nerves, not only am I in pain, but I’m also a ticking time bomb. I never realized just how much she made me believe everything was going to be okay. Now that she’s gone and I don’t see her every day, it’s hard to stay grounded.
I’m angry all the time. But I guess I deserve to feel bad. Knowing I broke Bridget, I deserve to be in constant pain.
Which is why as Chelsea spends my money, I do nothing.
I deserve it.
I’m knee-deep in self-wallowing when my phone pings with an email. I open it up and see that it’s an email from Chelsea’s account. Once I got the passcode from the investigator, I had her account set up on my phone to monitor her. The email is from an airline informing her that her flight is boarding.
Is her flight boarding?
Since when is she going somewhere and if she’s at the airport who’s with Isabella?
I dial her number, and it goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck.
Saturday morning rolls around. I’m sitting at home drinking a cup of coffee when my phone rings.
“I need to speak to you.”
“Grant, why are you calling me? I thought we discussed this.”
“Can we meet? At the park across from the hotel?” He completely ignores me. Alas, it doesn’t sound like lack of respect as much as sheer desperation. He is fixated. He is determined. He is Grant, and he is your undoing.
“This isn’t a good idea.”
“I’m begging you to trust me.”
I sigh, knowing I’ve lost the battle in my own head. “I can be there in half an hour.”
