by J. D. Chase
‘No, Jamie. Xander was a little distraction for me, nothing serious. Yeah, it’s too bad he was married. But in my defence, I didn’t know that at the time so no harm, no foul in my book. I needed someone to show me how a real man performs in bed. Someone who could actually make me come like a fucking express train. It was quite refreshing after all those years of frustration and faking it with you. So I did get what I wanted. I got fucked to within an inch of my life and I loved every fucking minute of it. But I didn’t get emotionally involved. I’m too smart for that. You men all cheat and scheme, so why would I? So there’s no hurt . . . unless you count the friction burns he left on my pussy; they’re still a little tender. So who exactly is the one to be pitied, Jamie?’
She began to walk out of the door without waiting for his response. As she neared the front door, she heard him shout, ‘Well good luck with keeping your job now he’s back with Janine. She said she was going to make him fire you immediately. So actually, you’re the one who’s jobless. You just don’t know it yet.’
Resisting the temptation to slam the door behind her, Isla pulled it shut with gentle care. By the time she reached the pavement, she felt physically sick.
What a snivelling excuse for a man . . . I’m well rid of Jamie. He deserves all that he’s got coming to him if he continues to revel in self-pity. I’ve half a mind to call the company and tell them he’s at home. But no, two wrongs don’t make a right.
And I’ve enough on my plate if what he says is true. I’ll be jobless and homeless in no time. I need that fucking job.
But I couldn’t work for Xander now. Not knowing that he’s used me and lied to me. And there’s no way in hell that I’m waiting for him to fire me. I’ll hand in my resignation, effective immediately. Then I’ll work two shitty jobs, just to pay my mortgage. And I’ll sign the hotel over to him as soon as it’s possible. I want nothing more to do with the place. I’m done with playing games. And I’m done with men.
All men truly are fucking bastards.
Chapter Nineteen
After a visit to a nearby cashpoint machine, which made Isla curse when she saw her pitiful account balance, she headed for the tube. A quick change at Notting Hill Gate and she was in Kensington. As she walked towards the hotel, she became increasingly apprehensive. She knew she needed to retrieve her belongings from the suite and she planned to write her letter of resignation in the office and leave it for Xander. She just hoped he wasn’t in the building.
As the hotel came into sight, her heart began to hammer, not least because the Holden was parked in its usual spot. Suddenly, her legs felt like lead and it was an effort to put one foot in front of the other and keep walking. Her stomach churned and her palms grew damp.
I can do this . . . I must do this . . .
I’ll just race in and grab my things then race back out. I can email him my resignation from home. Oh God, what if they’re not still in the suite? What do I do then? What if he confronts me? What . . .
Her feet stopped moving altogether. She took a deep breath and gave herself a talking to.
For fuck’s sake, Isla. Get a grip! Hold your head high and do what you came to do. So what if he’s there . . . you can tell him exactly what you think of him and exactly where he can shove his job. You have the hotel in your name, you have the upper hand.
Yeah . . . let him take the lead and do the talking. If he wants rid of me, he can hand over a generous severance package . . . then, and only then, will I sign over the hotel. Come on girl, your mortgage needs you to do this. And so does your self-respect . . .
Putting back her shoulders and raising her chin, she marched towards the entrance. She’d intended to storm through reception and up to the suite to check on her belongings but, as soon as she was through the revolving door, Belinda shot out of her seat and tottered around the reception desk.
‘Oh my God, Isla. You look like shit! You’re obviously not well enough to be here so just get back through that door and go home. We’ve got things covered here, you know. Just because you and Xander aren’t here, the whole place doesn’t grind to a standstill. We’re more than capable . . . even if Margot’s doing my effing head in, acting like she owns the place. Come on, it’s back to bed for you.’
Isla shook her head and held up her hands. ‘I’m fine, Belinda. Honestly. What do you mean Xander’s not here?’
Belinda gave a shrug. ‘He hasn’t shown this week at all. The last we saw of him was on Friday. But we’re doing just fine. Alberto’s got everything under control. He says running this place is a breeze compared with Xander’s hotel. Now go. Quickly, before you spread your germs. Whatever you’ve got, I don’t want it. I’d need a strong spray tan to put any colour in my complexion, judging from the state of yours.’
‘It’s not as bad as it looks, Belinda. I need to pick up some things that I left here. I left them in one of the suites. Do you know if they’re still there?’
Wrinkling up her nose, Belinda replied, ‘I assume so. Nobody would move your things, Isla.’
‘Great. I’ll get them and I’ll be off. Do you know whether Alberto is in the office right now?’
‘He’s gone out for lunch. He shouldn’t be long though. But like I say, he’s got everything running smoothly so you just get your things and go home until you’re better.’
Isla rolled her eyes good naturedly. ‘Okay, boss.’
Walking to the lift, she heard Belinda whining to Nadine that she hoped she wouldn’t catch whatever it is that Isla had because she never wanted to look that crap. Isla sighed, knowing that there was no way that Belinda could catch anything and feeling downhearted that she obviously looked like death warmed up. As she hit the button, she reasoned that it was hardly surprising, given that she felt like that too.
She was relieved to find her belongings exactly where she’d left them. An even greater relief was finding that the bedroom no longer smelled of Xander, although the few belongings that he’d had there were still scattered around the suite. As she packed her things into her suitcase, a bitter taste was left in her mouth. Her packing grew to a frenzy until she was slamming items into the case.
Just a few days ago, I thought I had it all. No more drama . . . ha . . . as if – drama and Xander Rhodes seem to go hand in hand, along with the lies, the scheming and the games. Well, fuck you . . . my life is going to be drama-free from now on. You’re stuck with a wife who doesn’t want you, tied to her by the child you both created . . . until she finds someone else to fuck around with. Yeah, you piece of shit, let’s see who has the last laugh.
She zipped up the case and wheeled it to the lift, deciding that if Alberto was still at lunch, she may as well write her resignation letter and leave it for Xander to find. She used her old office – there were too many memories in the larger office. After logging on to the accounting software and completing a little task, she typed up the letter:
Dear Mr Rhodes,
Although I am the owner of Rouge Passion, on paper at least, I wish to resign from my position of General Manager with immediate effect. I shall be signing over the hotel as soon as humanly possible. I think you know my reason for terminating my employment but, just to make it clear, it’s as follows:
I cannot work for/with a liar;
I cannot work for/with a cheat;
I cannot work for/with someone who manipulates people for their own gain – the mere thought of doing so makes me feel physically sick;
I have high moral standards and too much self-respect.
Unfortunately for you, your wife confided the truth to my ex last week when she told him that he was the baby’s father and asked him for a DNA sample to prove it, so I know the whole, sordid tale. She told him about the DNA results on Thursday morning. If she knew the result then, so did you and yet you waited until Friday evening to tell me. I assume it took you that long to persuade her to allow you back home after she’d kicked you out and filed for a divorce. Don’t bother to attempt to talk your way out of this
one. Any dealings in relation to the hotel must be carried out by a solicitor. I have no desire to lay eyes on you ever again so do not go to the trouble of trying to contact me yourself.
Before writing this letter, I awarded myself a moderate severance package. I think it’s only fair, given the intolerable circumstances that I’ve been forced to work under and your completely unprofessional ‘hands-on’ style of leadership. Think of it as my winnings . . . you’ve played your last game with me and I’ve come out on top.
Goodbye, Xander ‘The Player’ Rhodes.
Yours sincerely,
Miss Isla Hamilton
After printing it, signing it and sealing it in an envelope, marked for Xander’s attention, she left it on the desk. She knew it was the most unprofessional letter she’d ever written but she didn’t care. She could hardly ask Xander for a reference in the future, so she did not care about burning bridges. Then she picked up her bag, grabbed her suitcase, and prepared to walk out of Rouge Passion for the very last time. And, she was doing so with a smile on her face. The severance payment that she’d awarded herself would just about pay off her mortgage, so she figured at least something good had come out of the past few months.
She breezed through reception, feeling lighter and brighter than she’d felt in some time. After calling goodbye to the Barbie duo, she passed through the revolving door with a spring in her step. She had the rest of her life in front of her and, she was no longer tied to her ridiculous mortgage. She tilted her chin so the warm sunshine could bathe her skin. With no ties, the world was now hers to explore. And boy, did she plan to make the most of it.
Watch out world, this redhead needs a change of scenery, some laughs and some filthy, dirty sex.
She felt free, she felt exhilarated and she felt adventurous. And what’s more, she now knew that she truly didn’t need a man by her side. As she strode confidently towards the underground station, she muttered under her breath, ‘All men are bastards but none of them are going to get me down again . . . I need a new mantra. Hmmm, how about “seduce me, fuck me and fuck off”? Yeah, that works for me.’ She blew a kiss to the couple of guys who were stood next to the entrance, making them grin pathetically as they approached her, encouraged by her brazen confidence.
She gave them a wink and continued on her way, leaving them staring at her curvy backside.
Yeah, it was time to play to the rules of her own game.
Monday: eight days previously . . .
Barging through the door of his suite, Xander dropped the two heavy suitcases on to the floor and slumped on to the sofa. He’d done it. He’d not managed to wait as long as he knew he probably should have but he’d finally done it. The confrontation that he’d had to put off for months had happened. He closed his eyes, realising that it had been less than forty eight hours since he’d last seen his beloved Red but it felt like forever. Those forty-something hours had been some of the most difficult of his life – but it was now over, or at least the pretence was over. He knew that battle lines would now be drawn elsewhere but he’d prepared well to win not just the battle, but the war. He’d been sorely tempted to drive straight over to Rouge Passion and bury himself in her but he felt that somehow, that would be disrespectful. He felt dirty and he couldn’t infect Red with that. An image of her, writhing in excruciating ecstasy on the balcony in Brighton flooded his mind, making his dormant penis twitch.
The previous weekend had been amazing overall, although he’d almost wrecked it during the Saturday evening. He’d let his mind drift back to the unsavoury events of the previous few months, thanks to that screeching brat in the hotel. By the time they’d got back to their suite, his mood had been dark and he’d almost confessed everything to her but he hadn’t been man enough. He hadn’t been man enough to tell her because he knew the risk of losing her was very real. And he couldn’t take that risk. He knew that if he lost Red, he would struggle to cope with the shitty hand that life had dealt him.
He pushed himself up off the sofa and strode across to the minibar. He found himself wishing that he was pouring two gin and tonics instead of one but placated himself with the knowledge that she’d be with him later. Once he’d showered and relaxed after the morning’s turbulent events, he’d surprise her at Rouge Passion and whisk her back here. He couldn’t wait to tell her that they could now be together, although there were still difficult times ahead for him. But he was fearful of telling her the complete truth yet. He had a feeling that she wouldn’t see things in the same way he did, and he was worried that her black and white stance on cheating would prevent her from seeing any grey. And he knew his feet were on very grey ground.
Sinking back into the sofa once more, he screwed up his face as his mind began to process the possibility that he could still lose her.
‘You should have waited, you stupid fuck. You should have kept your dick in your pants until you were in the clear,’ he muttered before taking a gulp of his drink.
You tried but you couldn’t resist her.
‘I should have tried harder. If I’d known how much I’d crave her, it would have been easier.’
No, you thought you could forget your troubles with the distraction of a good fuck. That’s all she was supposed to be.
‘That’s all she wanted too! An occasional filthy fuck . . . that’s what we both wanted. No complications. No commitment. No risk. When did the fucking rules change?’
You changed them. You craved her as much as she craved you, if not more. But you were the only one with something to lose. You got in too deep . . . if she walks away, you’ll lose something that means more to you than what you walked away from this morning. You’ll lose everything.
‘I won’t lose her. I can’t. Whatever it takes, I’ll make her see things for how they were.’
How they were to you. The only one guaranteed to see things your way is you. She’s no walkover. You play this the wrong way and she’ll be gone.
‘She won’t. I won’t let her.’
And how are you going to manage that?
‘Fuck knows but I’ll find a way, dammit. I need Red. I love her.’
He stared at the glass in his hand as he processed the words he’d just spoken – something his heart had known for several weeks but his brain had refused to acknowledge. Until now.
You stupid fucker, you should have kept away from her until it was all sorted.
‘I fucking know that! Jesus! That’s why I’m not telling her anything yet. I can’t risk losing her. And I’m done sitting here stating the bleeding obvious. I need to see her. I need to feel her soft skin under my fingers and smell her heady scent as I bury myself inside her until nothing else in this shitty, fucking world matters but us.’
He tossed back his drink and headed to the shower, scrubbing the invisible dirt that coated him until his skin glowed. Then he hurriedly dressed and headed to his car. It was time to truly claim his beloved Red.
Tuesday: the present . . .
The sound of the apocalypse entered Xander’s consciousness. Or so it seemed. In reality, it was the sound of a nearby wall being knocked down by a team of building contractors but to his ears, it was catastrophic. Thinking he was in bed, he attempted to slide down, under the covers. No such luck. He felt the skin of his left cheek peel off the smooth leather of his sofa where it had stuck as he’d slept. As the hammering outside the room competed with the hammering inside his head, he groaned.
He reached out with his hand, feeling for a bottle of anything that would help to take away the pain in his head. And the pain in his heart. But all he could locate was empty bottles. Cursing, he reached down to the floor with his other hand and tried again. He was out of luck. If his memory had been functioning correctly, he’d know that he’d drunk the place dry over the preceding few days. Anything and everything had been poured down his throat. Anything to prevent him from being remotely sober and thereby having to confront the two devastating issues that he felt incapable of acknowledging, never mind con
fronting.
A grunt emerged from between his parched lips. His full bladder was making its presence known. Tempted though he was to lie there and piss himself, he hadn’t quite reached that level. Almost, but not quite. He turned over on to his back in an effort to take the pressure off and relieve the discomfort but moving only made it worse.
Looking like a survivor from a nuclear fallout, he staggered to his feet, his hands pressed over his ears and promptly walked into the coffee table. He fell, sprawling across it before landing in a heap on the floor. The pressure on his bladder was too much; he could feel warmth spreading out across his groin.
‘Damn it. Damn it to fucking hell and back,’ he cursed, trying desperately to cut off the flow. Once he’d achieved it, he managed to get upright and stagger into the bathroom.
The noise from the renovation was less there and, as he freed his damp cock and emptied his bladder, the weight of his worries settled back on his shoulders. When he walked back into the bedroom, his stature was hunched and his mind was fucked. His life was falling apart and the one person he wanted to run to . . . well, he was too afraid to seek solace there. Too afraid that she would turn her back on him. And why wouldn’t she? He was a married man – albeit separated – with a newborn baby, born to his estranged wife.
What a fucking mess.
He looked down at his urine stained trousers and shuddered. He turned to the mirror and almost recoiled in horror at his reflection.
Is that really me? Fuck me . . . I look like hell. No, I look like hell on a bad day. Jesus Christ . . . if Red saw me now, she’d run a freaking mile – and who’d blame her? I look like a hobo and, what’s more, I fucking smell like one. Fucking hell, X, get a grip on yourself. Hiding out here, stinking of beer and piss won’t make your fucking problems go away. You’ve drunk the place dry now anyway. Get a grip. Get showered and shaved. Get your fucking life back on track.
