by Beth Orsoff
That statement was new. “I don’t think that’s true.” From what Jake had observed, Whitney cared for Michael, she just wanted the relationship to be on her terms. But wasn’t that what everyone wanted?
He nodded, more to himself than to Jake. “She loves the idea of me, the idea of being a doctor’s wife,” he slurred. “But she needs constant attention, and I work all the time. We have nothing in common—except for sex. God, the sex was fucking fantastic.”
It must run in the family.
Michael swigged the rest of his glass, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Jake thought he’d fallen asleep and was about to make his escape when Michael suddenly said, “So, you and Samantha, huh?”
“Yes, and she’s expecting me, so I really should get going.”
“Yeah, of course, I didn’t mean to keep you. I’m glad you two worked it out. Good for you.”
Jake was halfway across the living room when he stopped and turned around. “Worked what out?”
“I told her the longer she lied, the angrier you’d be when you found out. But good for you for getting past it, man. Maybe—”
“Wait a minute,” Jake said, his voice rising. “She lied to me? About what?”
“Oh shit. Don’t listen to me. I’m drunk. I don’t know anything.”
Obviously he knew a lot. And Jake wasn’t leaving until he knew too. With half a bottle of scotch left, he was confident he’d find out.
Chapter 89
Samantha
“It’s not like I cheated on him,” Whitney cried.
Yet.
“We were just dancing.”
Michael must’ve witnessed something more than “just dancing” to get so upset that he’d moved out the next day. Or maybe he recognized trouble when he saw it. Their new neighbor, a recently divorced director who was already making promises to Whitney he likely wouldn’t keep, was, according to Whitney, “only average-looking but incredibly sexy.”
“Whitney, you’re married. You can’t just go around dancing with other men, at least not when your husband’s in the room.”
“Michael wasn’t home when we started. He walked in on us.”
Even worse.
“Whit, you know I’m on your side, so don’t get mad at me, but you don’t seem to be taking this marriage very seriously. Michael’s not some misbehaving boyfriend you’re trying to make jealous. He’s your husband. You made a commitment.”
Silence.
“Well, you did, didn’t you?”
She looked up at me with swollen eyes. “What if it was all a mistake?”
Whitney and I ate the scallops ourselves. I doubted Jake would mind. I hadn’t even realized he was over an hour late until I checked my phone. No messages. I thought about calling or texting but decided not to. He was probably consoling Michael just as I had consoled Whitney. And I didn’t want to be the demanding girlfriend who required constant attention (that was Whitney’s MO). Besides, I wasn’t even sure I was his girlfriend. Whatever this was between us, we hadn’t defined it yet.
Plus, I thought for sure he’d call the next day.
Then the day after that.
And the day after that.
“I think I’m losing my mind,” I said to Jenna, who I’d corralled into having dinner with me on Thursday, otherwise known as Day Three of No Word from Jake. I knew she was busy with work, and I was too, but I just couldn’t face another night alone waiting for the phone to ring. For once I was actually sorry Whitney had moved out. “Maybe I should just call him.”
“Do not call him,” she said for the hundredth time. “It’ll make you look desperate.”
“I am desperate.” I knew no tragedy had befallen Jake because I’d had my assistant call his assistant on some pretext about Selena’s divorce, and Caroline had confirmed that Jake was in the office but in a meeting. So I knew he was alive and talking to people, he just wasn’t talking to me. “I don’t understand what happened. We had an amazing weekend together, he texts me ten times the next day, says he wants to see me again, we actually make plans to see each other, then poof, he disappears.”
Jenna sucked down the last of her margarita, then signaled the waitress to bring us two more. “It’s not that uncommon, Sam. People do this sort of thing all the time.”
“You mean men do this sort of thing all the time.”
“Women too.”
I snorted. “Who do you know who’s ever done anything like this?”
She chased the ice around the bottom of her glass with her straw before finally looking up. “Me, actually.”
“You?” I couldn’t believe it. Not that she was incapable, but we’d been friends forever, and I would’ve thought she’d have told me about it before now. “Who was it?”
“Just some guy I met on vacation. It was right after your mother died, when you were fighting for custody of Whitney, so I probably never mentioned it.”
“And you just ditched him with no explanation?” That was the part that was out of character for her. Jenna normally had no problem telling men what she thought of them.
She shrugged. “I’m not proud of my behavior, but I was younger then. And I really didn’t think the guy was that into me, until he started sending me these awful love poems. Then I was too embarrassed to tell him he was just a vacation hookup. I figured if I went radio silence, he’d get the message.”
“And did he?”
“Eventually. It took a few unanswered emails though. He actually caught me on the phone once, and that was really awkward. After that I blocked him.”
“You blocked his number? Wow, that’s cold.”
“Like I said, I’m not proud of my behavior. It was ten years ago and I still feel bad.”
“Maybe you should look him up online and apologize. He’s probably on Facebook or Twitter.”
She laughed. “Actually, I did. Almost, anyway. I saw one of his posts on Facebook. Don’t ask me how—he’s a friend of a friend of a friend or something. Anyway, I saw his post and clicked on his profile, and he had all these photos of himself with his wife and their two little kids. I figured he’d clearly moved on with his life, so why rock the boat? I actually felt a lot better after that. He looked happy.”
“I still can’t believe you never told me any of this.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like I purposely kept it from you. It just never came up.”
I was about to ask her if there were any other incidents that “never came up” but decided not to. If I thought about it long enough, I could probably come up with one or two things in my past I’d never shared with her either. And I definitely understood the impulse to want to hide something embarrassing. I’d been doing it with Jake since we’d met.
“So you think that’s what’s going on with Jake? I was just a weekend fling, and he doesn’t want to have to have that uncomfortable conversation with me?”
She stared down at her empty glass again. “Possibly. I didn’t think so at first. It seemed like he was really into you.”
“I’m sure your guy thought that too, or he wouldn’t have written you all those love poems.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe he just saw what he wanted to see. Some people imagine entire relationships that aren’t there.”
“You think I imagined this whole thing?”
“Sam, I—”
“Did I imagine the jewelry box too? Because that one felt pretty real. And why would he buy it for me if he didn’t even like me?”
“Obviously he liked you,” she said. “Maybe he realized you wanted different things.”
“We wanted the same thing—sex! And he got it.” And that’s when the real reason finally occurred to me. “I know why he’s ditching me—it’s because I’m bad in bed.”
“What? That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You said it yourself—he knows what to do because he’s been with tons of women. But I’ve only been with”—I counted them off in my head—“
eight guys my whole life.” And that included Jake. “And there were things we did that … let’s just say they were new to me.” Apparently there were some things I didn’t want to confide in Jenna either.
“And I’m sure he found that very attractive. Don’t you know every guy wants to marry a virgin?”
“No, they all want to marry a whore who tells them she’s a virgin but magically knows a hundred ways to please them in bed.”
She laughed. “Okay, that’s true.” After a pause she said, “Not to be indelicate here, but when you two were together, did he”—weird hand signal I couldn’t decipher—“come?”
“Yeah. I mean, I think so. He acted like he did. Do you think he was faking it?”
She laughed again, harder this time. “Guys don’t fake it, Sam. Only women do that. If he came, then you pleased him. End of story.”
“But—”
“Seriously, Sam, that’s not it.”
But I refused to let it go. I’d rather believe he rejected me for my lack of experience—that I could fix—than he rejected me for just being me.
Chapter 90
Jake
He was stunned. He’d trusted Samantha completely, and she’d been lying to him the entire time. Once perhaps he could forgive. But they’d had multiple conversations about where and how they’d met—the most recent this past weekend. And each time she’d lied to him. Each time!
It was especially galling since she’d given him that big speech begging him to be honest with her—all while she was lying! She’d played the innocent waif, and he’d completely fallen for it. Perhaps it was she who was really the actress in the family, not Whitney.
And if Samantha had lied about this, what else had she lied about? Well, he didn’t intend to find out. He was finished with Samantha Haller.
And to think I actually considered spending the rest of my life with this woman. He shook his head in disbelief as he deleted all of her contact information from his phone. He didn’t want to be tempted to drunk dial or text. He’d been on the receiving end of a few of those, and it was never pretty.
What was I thinking? Temporary insanity brought on by great sex. It was the only explanation.
It had been four days since he’d learned the truth, and he was still reeling.
When Caroline poked her head into his office Friday evening, it was the first time he’d looked up in hours. He’d decided that morning that he needed to review every client endorsement deal. Not just his own clients’ deals but the details of every deal for every client who had ever been represented by the firm. He told himself it was something that needed to be done. And it did. But not by him, and not that night. But he’d rather focus his attention on work than constantly think about Samantha. Even after four days, he still couldn’t get her off his mind. How could I’ve been so stupid?
“It’s eight o’clock,” Caroline said. “I’m getting hungry. Should I order dinner in?”
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was so late. You don’t need to stay. I’ll see you Monday.”
But instead of packing up her things and leaving, she strode into his office and settled herself onto one of his guest chairs. “What’s going on with you? You’ve worked late every night this week and—”
“I’m busy, which you should know since you keep my schedule.”
“And you’ve been biting my head off too,” she continued. “What’s wrong?”
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He knew he’d been a jerk to her the past few days. He’d been a jerk to everyone; she was just the first to call him on it. “I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. Now please tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. I just need time.” And someone new. He wondered if Private Austen still missed Sergeant Bishop. Maybe he’d give Lydia a call.
“Time to what?”
Get over Samantha. “Decompress.”
“Is this about Samantha? Did you two have a fight?”
Maybe she really was psychic. Nah, just a good guess. “No, we’re not seeing each other anymore.”
She nodded. “I had a feeling. Is that why you wouldn’t take her call?”
“You said it was her assistant who called.” If it had been Samantha on the phone, he would’ve taken the call just so he could tell her what he thought of her. It wouldn’t have accomplished anything, but it might’ve made him feel better. He assumed that was why all those women he’d dated had vented their anger at him.
“It was,” she said, “but I’m sure it was a pretext. She could’ve easily found the information online.”
“Well, if she calls again, tell her to contact Selena’s business manager.” He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of taking her call. He’d already wasted enough energy on Samantha Haller. It was time to move on.
He waited for Caroline to leave his office before he called Mark. He could vent to him, and maybe get drunk too if Rita would let him out of the house. Unfortunately it was Rita who answered his phone.
“You’re a self-righteous prick. Do you know that?”
He sighed. He was in no mood for one of her tirades. “Where’s Mark?” He heard him in the background: “Honey, was that my phone?”
“Give me a minute,” she called out to him, then turned her attention back to Jake. “You’ve made a career out of lying to women, but the minute one isn’t completely honest with you, she’s the biggest bitch on wheels.”
“I never called her a bitch.” He’d thought it often this past week, but he’d never voiced that opinion.
“You absolutely did. Michael told me you ranted for hours.”
Had he? He couldn’t remember. After he’d gotten the truth out of Michael, he’d been the one downing most of the scotch. When he’d broken his glass—by throwing it against the wall—he’d drunk it straight from the bottle. He’d been so sick the next morning he’d called Caroline and told her he’d be working from home that day. He had no idea how Michael had survived an eighteen-hour shift at the hospital. “And how is any of this your business, Rita?”
“Samantha’s family.”
“Not anymore she’s not. Or did Michael not share that bit of news with you?”
“He did, and I’m none too pleased with Whitney right now. But I told Michael he was moving too fast, and he wouldn’t listen. And that’s got nothing to do with Samantha. She doesn’t deserve the Jake Jensen treatment.”
“The Jake Jensen treatment? How about the Samantha Haller treatment? She’s the one who lied. I’m the victim here.”
“You’re the victim? Oh please. You’re just upset because you got a dose of your own medicine for a change.”
There was no point in continuing the conversation. Rita had chosen a side, and she would defend it to her death. “Put Mark on the phone.”
“I thought you really liked this girl. Loved her, even.”
He knew he wouldn’t have uttered those words to Michael, not after Michael had told him the truth about Samantha, so she must’ve heard it from Mark. Christ, did he have to tell his wife everything? If that was what marriage was like, he was glad he was still single. “For the last time, Rita, stay out of this. It doesn’t concern you.”
“Jake, I realize you’re a man, but can you really be this stupid? Do you truly not understand that Samantha only lied to you because she was embarrassed?”
“Embarrassed? About what? Being drunk at a bar? Like that doesn’t happen every day of the week.”
“To you, maybe, but not to her. And she wasn’t drunk, she was drugged.”
“Drugged?”
“Yes, by one of Whitney’s idiotic friends. It’s a long story, but the upshot is she was not the one who put herself in that position.”
“How do you know all this?” According to Samantha, she hadn’t spoken to Rita since the weekend of the wedding, not that he had any reason to believe a word she said.
“Because I was there. It was the night of
the bachelorette party, remember?”
Now he was even angrier. “Then why the hell didn’t you tell me? Why did I have to find out from your drunk brother?”
“Because I just found out about it from my drunk brother too. I had no idea they went to Lux that night. But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.”
“No, it’s about Samantha, and I’m done talking about her.” And thinking about her, and fantasizing about her, and wishing she’d just have been honest with me from the start. “Are you going to put Mark on the phone or not?”
“We’re not done yet.”
“Yes, Rita, we are.” He slammed the phone into the receiver.
He didn’t need Mark’s company. He could drink alone.
He was on his fourth scotch—he’d picked up a new bottle on his way home—when he called Lydia.
“Sergeant Bishop reporting for duty,” he said when she answered.
“Jake, is that you?”
How many Sergeant Bishops did she have? No matter. He always wore a condom anyway. “Yes, I’m returning your call.”
“My call from a couple of weeks ago?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I was out of town.”
“Sure you were. And the woman who answered your phone? Your cleaning lady, I suppose?”
His cleaning lady spoke almost no English. Did Lydia know that? He couldn’t remember. “No, my personal chef. I got tired of eating takeout every night. She makes a mean paella.”
She laughed. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”
“Of course,” he said. “It’s the truth.” Sort of.
“And you’re willing to swear on your life that it wasn’t your girlfriend who answered the phone that day?”
“May God strike me down if I’m lying. I swear that Whitney Haller has never been and will never be my girlfriend.” He’d never spoken truer words.
She laughed again. “You’re drunk.”
“I’ve had a few,” he said, clearly enunciating each word. “But I’m in control of all of my faculties.”
Her voice turned sultry. “Well, it’s not your faculties I’m interested in, Sergeant Bishop.”
