by Kylie Parker
I can't leave without checking and find the panel of light switches on the wall, flipping them up, one at a time before shouting her name again. She isn't here. My heart sinks and my mind whirs. Should I call the police? Could she have been kidnapped? I think back to the day and realize I haven't heard from here since early this morning.
My mind races, playing out various scenarios as I go back to my apartment. I check the office. I know she would have been in there at some point to work. As I walk to the desk, I can see several beige file folders spread out across the desk. That's when I know. My heart races with fear. Fear of what I am going to see.
When my eyes land on her background check and the notes about my reputation in need of repair, my heart sinks. How could I have been so careless to leave that stuff for her to find. I had completely forgotten they were there with the chaos of the wedding and the quick movement to buy the Larsens' software company. It had all happened so fast, I had completely disregarded the damning evidence of my horrible plan.
She's gone. The words float through my mind. Shit. I knew this day would come, but it was supposed to be down the road, not today. Not a mere few weeks after we were married. Half of my brain recognizes the blow to my newly improved reputation. The other half struggles to accept the loss of the woman who has become my best friend.
I plop down in the chair, staring at the papers that drove Alexa away. My mind reels with the possibilities. I can make this right. I can fix this. I head back to the living room in search of my phone. I call her and of course, no answer. I call again and again, hanging up each time the voicemail picks up.
I decide to text her. She can't not read that, right?
I'm sorry. I fucked up. It isn't what you think. Please, talk to me. Let me explain.
I hold my phone—waiting. No response. It's after one in the morning. I have a meeting at eight. It's a meeting she is supposed to be attending as well. I'll corner her then. For now, I'll let her sleep on it. I head back to the empty bed, pushing the feeling of loss out of my mind. She'll be back tomorrow, I promise myself.
When the alarm goes off I spring out of bed. I don't think I even slept at all, but I want to leave early. I need to pick up a bouquet of flowers and chocolate. Maybe I should have a diamond bracelet on standby in case the flowers aren't enough. I quickly shower and replay what I will say to her over and over in my head. She's a reasonable woman. I'm convinced she will realize the papers mean nothing.
Blake meets me at the conference room door, raises an eyebrow when he sees the flowers, “Little much, don't you think? Since when do you bring flowers to a negotiation?”
I roll my eyes, “Shut up. It is because of you I am carrying these damn flowers. Where's Alexa?”
Blake looks in the conference room and shrugs, “I don't know.” He looks at the flowers and grins, “Did you mess up already? It's been what—3 weeks?”
I glare at him, “I didn't mess up. You did. All that shit you dug up and said about her; she found it. She took off yesterday,” I growl.
He looks properly ashamed, “Ouch. I'm sorry. You know, you probably should have hidden that stuff.”
I shoot him another glare, “You think?”
“Good morning, Mr. Hawke,” a young man with a briefcase says from behind me.
I nod in greeting, still holding the bouquet of flowers.
“I'm Jonathan Nelson. I'm filling in for Alexa today,” he says with a beaming smile.
My stomach drops. She isn't coming. Now I know I am in serious trouble. The woman isn't the type to shirk her duties.
“Thank you,” I say, not wanting to alert anyone that there is a problem. I look at the flowers and toss them in the nearest trash can. “Blake, give me five minutes,” I say, rushing down the hallway to find some privacy.
I pull out my phone and quickly call the head of my legal department, “George, hey, I have Jonathan here who tells me he is filling in for Alexa,” I start, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “Will she be available for the meeting later this afternoon?”
I hear the man clear his throat and I already know what's coming, “Mr. Hawke, um, Mrs. Hawke resigned her position.”
I nearly drop the phone when I hear the words. I am absolutely dumbfounded.
“Mr. Hawke?” I hear the man on the other end of the phone say.
“Thank you,” I manage to get out before disconnecting the call. I stare at it for several long seconds, processing the information. If she quit her job, does that mean she quit me as well? Is our marriage over before it ever got started.
I give myself a mental shake and walk back to the conference room. I need to get through this meeting, then I can figure out where Alexa is and set her straight. She isn't walking away from me quite so easily.
The meeting drags on. I can't focus. My mind is like a shattered windshield. I can't see straight through all of the cracks. I feel shattered, as if my life has completely imploded. She's gone. I keep saying it to myself over and over, but the words keep bouncing off. I refuse to accept her leaving me.
“Dylan?” Blake says, bringing me back to the present. I look around and see the room is empty. Wow, when did that happen?
“You okay?” he asks.
I shrug. I don't know what to say, because I don't think I am. If you are not okay, what do you do? What can Blake do? It isn't like a trip to the hospital is going to fix me.
“Man, you really love her don't you?” he says, smiling from ear to ear. “I never thought I would see the day Dylan Hawke fell head over heels for a woman, but it happened.”
I blink, look at him, “What?”
He claps me on the shoulder, “You love her. You know, that big red, beating organ in your chest. You heart her,” he says laughing. “I know, I know, you are unfamiliar with the idea or the emotion, but man, this is love. You got it bad.”
I shake my head, “No. No, it isn't like that. It's just, I don't know. She's gone,” I mutter.
Blake sits down, making himself level with me, “Pay attention. She's gone. What is going through your mind right now when you realize she's no longer in your life?”
I think about it, not sure what it is, “I don't know. Sad. Angry. Empty?”
He nods slowly, as if he is talking to someone who is either really drunk or dimwitted, “And why do you think that is?”
I shrug, “I don't know. I did like her. It was nice hanging out with her. She's funny, really smart and I don't know, it's like, she got me.”
Blake puts a hand on my shoulder, “Good. Now, let's add all that together and what do you think you get?”
I want to slap the man for talking to me like I'm an imbecile, but his little speech is actually working. My brain seems to be processing a little better with the bite size pieces than the whole horrible situation at once.
“You love her!” he says in frustration. “Dude, you love her and if you don't fix this, I think you are going to turn into a blubbering idiot.”
I scowl at him, “I'm not a blubbering idiot.”
“You are about two seconds away from bawling your head off. Go find her. Grovel, buy her diamonds and make her see you are not the asshole she met three months ago.”
I let his words sink in. I practice saying the L word in my mind. It is liking grabbing onto a lifeline and slowly crawling up.
I love her. How the hell did I not realize that? I love her.
“I have to go,” I say standing up, sending the chair I had been sitting in flying backwards.
“Good boy. Go get your woman and get your ass back here. We got money to make!” Blake says with a big smile.
I nod, my mind already running a hundred miles a minute. I have no idea how I am going to make her hear me out, but I have to do something. First, I have to find her. It doesn't take me long. It helps having a very loyal staff. Within the hour, my target is set and my mind is made up. I will win her back.
30
Alexa
I'm so tired I can hardly keep my eyes
open. I have been driving most of the day. At first, I didn't know where I was going, but once I got in the rented car, I found myself headed north. I keep driving, passing through one city after another. I cross into Montana and I know. I know exactly where I am headed.
It is almost midnight, but I don't see any point in stopping now. I can make it the last fifty miles. I am too close to stop. He hasn't even called or texted. I know he was due home hours ago. He is probably relieved I'm gone. His little problem has solved itself.
When I pull up to the first gate, I push the button on the security pad. I know the caretaker is probably in bed, but I want in. After a few more buzzes, the intercom light turns on and a groggy voice answers my buzzer.
“Yes?”
“It's Mrs. Hawke. I'm so sorry to bother you so late, but can you please unlock the gate?”
There's a long pause before I hear the clicking sound indicating the gate is opening. I am so relieved. I wasn't sure they would let me in. I drive through and manually open the next gate before slowly driving up the long dirt road to the house.
When I arrive, the older man I had met a few months back greets me. He doesn't say a word as he unloads my suitcase from the car and walks inside. The house is a little chilly, but I don't care. I plan on crawling under a mountain of covers and staying put for a very long time.
“Can I get you anything?” he asks.
I smile, “No, thank you and I am truly sorry for waking you up.”
He gives me a careful look before nodding his head, “It's fine. I'll call the staff in the morning and have the place stocked up with some food and other necessities.”
I want to tell him not to bother, but I don't know my way around and holing up in this little piece of paradise is all I want to do, “Thank you. I really, really appreciate it.”
“Good night,” he says, turning to leave. “Get some rest,” he adds in a softer voice.
I watch as he leaves. When I hear the Gator start, I know he is on his way back to his small house located on the property. I feel bad for waking him, but I was desperate. I leave my suitcase and climb the stairs to the bedroom I slept in before. When I enter the room, I stare at the bed. The last time I was here, Dylan asked me to marry him right in that bed.
A myriad of emotions washes over me like a giant tidal wave. Tears stream down my face. I quickly wipe them away and chalk my out of control emotions up to exhaustion. I strip down and crawl into the bed naked, pulling up the extra blanket that had been neatly folded at the bottom of the bed. The weight of the blankets provides me with some comfort. It isn't long before I feel myself floating away into the blissful obliviousness of sleep.
Waking up alone and in a strange place leaves me a little disorientated. It isn't long before everything that happened the day before comes flooding back. My heart literally hurts. I had let down my guard and fallen head over heels for an asshole and now I was paying a high price. My stomach grumbles, demanding food. I check the bedside clock and am shocked to see it is close to six—at night. Did I seriously sleep all damn day?
I scramble out of bed, looking for my suitcase. I left it downstairs. I throw on my jeans and shirt from yesterday, skipping the bra. I open the door and can smell a variety of delicious aromas. The cook is in the house! The thought makes me very happy.
I practically run down the stairs, turn the corner, nearly tripping in my eagerness and come to a screeching halt. Dylan is sitting at the table with a plate of food in front of him.
Dammit!
I should have known coming to one of his houses would not be far enough away. I stand there staring at him, wanting to kick him and hug him at the same time. My heart longs for him, but my brain, ever the cautionary one, tells me to turn around and leave.
“Hi,” he says, not getting up.
I glare at him. The smell of food is tempting, but I don't want to be in his company. Instead, I stalk past him and head into the kitchen to collect a plate to take back upstairs. It is a breakfast for dinner kind of meal, which is something I am very partial to. I suspect Dylan has told the cook as much. If he thinks a little bacon and eggs for dinner is going to get him back in my good graces, he is dead wrong. I start piling food on my plate, bacon, hashbrowns, a blueberry muffin and eggs. The smell of the eggs creates what I can only describe as a bit of a tsunami type reaction.
“Oh God,” I say, setting down my plate and racing out of the kitchen, past Dylan and into the guest bathroom on the bottom floor. I barely make it in time to heave the contents of my stomach, which is very little.
When I feel like it is safe, I stand and run cold water into my hands and splash my face. My clammy skin instantly feels better, but my hands are still shaking. My stomach is turning and all I can do to stay standing is grip the side of the sink.
A gentle tap on the door reminds me I'm not alone, “Alexa?” Dylan calls out. “Are you okay?”
I groan. I can't deal with him right now. Thinking of him and his betrayal starts another round of vomiting. I collapse to the floor and get very up close and personal with the toilet. At this very moment I am so thankful for the maid who leaves this house sparkling clean.
“Alexa, I'm coming in,” I hear Dylan say.
“Go away,” I moan, the sound echoing in the porcelain bowl.
He ignores me and I can hear the door opening, but at the moment, my stomach demands my face stay in the toilet. I want to crawl in the bowl and flush. This has got to be the worst moment in my life.
I feel his hand on my back, gently rubbing up and down. As much as I want to hate it, it feels far too good. It is soothing. I don't feel nearly as alone with his strong body next to mine. When the retching subsides, I feel around for the towel I have been using. He places it in my hand, our fingers touching. It feels like an electric shock. My body craves the man.
I casually wipe my mouth, but refuse to look at him, “Please go.”
“Alexa, you're not well. Let me help you,” he says.
“I'm fine. It's just a stupid bug I picked up. I want you to go away, please. I can't deal with you right now,” I say, fighting back the tears. I will not cry in front of this man. I will not let him see how badly he has hurt me.
I can hear water running, but I don't move. My forehead is propped up on the seat of toilet. If I move, I know it will cause another fierce round of vomiting. I jump when I feel him lift the hair from the back of my neck. A cool cloth replaces the spot where my hair had been. It feels good. He gently moves it back and forth before pulling my head up a bit and placing the cloth on my forehead.
“It doesn't feel as if you have a fever. Maybe we should have you see a doctor, Alexa. You've been under the weather for a couple of weeks now. That isn't normal. You may have some weird virus that needs medical attention,” he says, running the cloth down the side of my face.
I manage to slowly move away from the toilet and crawl to the wall. I sit, with my legs sprawled out in front of me, my head being supported by the wall behind me, “I said I'm fine.”
He shakes his head, “No, you're not. You're pale and you don't look well at all.”
I want to scream it is because of him. He has stressed me out and made me ill.
“Let me help you to bed. I'll bring up some toast and ginger ale.”
“No,” I say with as much force as I can muster. “I'll be fine. It's just rough when I first get up, but I'll feel better in a bit. I just need to sit here for a bit longer. You can leave, Dylan. I know you don't want to be here and I certainly don't want you here.”
He sighs and plops down next to me, “I fucked up, Alexa. I did. I know it. I wish I could explain, but there is nothing I can say that makes it any better. What I did was awful, but you have to know, it changed.”
“What changed?” I ask.
“Me. You. You changed me. I went into this relationship with the intention of changing my reputation. I did and it was very wrong, but-”
I stop him. I can't hear the rest. I looked over the pr
enuptial agreement a little closer yesterday and realize he had known all along he would be divorcing me soon after the marriage. I guess I should be happy he was so generous in the settlement.
“Dylan, there is nothing you can say that is going to fix this. You used me. You tricked me into marrying you. I opened up to you and you fucked me over. I will never forgive you. The only reason I am sitting here having this conversation with you is because I cannot physically get up and leave. The moment my stomach stops revolting, I'm out of here,” I seethe.
“Please don't leave me Alexa,” he says. I can hear the emotion in his voice, but I don't trust it. I fell for it before and now everything he says I have to assume is a lie. He is a conniving man, willing to step on anyone to get ahead.
“I already did, Dylan.”
I hear him sigh. I don't want to hurt him, even though I am furious with him. I instantly feel bad.
“Dylan, unlike you, I did care about you. Probably more than I should have. You were very successful at your, what did Blake call it? Oh, I know, you wooed me. I fell for your bullshit hook, line and sinker. I'm an idiot but fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.” To soften the blow, because I still love this big stupid asshole, “It's okay, Dylan. I'm going to be okay, but please, don't pity me. Don't be near me. I need you to go. Please,” I plead one last time.
I close my eyes, wishing him to disappear. Being near him hurts. I can smell his cologne and feel his body heat, which despite my current condition, makes me want him.
“I'll go, but this isn't over, Alexa. I'm not giving up that easy,” he says, rising and walking out of the bathroom.
All the emotion I had been holding back tumbles out. The tears stream down my face as I think about the mess my life is. One day at a time, I tell myself. Today, it is going to be about not throwing up. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow, I will think about how to divorce the jerk and take back my life.
