by Kyle Autumn
I head into the bar and immediately find Patti and Zo sitting at our table in the middle, close to the dance floor. I rush over to them, sliding sideways between people to get to them. Once I’m there, I dump my purse on the table, slump into a seat, and say, “Oh my god, I’m so glad I finally have you two alone. I have something big to tell you!” When I finally look up at them, they’re staring at me with wide eyes.
Zo turns her head toward Patti and shakes her head before looking back at me. “Wanna get a drink first?” she asks.
“Nope.” I put my elbows on the table and drop my head into my hands. “I need to tell you all of this before I go absolutely nuts. I think I’ve already gone off the deep end. I need help.”
“Okay, then,” Patti says, getting comfortable in her stool. “Let’s hear it.”
So I launch into the story. About how I went to Blake’s office to stand up for Shiree but ended up making out with him on his desk. About the call, the texts, and what happened at the party—and after the party. And about how amazing Saturday was. I explain Shiree’s advice and that I took it, so that’s why it all happened with Blake. But it’s Blake.
“So what if it’s Blake?” Patti asks when I’m done, folding her arms on the table. “I don’t understand what the problem is.”
“The problem,” I start to clarify, “is that he tried to keep Shiree and Chaz from getting together. It’s like the ultimate betrayal, isn’t it?”
Zo puts her hands around her glass, shaking her head. “But he didn’t stop them. They’re married now. And I’m sure, like you, he was just trying to protect his friend. He doesn’t seem to have a problem with them now, as far as I know.”
“Ugh.” I drop my head to the table. “I’m supposed to be the voice of reason. How did I get so lost?”
Patti covers my hand with hers. “It’s okay to be lost sometimes, Lyra. You can’t always have your shit together.”
“My shit is so not together right now!” I whine against the table.
“That’s fine,” Zo tells me, putting her hand on the pile. “But maybe you should just call him? See what he’s been up to?”
I lift my head. “And risk hearing about all the women he’s screwed since he last screwed me? About his perfect life as CEO and his perfect gardens and his perfect fucking body?”
My friends give each other a raised-eyebrow stare before turning back to me.
“What can we do to help you get your shit back together?” Zo asks.
I look at the two of them. “I have no idea. I just needed to tell someone.”
“Well,” Patti says, taking her hand back, “I’m glad you told us. But is there anything else we can do?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“So maybe just focus on work for a while.” Zo takes her hand back too and sips her drink. “That’ll help get your mind through it until you can let it go.”
Unconsciously, I let out a deep sigh. “That’s the whole problem. I don’t want to let it go. But I wasn’t supposed to get my emotions involved, and there’s no way the man even has those kinds of emotions if he left me like that without saying anything.”
Patti takes a gulp from her bottle to finish it off. “Okay. That’s it. No more pity party. Tonight, we dance. Tomorrow, you work.” She gets off her stool and walks around the table to me. Then she holds a hand out. “One foot in front of the other to get through it. End of story.”
Zo hops off her stool and also offers me a hand. Gratefully, I smile and take them both. Then we head out to the dance floor.
Fine. I’ll focus on work until I can get my mind right. Time does heal all wounds, right? I just have to let it go. But it’s definitely easier said than done.
Especially when, at the end of the night, I check my phone as I walk to my car. I didn’t end up having anything to drink, so I get behind the wheel and listen to the one voicemail I have. I can’t help it when I hold my breath, hoping that it’s Blake. But it’s not. It’s my boss. With the worst news ever.
“Hey, Lyra. It’s George. Sorry to call so late, but I forgot to mention this to you while you were here, and it’s about a route change, so you’ll want to know before you get into work. While Shiree’s gone, I’d like you to cover part of her route. Specifically, the downtown part. There’s no one else I’d trust more than you to follow in her footsteps. So I’ll see you tomorrow and get you all the details. Just wanted to give you a heads-up. Bye now.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. I flop my head to my steering wheel and drop my arms to my seat. Could this get any worse? Her downtown route is Blake fucking Cornwell’s office building. So there goes the just-focus-on-work idea. Right out the window…
***
Blake
I might actually be getting the hang of everything now. Finally. It’s only taken me about five weeks. But that’s what happens when you’re thrown into a CEO position without having any time to prepare. Oh, and also when your emotions are so fucking scrambled that you can’t see straight. But I’m not talking about it. Or thinking about it. That’s the only way to get through it.
I’m also not spending any of my time fucking other women, so I have plenty of time to not think about it. What the fuck is wrong with me? It’s not like my dick doesn’t get hard. Oh, it gets plenty hard. Every single time I don’t think about her. Not when other women try to hit on me or come back home with me though. Maybe semi-hard because I’m still a man. But nothing I can fuck with. So I just don’t. Which is pure, sweet torture. But it’s what I’ll go through if I ever have a shot with my angel.
So, for now, I concentrate on my new job and not sleeping around. Luckily, this job takes up nearly all of my time, so I don’t have much left for even thinking about sleeping around. I’m exhausted by the end of the day, but my brain won’t stop making me think about her. And it can’t help but ask how much better life would be if I had not only my dream job, but also the dream woman to spend each night with and wake up to each morning.
That’s not life right now though. Right now, life is showing up to work each day, steering this Fortune 500 company straight, and wrestling my thoughts into submission before passing out each night. That’s life. That’s my reality.
Until the Friday morning I run into her and my body jolts to life. Well, I don’t run into her. I see her walking into the lobby of the office building, a package in her hands. And she’s in her work uniform, so she’s clearly working, but the sight of her does things to my body that haven’t happened since I last saw her. Good things. Incredible things. Things I wish it would do without her, but not really. I mostly just wish she were still in my life so everything would be working properly.
She walks up to the receptionist’s desk, but I’m on my way back up, so I decide to intervene.
“I’ll handle this,” I say when I reach the desk.
Her entire body stiffens at the sound of my voice. She doesn’t turn in my direction though. Instead, she stares at the receptionist, who looks at me for what she should do. So I repeat myself and take the package. But Lyra snatches it back from me.
“I’m here to do my job,” she says.
“Then right this way,” I tell her, swinging an arm out to show her where to go.
“I don’t need your help with this.” She walks by me, muttering, “Or anything, for that matter,” under her breath.
She’s still pissed. That means I’m still on her radar. She’s affected. And that’s all I need to know.
I press the button for the elevator, and one of them opens right away.
“I’m on my way up,” I tell her as we enter the elevator, “so it would be rude if I didn’t just take you up myself.”
As soon as the doors shut, she whirls on me. “You know what’s rude?” she nearly shouts. “Everything about you!”
“Really,” I deadpan, tucking my hands in my pockets. This should be good. “Everything?”
“Yes, everything! Like the way you kissed me in your office when I was c
learly there to tell you off. And the way you took me home after the party. And the way you left the morning after the party. And the way you came back and demanded that I suck your dick. And the way you made me come so hard I almost saw stars. And the way you fucking took off without so much as a, ‘Hey, thanks, but nope,’ or anything!” She sucks in a deep breath. “That’s rude!”
I take a moment to let that all settle. Then, without even thinking twice—or once, if I’m honest—I lean over and kiss her. I don’t think she’ll smack me this time, but if I’ve ever deserved it, it’s now. Except she does. She drops the package and lands her open hand on my cheek. Unfortunately, the doors open while we’re facing each other, her chest heaving and my face red where I’m clutching it.
And, unfortunately specifically for me, this doesn’t end the way it did the first time. She doesn’t come back at me with another kiss. No, this time, she hits the button for the first floor and kicks the package out of the elevator. Because she doesn’t want me to kiss her anymore. And the slap of that realization hurts way more than any physical slap she could give me. Mostly because those slaps turn me the fuck on, but still. Ouch.
The doors start to shut, and I have half a mind to stay on this elevator with her, going up and down the building, until she gives in and goes up and down on my dick, but I don’t see that as the solution here. No, we have to have a long talk, and if I’ve learned anything from seeing her again, it’s that I’m still not ready to give her everything she deserves if my reaction is to kiss first and talk later. She needs more than that from the man she’s with. And, if that’s going to be me, then I need to be better.
With all eyes on me, I throw an arm out to keep the doors open long enough for me to step out. When I turn around, she’s pushing the button to close the doors. We lock gazes, hers shooting daggers at mine. I just stand there as the doors shut, wishing things could be different. But they’re not.
I pick the package up and tell everyone in the lobby of our office that there’s nothing to see here. Then I go back to my office, deflate in my chair, and hope the pieces of my broken heart stop giving a fuck soon. Life was so much easier when I didn’t fucking care.
Chapter 9
Blake
Fucking hell. The workday is much harder to get through after a tangible reminder of her. And Chaz isn’t even here for me to vent to. It was nice of him to stick around for a month after he threw the company in my lap. But he’s on his honeymoon now and won’t be back for another week. Must be nice.
All around, really. He’s happily married, with no stress or pressure of a job breathing down his neck. And here I am, with all kinds of work stress and unhappily single. I never thought I’d see the day for that. At least the board hasn’t brought anything up regarding the way I conduct my personal life again. Well, they might after today’s scene in the lobby. Fuck my life.
Whatever. I’m going to work past this ache in my heart and hope to fucking hell that I haven’t blown any shot I might have had before today. Because this is ridiculous. All I’m doing is shooting myself in the foot every chance I get. I had her in my grasp, within my reach. But I blew that. And then again this morning. I have no idea how I’m going to win this war if I keep losing every single battle. And I have no one to blame but myself.
As I’m leaving the office to head home to soothe my broken ego—and my smashed heart—I overhear Janet, the receptionist, talking to someone on the phone.
“Yeah,” she says. “The ten-o’clock showing works for me. I’ll see you there.” Then she hangs up. “Going home for the night?” she asks me.
I nod. “Big plans for you?”
“No, not really,” she answers as she straightens things out at her desk. “I’m going with a friend to a movie. That’s all.”
“Which movie?” I ask her when I push the button for the elevator.
“Clueless.” She laughs, though I go stock-still. “It’s silly, but I guess it’s the anniversary of when it came out or something, so they’re doing a couple of showings at the theater downtown.”
I’m silent, thinking about how odd of a coincidence that is, but then the elevator doors open and snap me out of my trance.
I say, “I hope you have fun,” and then get on the elevator.
Sometime later, probably a few seconds, Janet clears her throat. “Are you going to push the button or just stand there?”
I clear my own throat by coughing into my hand. Then I lean over, push the button, and flash a weak smile at her before the doors close. The scene from earlier—the one where I made a total ass out of myself with Lyra—plays in my head on the way down. I can’t seem to do anything right when it comes to her, and for having fucked up so much, the only thing I need to do is keep torturing myself, right? I deserve penance for how idiotic I’ve behaved. So I decide to torture myself some more and go see this damn movie so I can think of her every time they utter, “As if!” Which is a lot.
On my phone, I pull the theater’s website up and check the times the movie is playing. There’s a showing at eight thirty, and I can make that if I get home, change, and get out the door shortly after. I’m going to be the only man in there without a woman at my side, but I deserve much worse for what I’ve done—and haven’t done. That’s for sure.
***
Lyra
That fucker. How dare he! How dare he kiss me again! How dare he do that when we were finally in the same place at the same time! When that’s all I’ve wanted him to do for the past five weeks! Ugh!
Sure, it’s been five hours, thirty-four minutes, and fifty-two seconds since it happened, but who’s counting? I’m sure not. Nope. Not at all.
Ugh. That fucker. This is what he does to me. And it’s not fair. Not that I was anywhere close to getting over him, but the scale of how close I was just plummeted straight down to zero. And, considering there wasn’t even supposed to be anything to get over, I’m doing a shitty job of making any of this any better. Without my best friend here, I feel screwed. Except I’m the one who screwed myself over when I screwed the guy who tried to prevent her from being with her husband. God, the web is tangled. And nothing was supposed to be tangled in the first place!
To unscrew myself, I decide to call Patti and Zo as I leave work. Patti’s number comes up first alphabetically, so she’s the one I call first.
“Hey,” she answers. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Nothing is up. Everything is down,” I say, stretching the word out for a few seconds.
“What happened?” she asks, concern in her voice.
I start my car. “I ran into Blake today while driving Shiree’s route. This woman owes me big time.”
As I pull out of my parking space, Patti says, “But she wouldn’t even know why she owes you if you told her that.”
Which is a good point. Ugh.
“Whatever!” I exclaim as I turn out of the parking lot. “The point is that he fucking kissed me and it was awesome and I hated it and loved it and then smacked him again.”
She gasps through the line. “Oh no.” But she can’t hide her light laugh. I heard it. Oh, yes, I did.
“Hey! Not funny. I’m hurting here,” I remind her.
“I’m not laughing at you,” she clarifies while giggling.
“Well, you’re not laughing with me!” I make a right turn, scowling. Though this is kind of getting funny. I still won’t admit that.
“Look,” she says around another giggle. “Maybe you just need to go out and do something. The weekend is long if you’re at home by yourself the whole time.”
That’s another good point. Shit.
“Then go out with me tonight,” I tell her. “Let’s go get dinner and drinks.”
“I can’t,” she says right away. Then she coughs. “I’m, uh, already doing something tonight.”
“Ooh. Does someone have a date?” I tease.
“No!” she shouts. “I mean…”
“Is it with a guy or a girl?” I press.
“La la la la! I can’t hear you!”
But I laugh. “Not so fun when the tables are turned, huh?”
“Hilarious,” she deadpans. “Seriously, I have to go. But you should do something fun tonight. Keep busy. Okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I tell her. Then we hang up.
Maybe Zo will have something more productive for me. Once I’m back at my apartment, I dial her number to find out.
“Hi,” she sings into the phone. Then it sounds like she drops the phone. When she picks it back up again, she says, “Ooh, sorry! I’m painting my toenails. Had to fix the phone there. What’s going on?”
I start to tell her the same stuff I told Patti. But then it hits me.
“Wait, what? You have a date too?” I exclaim. Because she only paints her toenails when she’s going on a date. And that means that everything is so fucking lame if I’m the only one about to sit at home by myself on a Friday night. “What the hell is this shit? It’s Friday. Aren’t you supposed to go to dinner with your parents?”
“Who else has a date?” she asks, ignoring everything else I said.
“I just got off the phone with Patti,” I say, flopping onto the couch, “and—”
But she bursts out with, “You called Patti first?”
“She’s first alphabetically! Don’t blame me that your name starts with the last letter in the alphabet.”
Zo’s quiet for a second, but then she says, “And she told you she has a date tonight?” with a curious lilt to her voice.
What is going on with everyone?
“No, not exactly. But she tried to tell me that she has other plans and she’s a horrible liar. So I guessed. Is your date someone else your parents want you to go out with?”
