Con Man

by Amy Brent

Why the hell wasn’t he responding?

  I cried myself to sleep that night and woke up at 4 AM needing to pee. I rummaged around in my purse for the last pregnancy test, which only confirmed the positive result the first two had given me. I felt my anxiety take over again. I grabbed the trash can at my knees and threw up into it, releasing the pasta I’d made and forced myself to eat last night.

  And still, L had not responded.

  I called him just before 5 AM to see if he would pick up, but all I got was his voicemail. I sent in an email to my direct boss, telling him I needed another sick day because I was going to the doctor, but really I needed the time to process all my emotions. My anxiety wasn’t making this situation any better, and by the time 9 AM rolled around I had called L five separate times.

  And he wasn’t returning my calls.

  “Something’s wrong,” I said to myself. “Something’s really, really wrong.”

  I hated missing work. There was so much to do with this massive project in the Bahamas and the company was due for another trip out there soon. But, I had bigger things on my mind. How in the world was I supposed to hide a pregnancy? It was obviously going to make me very nauseous and I could already feel the exhaustion seeping deep into my bones. How was I supposed to hide all of this at work?

  I knew enough about pregnancy to know I could no longer drink caffeine to keep my energy level up. I also knew it would raise some serious red flags with L the moment I refused any sort of alcoholic beverage. But then, a thought crossed my mind.

  Should I even have this baby?

  Tears rose to my eyes the moment I thought about it. The idea of terminating this pregnancy caused an ache deep inside of me, but it was a viable option. There was a great possibility that L wouldn’t even want this child. With everything that was probably going on with the company right now, he wasn’t even taking the time to return my calls.

  Why the fuck was I under the assumption he’d take on a child with me?

  Why in the world had I convinced myself he would be alright with this?

  Why the fuck was L not calling me back!?

  I shrieked with anger in the middle of my apartment. I scared Johnson so bad he rushed underneath my bed, and I collapsed to my knees in the middle of my kitchen. How in the hell could L and I have the picture perfect date, then have everything crash down around us so quickly? How could L tell me he loved me, then evade me the way he was doing?

  I didn’t expect him to give up his company for me. I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew if someone found out, we’d have to create distance between us. But, I didn’t honestly think he would blatantly ignore me like this. L was the king of poker faces. There wasn’t a reason in this world why he couldn't slip into a bathroom and shoot me a quick message.

  Not a reason in this world.

  Johnson was meowing with fear underneath my bed while I sobbed into my hands. It wasn’t possible for L to be serious about what he told me. This wasn’t how you treated a woman you loved, even if things were crashing down around us. If you loved someone, you ran to them—not away from them. If you loved someone, you took their calls. If you loved someone and you knew they’d left work early because they were sick, you’d do something to check up on them.

  You’d send them a message, or call, or come by.

  Where the fuck was L when I needed him the most?

  I sniffled and wiped my snotty nose on my arm before I sat myself back against my dishwasher. The truth of the matter was, Ellison James had always been a playboy. Up until this moment, he was known for keeping the best eye candy on his arm and rotating flavors monthly. The media called him the Ben and Jerry’s of women, and compared his dating life to carnivals switching out game booths.

  Maybe this was his way of communicating to me that I was nothing more than his flavor of the month. Maybe this was him letting me know that, because Michael found out, my game booth was now being retired in his wacky carnival of freakish escapades.

  I felt my stomach rolling again and bent over to the side as I heaved up the last of my dinner from last night. Tears streamed down my face as my abdomen began to ache, and for the first time since this wild roller coaster had started, I didn’t care.

  I didn’t care to clean up the mess on my face, and I didn’t care to wipe up the floor. I didn’t care about the taste of vomit in my mouth, and I didn’t care about my job.

  All I cared about was how I allowed a blatant playboy to wiggle his way into my life before taking it down at the legs. All I cared about was how, in one fell swoop, I became everything I had prided myself on never becoming.

  All I cared about was figuring out how the hell I was going to bring this up to L.

  And I laid my cheek against the cool surface of my dishwasher and sobbed the rest of my day away.

  Chapter 29

  Ellison

  Of course she wouldn’t fucking show her face at work. She was a coward. A dick-sucking coward that didn’t have the balls to face her own workplace after being caught in her lies. Her goofy-looking boyfriend probably told her I came by and she knew our relationship was over. Our sham of a relationship she conned me into just to get to where she wanted to be at work. She was all too happy when I told her about investing in her dreams, and that should’ve been my red flag. She didn’t want fancy dinners or jewelry or cars.

  She wanted my monetary investment in her fucking future business.

  She was hiding out and I knew it. I’d put a watch on my computer for her incoming calls and her file, and both times she called out of work sick I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. She had the balls to string me on until she was caught in her web of lies, and then she didn’t even have the gumption to save face and get her ass in to work.

  I bet she didn’t even care about this company. She just thought she could screw her way to the top and take over whatever the fuck it was she thought she did well.

  But she had another think coming. Whenever she got into this office, she would be out of a job. Charlie was in a great deal of trouble when she did decide to finally show her pathetic face at my company, and I hope she had other things on her resume. I hope she had work experience before this company hired her and I hope to hell she had internships in college, because if someone called here looking for a reference for her, I would slaughter her.

  I would explode her entire future the way she had destroyed mine.

  My mind ran through a number of options. I thought about sending her an email. Just a short and to-the-point email, letting her know she no longer had a job. Better yet, I could demote her. I could put her all the way back to where she started, yank her salary and benefits away, and watch her grovel in her boss’s office before she quit on her own. I could force her out by taking away all the dreams I saw reflected in her eyes whenever she looked at me, and I would take great pleasure in watching her fall.

  Watching her. That’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to see her face when I fired her. Or demoted her. Or whatever the hell I was gonna do to her.

  I would wait until she grew the balls to show up at this office, and then I would yank her courage away from her by ripping from her the very thing she wanted most.

  Just like she had with me.

  “Mr. James?”

  I was not in any kind of mood to deal with Sheila and her shit. She didn’t have any files or folders in her hand, which told me she wasn’t in here for business, and the look on her face made it seem as if she was slightly constipated.

  “Can it wait, Miss Brown?” I asked.

  “Not necessarily. I have a question about the marketing schemes I sent your way last week,” she said.

  “Come on in,” I said.

  I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she sashayed her hips wider than normal. Her eyes were darting all along my body, clocking my neck and chest and thighs. What the hell did I have to do to get this rail-thin woman to understand I wasn’t interested? If she wasn’t careful, she’d whore herself right out of a j
ob.

  Just like Charlie did.

  I got up and pieced myself together before she could reach my chair. So long as I loomed over her, she would know her place. She rose her gaze to connect with mine, standing only a few feet from me.

  “What’s your question, Miss Brown?” I asked.

  “Well, I was just wondering if—”

  She took a step and tripped, her ankle rolling in her heel, and she planted her hand into my chest as her bare thigh brushed against my leg. I grabbed her wrist, helping her steady herself before I threw her hand down in front of her body. Her leg was still attached to mine as she tried to scoot herself closer into my warmth, and I took a step back before she faked another small stumble.

  That was when I stepped out of her way, watching her fall against the edge of my desk as I eyed her carefully. I knew exactly what she was pulling, and I wasn’t having any of it.

  “I suppose that works with many men you come into contact with, Miss Brown, but it doesn’t with me,” I said.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. James, I completely lost my—”

  “I don’t care what you lost, Miss Brown. For months now, your demeanor around me has been incredibly inappropriate. You might manipulate men in meetings with light touches and brushes against their shoulders, Miss Brown, but it might do you some good to remind yourself of who I am,” I said.

  She turned herself around and shook out her foot before she sat down on the edge of my desk. Her eyes no longer held the innocent, doe-eyed gaze she was giving me earlier. Instead, they were replaced with the shark-like stare I’d become accustomed to seeing. It was the stare of a woman I’d grown to admire, but now it was simply the stare of a desperate woman that was inches away from losing her job.

  “I am the owner of this company, Miss Brown. And I have fired people for much less,” I said.

  “It was just my heel,” she said, snickering.

  “Then covering my ass is all this statement will do. I have not ever wanted you, nor will I ever want you in the future, Miss Brown. From now on, you will address me via email. I will not see you in person unless it is in a meeting, and if I ever misconstrue your attempts to touch me as a flirtatious advance, you will be fired on the spot.”

  I watched the shock roll over her face as tears rose in her eyes. She led off my desk with the ankle she had supposedly rolled and ran out—in the very same heels she’d tripped in—with her hands thrown to her face. I could hear her sniffling all the way down the hallway, but I didn’t fucking care. I was done with her bullshit, I was done with Charlie’s bullshit, and I was done with this pounding headache I couldn’t seem to get rid of.

  I didn’t have the energy to give a fuck how I spoke to her. All I wanted was a drink.

  Grabbing my keys, I left my shit in my office as I started for my car. I drove around town, trying to find a bar I didn’t think some disgruntled employee would walk into. The last thing I needed was for someone who hated me to see me drinking well before noon.

  Especially the type of drinking I intended to do.

  I found myself back at the sleazy salsa bar where I’d met Charlie that one time. Back when I was determined to finish all this shit off. Back when I still had a brain that wasn’t guided by my dick.

  I don’t know what pulled me to that place, nor did I understand why I had walked in, but the moment I did I navigated back to the table where Charlie and I had sat and had that inevitable conversation.

  Why the hell did I stop her from leaving? Why the fuck did we get drunk that night? What was it about her—in those ratty jeans and baggy shirt—that drew me to her?

  The bar reeked of her. Her dance moves and the way her hips churned into mine. I could smell the coconut drinks permeating the air. It reminded me of the coconut-tainted lips I had kissed sloppily that night as we fell into her bed. Looking at the empty stage reminded me of the terrible band that played that horrible music we couldn’t stop dancing to.

  Everything about this place—the memories and the proximity—screamed Charlie. I looked at the seat across from me and imagined her sitting there, with her smile and her beautiful red hair and her thick, luscious cleavage. I felt my cock throb as I thought about her wearing no panties underneath the jeans she wore, that fabric being soaked with her juices before I shoved her against her door and devoured her.

  Holy fuck, she got off so beautifully for me. I wondered if Rick made her cum the way I could.

  I slammed back my first whisky on the rocks before I quickly downed another one. If I kept going at this rate, I’d never be able to get myself back to work. I’d have to call a cab to get me home, or crash in this chair until I could sleep it off. The lunchtime sunlight was pouring through the front windows of the bar, getting lost in the dust and cigarette smoke before it ever reached the back. I enjoyed the darkness of the corner I had found. It covered me from the harsh reality of the world as I drowned my sorrows in alcohol.

  While I drowned my memories in alcohol.

  While I drowned myself in alcohol as my memory drew upon the deep green pools of Charlie’s eyes.

  Even in the darkness of this corner, we still emerged as one. Even in the dank stench of this bar, I could smell her perfume as it beckoned to me all the way across the bar. Even above the loud, raucous roar of that terrible mariachi band, I could hear her sweet voice wafting lightly against my ear as we danced that night away.

  And if I listened very closely, I could still hear that little phrase echoing off the deep recesses of my dark, damaged soul.

  ‘I love you, too, L.’

  Two whiskeys weren’t going to drown out that sweet voice.

  Chapter 30

  Charlie

  I woke up Thursday morning after taking two extra days off and knew I couldn’t hide anymore. I had slept several nights on the revelation that I was pregnant, while dealing with the fact that I probably wasn’t going to hear from L. I wasn’t sure what had happened, and I wasn’t sure what I’d done, but I knew if I was going to get an audience with him I had to go into work. I had to pull on my big girl panties, find clothes that wouldn’t squeeze by upset my stomach, and try to hold back my nausea long enough to sit and talk with him.

  Even if this really was over between us, we still had to talk.

  I put myself together and found a flowing skirt in the back of my closet. It had an elastic waistband, which meant it shouldn’t cause me too many problems. I settled on a tight top in order to offset how flowing the skirt was, and maybe getting a nice look at my breasts like he used to enjoy would get him to at least let me into his office. My hands were shaking when I got to work, but I didn’t even stop to put my stuff down at my desk.

  I took my purse and my coat all the way up to his office, because if I didn’t do it now I knew I never would.

  When the elevator doors opened, the floor was eerily silent. His secretary was nowhere to be found, and for a split second I wondered if he was even here. I didn’t hear Michael’s voice, so he wasn’t in a meeting, but I didn’t hear him bitching about his absent secretary either.

  Had L even been coming to work?

  What the fuck was I thinking? Of course he was. He was Ellison James, real estate development tycoon and billionaire-playboy-philanthropist extraordinaire.

  Of course he was at work.

  I drew in a deep breath before I began walking down the hallway. With every step I took, it seemed as if the hallway was getting longer, and I had to steady myself against the wall before I rounded into his room. I felt another wave of nausea rising up in my throat, and for a split second I thought I was going to have to rush to the bathroom.

  But, I choked it down. I couldn’t let anything stand in the way of talking with L—even if it did end with me losing my job.

  Which I knew was a grave possibility.

  I walked into his office and his back was turned to the door. He was typing something into his computer before his movements ceased, and that’s when I knew he had clocked me coming in. Maybe he
saw me in the reflection of his floor-to-ceiling tinted windows, or maybe he smelled my perfume.

  But he knew I was there, and I knew he knew.

  “Miss Charlene,” he said coolly.

  My heart broke in that very instant and I knew this wouldn’t be good. Part of me wanted to run from the room and never return. Part of me wanted to forget all of this—about L and how he treated me, about how good he was in bed and how wonderful it felt for him to tell me he loved me. I wanted to run to a clinic and get rid of this pregnancy, then move somewhere else to start my life anew.

  Fresh.

  All over again.

  “Is there something you need?” he asked.

  “What’s going on, L? You haven’t been returning my calls,” I said.

  “In this building, you will address me as nothing other than Mr. James,” he said.

  Fine. If that’s how he wanted to play this, then that’s exactly how I would play it.

  “Mr. James, if I could beg your audience,” I said patronizingly.

  “Mocking me will get you nowhere, Miss Charlene,” he said.

  “And ignoring me will get you no answers,” I said.

  “I require none. I already have all I need. You are free to go,” he said.

  “Not a chance, Mr. James,” I said. “I want to know what the hell is going on.”