Then there was Richard. We’d been dating for almost two years before he popped the question last Christmas. He was supposedly so sweet, calling my mom to ask her permission. I thought he was a good person, honest and kind. I thought we were happy. His utter disrespect for me and my home… it makes me question everything.
Am I completely insane? How did I not see this coming? How could I not suspect anything? Have I been too trusting? Have I been completely naïve? How long has this been going on? Was he screwing her the week we all spent in Utah two years ago or on the cruise we all went on to Catalina six months ago? She had a boyfriend back then. Was she screwing both Mark and Richard at the same time? Is that really why they broke up?
In retrospect, this afternoon, my subconscience knew something was wrong; otherwise, I would not have been covered with goose bumps for no apparent reason. Then there were the sights, the sounds… the awful sounds ring through my head. I can still hear her moaning, ‘Oh Richie, oh Richie…’
It was never Richie in my presence. When did they graduate to such familiarity with each other?
Then there was the look in his eyes when we were alone. Now that I think about it, there was no look. He couldn’t look me in the eye. I think a part of him seemed angry. I’m not sure… However, the image of him thrusting his body into her over and over hit some sort of nerve in me.
Suddenly, I find myself bawling—uncontrollably bawling. The more tears I wipe away, the more they continue to flow. Then I realize I can’t see the road. I pull over to the side. Five, ten, fifteen minutes later, and they continue.
I fold my arms over the steering wheel and lay my head down. I am in so much pain, I literally feel my heart breaking. The aching sensation in my chest gets worse with every tear that streams down my face. The more tears I wipe away, the more this throbbing sensation in my head develops.
A tapping sound on my window causes me to raise my head. Red and blue lights reflect all around me. Just what I need—the police.
I look around. There is one car in front of me, another is behind me. I roll down the window. The officer gazes down at me. At first, he looks annoyed, then his expression changes to concern.
“Ma’am. Are you alright?”
“As you can see, I’m not,” I mutter. “I’m sorry if I’ve broken any laws.”
“We got numerous reports of a car parked that seemed unattended with no disabled markings.”
“I’m sorry. I had a really rough day.”
“May I see your license and registration, please?”
I hand them to him, and he, in turn, hands them to the officer in the car in front of me. After a few minutes, the other police officer walks over to the car.
“Ms. McLean, are you sure that you’re in any condition to drive?”
“I’ll be fine. If I don’t think I can handle it, next time I’ll do the responsible thing and stop at a rest stop or get a hotel.”
“That would be best. Get going. Please stay safe on the road,” he says.
“Thank you. Have a good night.”
They both smile sadly at me and watch as I drive away.
I push on for another forty-five minutes, and I’m able to make it to Sacramento. I get a comfortable room at a hotel where I stay for the night.
After an uneventful two-hour drive the next day, I finally arrive at Lake Tahoe at lunchtime. I’m not hungry, but I do need a house somewhere secluded and private that I’d like to stay.
I pull up to a beautiful restaurant overlooking the lake. I sit at one of the tables outside that overlooks the view. I pull out my laptop to see if I can find an agent in the area that will see me on short notice. After some research and a few phone calls, I’ve made an appointment.
By midafternoon, I find myself a place to call home. It’s a beautiful chalet on a steep hill with views of the lake beyond. A long set of stairs lead to the docks below, along with an inviting hot tub on the terrace.
Now that I know where I will sleep, I visit the supermarket to stock up for my stay. By late evening, I get home in time to unpack and see the stunning orange ball dip below the distant mountains. Everything is in silhouette. Beautiful. This is the exact reason I came here. I make myself a pot of hot coffee and cuddle up on the patio, being present, appreciating the view.
I think about my mom. I don’t want her to worry, but I know she must be worried. I get my laptop, snuggle up in front of the massive stone fireplace, and I send her an email.
Emails inundate my mailbox. Too many of them. As I look down the list to see whom they’re from, ninety percent of them are in response to the email I asked Solace to send out the day before. Others with subjects like I’m so sorry or you are in my thoughts repeat as I scroll through the list. I send out a blanket email thanking everyone for their support but requesting privacy. While at it, I delete Richard Preston and Koto Miller from my address book. In fact, I think I should consider everything from them as junk. That way, I won’t have to see any more of their sorry attempts at an apology. I already had to delete at least six emails from both of them.
They’re not sorry; they’re sorry they got caught. I wonder if he’s ever screwed her in my bed.
With that one thought, I allow my mind to run wild. Did he share with her what he shared with me? Did he do to her the things he did to me? Did they have mind-blowing orgasms together? By what I saw yesterday, they probably did. Then I think the one thought that hurts the most—I thought he loved me.
As much as I want to hate him, and I hate what he did to me, deep down I know it hurts so badly because I loved him so much.
For the first time in a long, long time, I feel so alone. The woman who I thought was my best friend, the one I always could rely on, or so I thought, betrayed me in the absolute worst way possible. Why did she do this? Did she not think I’d find out? Did she not care about our friendship?
It was just two days ago that we had lunch together and she told me how excited she was about the wedding.
Liar. The whole time you were sleeping with my fiancé.
Why did he do this? Are they in bed together right now, laughing at what a fool I have been? Well, you know what… I have spent too much of my precious time already thinking about them. They can have each other.
I drift.
“Oh Richie, oh yes Richie.”
I hear his groans, his thighs repeatedly slapping hers, and I see his hands gliding over her breasts. Then there is the sight of him slipping out of her. It happens, once, twice, three times, and I wake. The pillow under my head is completely soaked. Once more, the tears won’t stop. That night, I cry until I sleep.
* * *
Thank God, it’s Friday. This District Attorney job sure makes me appreciate the weekends. I’d be a liar if I said I sometimes didn’t miss working with Dad at the firm. However, I chose this path. For the next few years, I, Jonathan Kole, will need to deal with the ridiculous workload that this job entails.
I’ve wrapped up this case, so I could use a well-deserved break. I’ll pick up Megan and the dogs, and we’ll head to Lake Tahoe for the weekend.
* * *
I awake the next day with a pounding headache. This can’t continue. I don’t want to feel like this. I want this pain to go away, but I don’t know what to do to get it to stop. How did I stop it when Daddy died? How did I do it then? Back then, I found a project. Then, it was my company.
I took every dime Daddy left me and started building a business. Perhaps I need to venture into the East Coast, or the Caribbean, or Europe, possibly even Asia.
On the other hand, maybe I need to take my camera and go out. I haven’t picked it up in over a year. At least, not for taking this type of photography. I swallow some aspirin, take a long shower, then I head out.
I get some breakfast at one of the restaurants on the lake, then after, I trek along the water’s edge. I take the opportunity to photograph every scenic vista, wildlife, and flora I come across. By midafternoon, I am exhausted and decide to he
ad back home after I pick up dinner.
Today has not been a great day, but it’s been a better day, and I have to believe that it will get easier with every day that goes by. I take a bubble bath in the spa tub that overlooks the gorgeous lake view. It relaxes me. After, I cuddle up on the sofa and watch a movie.
I wake at eleven the next day. I haven’t slept that late in forever. Except for when Richard and I—I stop my thoughts. I will start the day on a bright note.
I shower and dress in a white pair of skinny jeans, a navy and white striped top, and a navy blazer. A pair of navy stiletto booties completes my outfit. I will indulge in brunch at a nearby resort today.
* * *
Women. It was Megan’s idea to have brunch here this morning, and she woke me up entirely dressed, so it is beyond me what she could possibly be doing in the bathroom all this time while I wait for her in this lobby.
The entrance doors open, and this beauty catches my eye—tanned in complexion, with a slender pair of legs, and skin that looks as smooth as caramel. Her light brown hair falls in waves above her shoulders, and she has the lightest pair of gorgeous hazel eyes.
She walks with such poise and confidence, she could be a model. She’s exceptionally stunning—exotic.
I slip my hands into my pockets and nonchalantly trace her steps, observing her from afar.
“How many in your party?” the host asks her.
“Just me. Party of one, please,” she replies confidently.
I can’t help but smile at her response. She’s the confident, self-assured, in-control type. Not usually my type, I like to be the one running the show, but for some inexplicable reason, I’m intrigued…
* * *
The pretty, young host escorts me to a table for two near a window with panoramic water vistas. Within minutes, a server takes my order. As my café latté arrives, I can’t help but overhear a rude exchange between a man and his leggy blonde with the host that escorted me to my seat.
“Look, I reserved that exact seat yesterday,” he says.
“I apologize sir, but that seat is not available,” the host replies.
“Well, if you were doing your job in the first place, it would be available to me, wouldn’t it?”
“Sir, I’m sorry for the error, but it wasn’t written here. If you like, you can wait at the bar where I’ll be happy to serve you a complimentary beverage of your choice while you wait, or I can accommodate you at an available table now.”
I can’t help but look to see who this asshole is.
Everything about him smells of money. From the designer jeans that hug his ass, all the way to the Jaeger Reverso watch that graces his wrist. He’s hot—probably in his mid to late thirties, tall, broad shoulders, piercing grey eyes, and a head of black hair like I’ve never seen.
Ordinarily, I might have found him attractive, if only he would just shut up.
Everything he says to that poor young girl, who has tried so hard to rectify someone else’s mistake, pisses me off. He’s been nothing but rude and condescending. As I look up, my eyes land straight on his. Then I realize they’re all looking my way. I turn around to look behind me, but there is no one. Then it dawns on me that he’s arguing with the host about my seat.
My meal arrives. I mind my business, and I proceed to enjoy it. Before I know it, I see him approaching my table. I pretend not to notice and focus all my attention on my lemon ricotta pancakes before me, but within seconds, he stands beside me.
“Excuse me, my name is Jonathan Kole. Would you mind terribly if you were seated elsewhere?”
My eyes travel across my pancakes to his broad thighs, to his crotch, and to what I suspect is an extremely trimmed stomach beyond his black ribbed sweater. Then I stare into his grey eyes in silence.
“You see, my girlfriend and I met right here at this table a year ago, and I wanted to propose to her. Here. Today.”
“Actually, Jonathan, I do mind. Seeing that I’m enjoying my meal, surely you wouldn’t mind waiting until I’m done. Or perhaps you can let that polite host, who has done everything possible to accommodate you, have you seated elsewhere.”
“Do you have any idea who I am?” he asks.
Asshole! Your name might sound familiar but who cares…
“No. You could be the king of England and I wouldn’t give a damn.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“You really want to know?” I ask quietly.
He lowers his head slightly, as if he’s seriously interested.
“I am a woman who walked in on her fiancé screwing her best friend one week before her wedding, so forgive me if I’m not in a sentimental mood.”
His mouth drops open at my response.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Kole, I’d really like to enjoy my brunch.”
His piercing grey eyes are glaring into mine. I know he’s angry. His temple pulsates as he stares at me. He walks away completely flushed.
I don’t care. Perhaps if he had been nicer to that host I would have considered his request. However, because he comes from money doesn’t give him the right to speak to people any which way he wishes.
I continue to enjoy my meal and notice him walking hand in hand to the bar with Malibu Barbie. Half an hour later, I ask for the check then purposely make him wait an additional five minutes before I leave.
On the way out, the host looks at me bright-eyed. “No one ever speaks to Mr. Kole that way, Miss McLean.”
“Well, it’s time someone taught him some manners,” I reply. I hand her a healthy tip, and I’m on my way.
* * *
Well, that was unexpected… and humiliating. I definitely wasn’t prepared for that. Who knew bitches came with such beautiful faces. She must be a lawyer. I’m not used to being spoken to that way unless I’m in court.
I keep on replaying what she said about her boyfriend and her best friend in my head. That must have been rough. After some thought, I empathize with her. Sure, some of the things she said and the way she spoke to me pissed me off, but she had so much hurt in her eyes. Her beautiful hazel eyes were a total contradiction to her outwardly confident demeanor.
Who would be stupid enough to hurt such a beautiful woman that way? Then again, that attitude of hers would probably drive any man insane.
I wonder if she’s from around here… She’s probably on vacation. Maybe I’ll get to see her again.
* * *
I sit in my car figuring out what I will do with the rest of the day. I elect to take a drive through the area then head home. Besides, I have to finish that movie I barely made it through last night.
I start the ignition, and after checking for traffic, I ease out of the parking spot. Before I know it, two Corvettes speed around the corner as if they were on a racetrack. One, the red one, loses all control and heads straight for me. If I don’t move, I’ll probably be dead.
Chapter 2
I try to ease quickly back into my previous parking space, but in my haste, I scrape the bumper of the black Bentley Continental parked next to me. The Corvette ends up halfway through the fence.
I quickly get out of the car to check on the driver. He’s young, probably sixteen or seventeen. He’s conscious but has a nasty cut on his head; blood trails down his temple. The driver from the yellow Corvette runs over. Then I realize they’re brothers—twins.
“Are you okay?” I ask the injured boy.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry… I lost control.”
I call 9-1-1.
“Brad. You okay?” the twin comes and asks.
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”
After we introduce ourselves, I tell the boys to call their parents.
In my presence, Brent, the uninjured twin, calls who I suspect is his father. I’m standing at least six feet away, and still, I can hear the entire conversation. The phone is not on speaker. These boys are going to be in some serious trouble.
Hotel security comes running out to aid Brad, help
ing him out of the car.
“I’ll get a first aid kit from the concierge,” I say to them, and then I’m on my way.
The woman at the desk hands me the kit.
“Do you know who drives a black Bentley Continental here?” I ask.
“Oh, that would be Mr. Jonathan Kole. His father is an owner here.”
Of course he is.
“Can you please do me a big favor and let him know that his car has been damaged in a minor accident in the parking lot?”
“He’s not going to be happy about that,” she replies.
I hunch my shoulders and return to the injured boy.
Soon after, Jonathan Kole comes roaring towards the scene of the accident.
“What the hell happened here?” he shouts.
When he sees me, he behaves as if I’m the one responsible for the accident. He’s staring at me as if he wants to eat me alive.
Brent tries to explain, but Mr. Asshole won’t listen.
“Look. Can’t you see this boy is injured?” I exclaim. “Aren’t you going to ask him if he’s okay? All you seem to be concerned about is your bloody car.”
For the second time that day, everyone stills, then looks at me as if I’m crazy.
Before he has time to respond, an older grey-haired man driving a Rolls Royce pulls up.
“Boys, you all okay?” he asks, stepping out of the vehicle.
They both nod their heads.
“You must be Jada McLean? I’m David Carlton. I’m so sorry about this.” He shakes my hand.
“It’s fine. No one is seriously injured.”
“If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t be so understanding. They will be paying for this, I guarantee you. Where’s the damage?” Mr. Carlton asks.
I step aside and point to the damage on my front bumper and Mr. Asshole’s back bumper.
Love, Lies & The D.A. Page 2
