by Kathy Noumi
I listened patiently from across the room, and then strode back to the couch with his fresh scotch in hand.
Nate took the drink in his hands, pressing the glass to his cheek. “When she came back, something felt off. She put her phone on silent, said she wanted to shower before dinner, then snuck away. I went in there to grab a fresh shirt, and she’d left her cell on the nightstand. My fucking curiosity got the best of me; I wanted to take a look, put my mind at ease. You know me, I would never snoop, but . . . God, Jameson. When I opened the messages app, there were texts, pictures, and conversations going back and forth for weeks, maybe months. Sexting even. The dirtiest shit you could ever imagine,” he said. “I threw her phone against the wall. She didn’t hear a thing, so I packed a bag and left.”
“Christ.” I squeezed his shoulder again.
Eyes glassy, he turned to me and asked, “Are there any loyal women left? I’ve been with Lauren for over a decade.”
“They aren’t all unfaithful. You deserve better. Come on. You’re a stand-up guy. Just because she didn’t know what she had doesn’t mean all women are the same. You’ll find someone better, a woman who is . . . who knows what she has.”
Nate downed his second round of scotch in one big gulp. Slamming his empty glass down, he offered this advice, “Do me a favor, then—if you ever find someone who is faithful, don’t let her go.”
As his words rang in my ears, the reality of Eden hit me. I’d never found anyone who came close. Nate had something real with Lauren, at least up until now, but I never had since Eden, not once. It made me think how petty we’d been, squandering all these years. Even though she hated me, and even after everything that happened between us, she would never cheat. Eden would kick my ass for ignoring her, or give me an earful about treating her better, but she wouldn’t sneak around. It hadn’t been so clear until this moment.
My mind felt like a big ping-pong ball. If my best friend, who’d been with the same woman for ten years, couldn’t make it work, how could I with Eden, especially after everything we’d been through?
I was only sure of one thing: I needed to try.
I looked at Nate. “I won’t.”
He nodded. “Now get me another,” he insisted, holding his tumbler in my face.
Two rounds of billiards, seven scotches, and managing one knocked-out best friend should have put me to sleep for a week, but I stared at the ceiling above my bed. Thoughts of Eden consumed me. Countless minutes ticked by until the clock on the bedside table read 5:48 a.m. Perfect.
Nate had passed out hours ago, having drank himself into a deep sleep. I might have egged him on a bit. It was easier than seeing him torn up. We’d spent a good portion of the evening talking, and after his fourth drink he started to list all the signs he’d missed: the late nights at the office, the shady phone calls, the odd number of work trips she’d been taking.
I struggled to rationalize how he couldn’t have known, but maybe he’d been busy: helping her plan the wedding, selling their condo, working on a huge gated community project at work. When he was officially done for the evening, I made sure he got to the guest room and didn’t end up on my couch.
The whole night, as much as I tried, my mind kept drifting back to Eden, picturing her wearing that sinful blue dress and imagining the way her skin smelled. I’d known she’d be trouble from the moment I met her, but I hadn’t realized what kind.
She wasn’t the same doe-eyed twenty-one-year-old girl from Brooklyn; she’d matured into this incredible woman. An assertive, take-no-prisoners kind of women, and it was hot as fuck. What I didn’t expect was her vulnerable side, the one I witnessed more and more over the last few weeks whenever we were alone together.
What I needed to do now was clear: make her mine.
Chapter Twenty-One
Eden
It had been five hours since I left the W building. I sped home, soaked in a hot bath, and drank an entire bottle of wine. Then I’d passed out for three straight hours. It had been the first nap I’d taken in years, but I was beyond exhausted. When I woke up, I ate an entire tub of ice cream and stared at the old container of stuff Jameson had given me during the months we’d be together.
The bracelet sat there inside its velvet box taunting me. It all felt surreal: the key cards, the gifts, the pictures I kept that no one knew about. All of it glared back at me. God, how would I ever go back to work? I couldn’t face Jameson or anyone else. I’d lost my shit in that meeting, and in hindsight I knew it had been an overreaction. My entire life was spinning out of control.
The disappointment in Jameson’s eyes haunted my thoughts. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and typed out a message to Khloe.
Need to vent . . . dinner at my place?
While I waited for her to reply, I checked my emails to see if I had anything from Mr. Pryce or Mr. Leigh. Nothing. All communications were clear of any news, thankfully. As I closed the email window, a message pinged on my screen.
How about I grab Thai food? Peppermint?
She knew me too well.
Love that place. See you soon.
I walked into the kitchen. The hardwood floor was warm beneath my feet, and it made creaks in all the familiar places, like the fifth plank down by the island and the weathered one at the end of the hall. When I reached the kitchen, I put a few drinks in the fridge—a bottle of white wine, a few sodas, and a handful of mini water bottles—so they’d be cold by the time Khloe arrived. Then I headed into the bedroom. From the large dresser, I succeeded in finding my comfy jeans and favorite worn-out T-shirt. Perfect.
The fabric of both caressed my skin. So warm and simple, so me. I slid into my white furry slippers and made my way to the living room. My body flopped down on the big, gray, plush Crate & Barrel couch. I picked up my laptop and lifted the screen, the Apple logo lit up instantly. When the home screen fully loaded, my finger began swiping through file after file. Each one I opened led me to another, until I was twenty folders deep and skimming the pages of the one on the Uptown project.
Forty-five minutes later, a knock came from the other side of the door, and I could smell the spices, peanut sauce, and onions that awaited me. Khloe’s voice came a second after her knock. “Eden, open up, it’s me.”
“I’m coming,” I shouted back.
As I opened the door, Khloe spoke in a low voice, “That’s what he said.”
I gestured for her to come on in. As she walked past, I asked, “Isn’t it supposed to be that’s what she said?”
“Well, in most cases you’d be right, but most men love to tell you they’re coming, so I’m coining the new phrase.”
I exploded into a laugh—the kind of laugh where you can’t breathe and have to gasp for air. Khloe started to giggle, too, and then she herself let the hilarity take over. We stood there hysterically cackling for a good minute before either one of us caught our breath.
“I needed a good laugh,” I managed as we sauntered over to the couch in the living room.
I heard the bag of food rustling as she placed it down on the coffee table. “Glad I could help.”
“Did you get my favorite?” I asked while I went into the kitchen to grab plates and utensils.
“Vegetable pad thai, no egg, and a Thai iced tea.” She shot me a how-could-I-ever-get your-order-wrong look.
“Seriously, don’t know what I would do without you,” I swore.
“Have to get everything yourself,” she teased with a cute little wink. “Come on, sit your ass down so you can tell me what’s going on with you.” She patted the space next to her.
Sucking in a deep breath, I walked back. “Honestly, not sure where to begin.”
“All right, well . . . is it work-related or does it have to do with Jameson?”
Her question blindsided me. Without realizing it, I’d bitten down on my lip. Hard. I tasted blood on my tongue. “Shit.”
“Oh God, Eden—you’re bleeding!”
I placed my fingers over my l
ip. “It’s just a small cut, my lips are chapped.”
Khloe shook her head at me, now in full protective mode. “No, I saw how hard you bit your lip. What the hell is going on?” she demanded.
It had to be now or never. I sucked in a deep breath. Clearing my throat, I said, “You remember I told you I’d been with Jameson a long time ago?”
Her head bobbed up and down. “Yeah . . .”
“Well . . . it was kind of serious,” I grumbled. “We snuck around for months. We couldn’t be in a real relationship, ya know, because of our companies.”
Khloe nodded. “And?”
I braided the fringe on my throw blanket while I told her everything that happened with us six years ago. Then what had happened at the gala when he kissed me.
Khloe’s eyes went round, and she covered her mouth with both palms, only pulling them back when she was ready to speak. “What the fuck, Eden. Why in the hell haven’t you told me about any of this? So what, then? Have you been seeing him?”
I rubbed at my face. “Remember when I found out he stole my development deal the day after the gala? I got pissed as hell and went to his office the night you made us pasta . . .”
“Go on.”
“And, well, I don’t know. I was mad, livid, beyond pissed, and we—we had sex.” As the words left my mouth, I started to panic.
She sat there, gaping at me in silence. I let out a sigh, and when the silence grew, I tried to plate our food and change the subject, but it became unnerving. “Khlo, say something, please. I can’t take it anymore.”
“Why haven’t you told me?” she asked in a faint voice.
“I-I don’t know . . . I just thought it wasn’t worth mentioning, but things have escalated, and then I blew up at him today in an important meeting. I might have ruined my entire career over this, so I’m at a total loss. I had to talk to you about it . . . I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
The panic in my gut rose, threatening to burst out of me. I reached for her hand, but she slid it out of my reach. “Khlo—”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. When she opened them again, they were glassy with emotion. “You’ve never kept anything from me before, Eden,” she said in the smallest voice I’d ever heard her use.
I shook my head. “I know. I’m the worst friend in the history of humanity—but it was too awful to tell you. I was in over my head.”
Khloe’s face drained of its usual warmth, and her complexion appeared downright ghostly. She swallowed so loudly I knew she was about to blow. “And you didn’t trust me enough to keep this secret for you?”
“No, that’s not why. Come on, you know—”
“I know.” She reached for my hand this time, and squeezed tight. “What now?”
“I don’t know.” I cleared my throat. “I-I think I should quit. I can move back to Brooklyn, find a company in the city, and forget about all this. About all of it. About Jameson, just everything. After my outburst, I don’t think I’ll even have a job. But I can’t work under him, Khloe. I just can’t. Too much has happened between us.”
The expression on Khloe’s face was pure worry. “Are you really going to move back there? Leave your life? Leave Chicago?”
“If I don’t leave, I’ll need to find a new profession. I’ve already worked at the best development company here.” My voice was shakier than I’d anticipated, and I wasn’t sure my answer was believable. The truth remained: I wasn’t entirely positive this was the right move, or if I could muster up the courage to start over, but I didn’t want to be around Jameson or his company anymore. When the merger happened, I’d thought the hardest thing would be avoiding him, but I’d been sadly mistaken. It was all too much—too much frustration, too much sadness—and it was clouding my judgment.
My best friend sat there, teary-eyed as though I’d already said goodbye. “I’m coming with you,” she declared.
“What?” She’d lost her marbles. “Are you crazy? You’re practically a celebrity . . . Khlo, I couldn’t let you give up your life. You’ve built an amazing business here, be realistic.”
She shook her head. “There are rich people in New York willing to spend money on an event planner, and I still have a few connections from college. I would be up and running in no time.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I reached for Khloe’s hand. “I can’t let you go with me.”
“I swear on that first edition of The Great Gatsby you bought me that I won’t resent you,” she said with her hand in the Girl Scouts honor position. “Let’s do this together.”
“I’ll give my two weeks tomorrow,” I replied. “But only if I can go alone. You can’t give up your life. I’d never forgive myself.”
“Fine. As long as you promise this is truly what you want,” she swore.
I woke up the next morning to two texts from Jameson.
Morning. How are you?
Please talk to me.
I’d made up my mind, and he would have to accept it. However, as I held the phone in my palm, staring down at the screen, my heart hurt. He couldn’t abandon his family’s company—and I couldn’t stay working at it—but in a different life or a different place, we might have been able to have something real. Today, after all we’d been through, I knew I didn’t hate him anymore, but it didn’t change anything.
His father would always prioritize his son over me, and although Jameson could swear it wouldn’t be the case, I needed to move forward. There was nothing Jameson could do or say to change my mind. I knew he wasn’t about to let me quit without a fight, but I’d be damned if I allowed him to convince me otherwise. Quickly, I typed back a message.
I need to speak to you. Meet me in my office in an hour.
As soon as I sent the text, those three little dots appeared on the screen, and I knew he was typing back with whirlwind speed.
How about I come pick you up?
Shit. I rubbed my forehead, the heaviness weighing on my chest making it infinitely more difficult to breathe. I needed to be honest—he deserved at least that much. I closed my eyes for a moment. Give me strength. When I looked down at my phone again, the blinking cursor mocked me. With shaky hands, I tapped out a brief reply.
OK. See you soon. Don’t come up. I’ll meet you at the entrance.
I wanted to get all of this over with. The sooner I explained things to Jameson, the faster I could head to the office and let my bosses know.
Jameson’s Mercedes pulled up to the curb in front of my building. Its pearly paint glimmered under the sun’s rays, and it made me recall the day at the bookstore.
He stepped out of the driver’s side. His navy suit had a preppy I’m-a-sailor-fresh-from-leave vibe to it, and his crisp white shirt begged to be ruined. The image of my red lipstick smudging its pristine collar crept into my mind and stuck there.
Jameson’s presence always had the same effect on me. Even when he didn’t appear so delectable, he ignited my yearning, but this could be categorized as unadulterated agony. The glint in his eyes had me holding my breath and fidgeting with my slacks.
Jameson leaned in, one hand on my elbow as he planted a kiss on each cheek, a greeting I didn’t expect.
“Good morning, Eden,” he whispered with the last kiss.
He’d used my name, and as foreign as it sounded coming from his lips, somehow it also seemed right. It was nothing like when he would curtly refer to me as Miss Black.
Somehow, I succeeded in whispering, “Morning.”
Jameson took a step back, his gaze drifting down my body. While he eyed me, I silently patted myself on the back for selecting a conservative outfit; there was nothing risqué about a pantsuit. I needed to compose myself. Last night’s conviction seemed a distant memory when all the man did was look at me with his dark, velvety eyes.
“How was your night? And your morning, while we’re at it?” he asked as he guided me to the passenger side of the car.
“Good. Yours?”
“Long and tryi
ng, but better now,” he said, shutting the door behind me.
When he rounded the car and climbed in, I asked, “Why the long night? Is everything okay?”
He put the key in the ignition, and the car purred and revved beneath me. “Best friend called off his wedding. He was a mess when he showed up at my door.”
“Best friend?”
He let out a slight chuckle as he shifted the car into drive. “Yeah. Do you think everyone hates me as much as you?”
I bit my lip, trying to hide my smile. “I guess I did, but I meant who is your best friend?”
He gave me a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. “Nathaniel Ellis.”
“Why didn’t you mention him before?” My question was more of a demand, and although I tried to remain level-headed, I could feel a newfound annoyance rising.
“It didn’t seem relevant,” he shot back.
“It is if he’s your best friend. And by the way, what if I never mentioned Khloe was my best friend?”
He took another quick look at me before returning his stare towards the road. “I didn’t want you to know, I guess.”
“And why the hell not? What would it have changed if you had been honest?”
“Nothing,” he said coldly.
“Do the lies ever end?” I hissed under my breath.
“I didn’t lie to you, Eden. I just didn’t tell you. There is a difference.”
I gave him a look that could melt the skin off a cat. “Not to me, there isn’t. An omission is a lie.”
“I-I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t realize it would matter to you so much.” His response sounded sincere and full of regret, and although my nostrils flared, I couldn’t help but relax a tiny bit.
