Staring out across the stage at all the pretty models posing and beaming for the cameras… I can’t help but agree.
18
Cassidy
My first check comes in the mail two days later. I call Becky to scream with her about it, because frankly, it’s more digits than I’ve ever seen written on a single slip of paper in my entire life.
Yes, a huge chunk of my profits go to Sheryl and Lark’s investment firm off the top first, since they bought such a big investment share in my company. But still. This is so much more money than I ever would have been able to make myself, in a lifetime.
“Spa day,” I tell Becky, once we’re both done screaming at the top of our lungs at the universal celebrating girls pitch. “My treat.”
“Cass, you don’t have to do that,” she protests, but I speak right over her.
“Please. I want to. Besides, I haven’t seen you in ages, between work and…” I trail off, biting my lower lip. I’m curled on my couch right now—my extremely expensive, beautiful couch, which Lark bought me after ruining my old ratty one. And across the room, I eye my purse, and my cheeks burn thinking about the tie still sitting inside.
I keep telling myself that I just left it there so I could remember to give it back to him the next time we’re both going to be at some kind of business thing, either a photoshoot or an interview or what have you. But really, I think I’m just giving myself a subconscious excuse to hang onto it for just a little while longer.
This is totally different from what I did with Norman’s crap, I tell myself. It’s just one stupid tie. And I’m not holding onto it really. I’m saving it for him.
Even I don’t believe me, though.
“Between work and your boy toy treating you like used dog shit?” Becky interrupts my thought cycle.
“He’s not that bad,” I start, but now it’s her turn to speak over me.
“What did we agree after Norman?” She clicks her tongue, disapproving.
“No defending guys while I’m in the throes of a breakup,” I mumble.
“Right, because you always get into a bad habit of putting their needs before yours, and that’s bullshit.” I hear gum pop on the other end of the line. “So, okay. Spa day. If it’ll help take your mind off things, I’m in.”
I force myself to smile, even though it’s harder now that Becky brought up Lark. I’d been hoping for a day of not thinking about him. But she’s right. Spa day is just what I need. I tell her the address of my favorite spa in town, a cute one that has hot and cold plunge baths, steam rooms, facials and massages, the works.
Not that I can usually afford the works. I’m more of the, wait until there’s a 50% coupon day, then go and enjoy the bare minimum activities there, type girl.
Today, though… I grin at my check one more time, planning to swing by the bank on my way to the spa to deposit it. Today, I’m going all out. Fuck it. I deserve the pampering.
I meet Becky in the parking lot, and she pulls me into the tightest hug. I don’t realize how much I needed that until I squeeze her back tightly, and we both let go with matching eager grins.
“Okay, time to act like the most spoiled rich bitches there are,” she announces, and I snort under my breath, following her inside.
The minute we buy our tickets—all-inclusive packages, thank you very much—the attendant’s expression changes, in a way it never has when I’ve been here before, barely scraping enough together for the discount tickets. She ushers us into a private changing room big enough to fit half my bedroom, then wraps us both in fluffy towel-like bath towels before leaving us alone to change.
Once we’re ready, we’re taken to a whole different pool area from the one I’m used to. This one is on the rooftop, complete with…
“Oh hell yes,” Becky calls over her shoulder. “Swim-up bar!”
Sure enough, the jacuzzi—if you can call a pool this big a jacuzzi, although it certainly feels like one when I wade into it—has its own bar attached. Although, I notice all the cocktails are mostly juice, with a hint of diet alcohol splashed in. Oh well, guess a health spa can only serve so much alcohol before it doesn’t count as healthy anymore, right?
We share a green juice cocktail that somehow tastes fortifying, delicious and decadent at once. Then we drift around the hot pool—ignoring the cold plunge pool entirely, because frankly, I came here to get spoiled, not subject myself to borderline torture—waiting for our scheduled massage times.
As we drift, Becky eyes me. I can practically feel her next words coming, and I brace myself. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” I reply, a little too quick and loudly. I clear my throat and sip more of my tasty cocktail. “I mean, you know… it’s not like anybody died. It’s just a breakup. And it wasn’t that long of a…” I shake my head, laughing, mostly at myself. “God, it wasn’t even a relationship, really. We just hooked up for a few weeks, that’s all.”
My stomach tightens at the lie. It wasn’t all. Not for me.
“You really liked him, though,” Becky says, proving once again that the girl notices more than I usually give her credit for. She leans back against the wall, head tipped onto the side, watching me from the corner of her eye as she lets her body float. “It’s still hard, even if it was just a short thing.”
“Yeah.” I sigh, and prop myself up against the wall next to her, setting my cocktail aside for the moment. “It is.”
“So, you really are officially done? I mean, you went over to his place and gave him back his tie and everything.”
I grimace. I forgot I told Becky about that part.
She notices, and sets her own cocktail down, her expression shifting into another one I’m all too familiar with: stern mother mode. “Cassidy.”
“I forgot about the tie, okay?” I bury my face in my hands. “But I did go there and talk to him. I told him I didn’t want to pursue things anymore because it’s too complicated, and he said he respects that and he’ll back off.”
Becky crosses her arms. “He’d better. I mean, he was the married one leading you on this whole time. What an asshole.”
I hesitate, thinking back to the brief snippets I overheard in Marcel’s office. The argument. We had an agreement, Sheryl yelled. What did that mean? It certainly wasn’t how I’d imagine a woman would talk to her happily married spouse, though. Maybe they were in an open relationship?
But then why was she so mad at him for sleeping around?
She clearly was. Her other words, whatever sleazy whore you’re moaning over, have been playing on guilty repeat in my mind ever since I overheard that conversation a couple days ago. Part of me wants to speak up, defend myself. I’m not a whore.
But can I really argue that, in this position? I didn’t know Lark was married at first. Yet after I found out… Our last full night together flashes through my mind. It feels so long ago now. The way he chased me into the dark parking lot after my TV interview, protecting me even while I was too stubborn to let him. And then the way he caught me in his arms and pinned me against his car, our lips colliding…
That whole night afterward. My last night in his bed, my clothing strewn all over his apartment…
It was weak of me. Beyond weak. And then, to top all that off, the other night when I went over to his apartment to end things once and for all, what did I end up doing? I kissed him. Again. Yes, sure, I broke things off after that, but still.
Maybe I am a whore, I think, and my stomach tightens, the healthy cocktail drink suddenly not sitting right in my gut at the thought.
“Hello? Earth to Cassidy Marks.” Becky’s waving her hand in front of my face now. I zone back in and realize I have no idea what she just asked me.
She takes one look at my face and deduces the same thing. “Cass…” Her voice softens. She squeezes my arm. “You’ll find a better guy, okay? A non-married one. One who respects you.”
She’s right. I should just nod. Agree. But… “I’m not so sure that’s the fu
ll story,” I murmur.
Becky arches an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” We had an agreement. “I don’t know. I overheard this weird thing between him and Sheryl at work the other day. And then she hit him.”
Becky winces. “Damn. Not cool. But maybe she just found out about… You know?” She glances at me pointedly. “Still not okay to hurt someone physically, but…”
“I know.” I grimace. “But, it’s more than that. I don’t know. I mean, I’m not even completely sure he is still married. I just assumed so, after I saw them coming out of couples’ counseling and all—”
“Uh, yeah,” Becky replies, drawing out all her vowels. “Divorced people generally don’t pay for therapy to try to repair their relationship.”
“But, they’re business partners too, so maybe…” I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I chew on my lower lip. “Maybe there’s another explanation.”
“Well, did you ask him about it?” Becky arches both eyebrows now.
“Um…” The green drink churns even worse in my gut now.
My best friend lets out a long exhale that turns into a groan. “Okay, well no use doing it now, since you’ve finally extricated yourself from the mess.” Then she sets her jaw in what I know as Becky’s game face. “Let’s look at facts. Even if he’s not married, he didn’t exactly disclose whatever the hell his weird current thing with his ex-wife is. And he expected you to just roll with it, all while being in a business relationship with not just him, but both of them. You ask me, Cass, married or not, this situation has hot mess written all over it. Find another guy. One who’s upfront with you.” She squeezes my wrist. “One who doesn’t make you feel like you’re on an emotional roller coaster all the damn time. Someone steady.”
My head bobs of its own accord. “You’re right.” I know she is. It’s just getting harder and harder to keep convincing myself of that.
19
Cassidy
The spa day didn’t relax me as much as I’d hoped it would. Maybe it’s because I couldn’t stop thinking about my conversation with Becky the whole time I was in my massage.
Did you ask him about it?
Maybe I should have. Maybe that would have been the smart thing to do right off the bat. But I tried to talk to him about his past with Sheryl multiple times, and he always freaked out. I can’t imagine it would have turned out any differently if I’d just point-blank asked whether they were still married.
I tried demanding the full story once and he practically ran away.
“It’s not as simple as that,” I mutter to myself on my long drive home, alone in my car with nothing but the blasting radio for company.
As to the rest of what Becky said… it’s true. I should move on. It’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time. Not to mention, I promised my shrink I would.
But every time I decide to, I’m reminded of the way he looked at me that last time, in his apartment. The desperation with which he kissed me. It was so palpable, I swear I could taste it. A combination of tears and sweat, heartbreak and yearning.
I still need to stop thinking about him.
I pull onto my street, only to notice an expensive-looking car parked in my usual spot, the top rolled down, which is unusual considering it looks like rain. There’s no one inside, but I curse at the car anyway, rolling past it and hunting for a different spot. It takes me fifteen minutes to find one, and by the time I do, it’s started to drizzle. Wrapping my arms over my head, for lack of a better option since I only have my thin jacket on, I jog for the cover of my front doorstep.
I make it to the door, keys jangling in my hand, shivering from head to toe, and jam my keys into the lock. That’s when the back of my neck starts to tingle, some sixth sense alerting me. It feels like somebody’s watching me.
I turn around, and sure enough, there’s a hazy figure making its way up the steps, no umbrella either. For a moment, I can’t see through the haze. Then the figure reaches me, just steps from my door, and I blink, frozen in place.
It’s Lark. His hair is soaked and sticking to his head, and his eyes look even redder than they did in the studio a couple days ago, when I saw Sheryl slap him. “Cassidy,” he says, and to my surprise, his voice sounds steady. Even. It’s completely at odds with the fire in his eyes, the war he’s clearly struggling to keep from showing on his face.
“Lark.” I glance past him, and realize the expensive car I saw earlier must be his, although it’s not the same car he’s picked me up in before. I wouldn’t put it past him to own several expensive cars though, just for the fun of it. The top is still down. I nod toward it. “Your car’s getting wet.”
He shrugs. “I’ll have it cleaned.”
Now I really stare at him. I know he’s wealthy, but he’s never struck me as the wasteful type before. He’s always been so careful with his possessions, so exact about having everything the way he likes it—in his apartment, at work… in love.
I force that thought away. I have no idea what Lark is like in love. I only know what he’s like in lust, and in lust, he’s complicated enough. “What are you doing here?” I ask. I’m proud that my voice holds even, too. Two can play at his game. The pretend we don’t care game. Pretend it isn’t killing both of us to be standing this close to one another, and yet to remain apart.
There’s a long pause. I hold my breath, afraid of what’s coming next. Afraid he’ll make an offer I don’t have the strength to refuse. But then he says, “My tie. I left it here a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, I…” It’s in my purse right now. I haven’t taken it out. Not since the day I went over to his house to return it. But my hands freeze. I don’t want to admit I’ve been carrying it around. That makes me seem like some kind of desperate weirdo.
Even if I am a desperate weirdo, I don’t want him to know it.
“It’s inside,” I say, jingling my keys. “I’ll get it for you.”
He nods, and makes no move to follow me as I push open the door. But the sight of him standing on my doorstep, his hair still dripping, his feet leaving puddles on the mat, is too sad to ignore.
“You can come in,” I tell him.
He’s careful to keep his distance from me, only stepping far enough across the threshold so that he can ease the door closed behind himself. He doesn’t come any closer to me.
I wonder if he’s battling the same worries. The fear that if we get any nearer to one another, we’ll combust. Or at the very least, do something we regret.
“It’s in the bedroom,” I say, unable to drag my gaze from his. “I’ll just…” I gesture over my shoulder with a thumb, and then beeline into the bedroom, easing the door closed just far enough so that he won’t be able to tell I’m rooting through the very purse I had over my shoulder for it.
Once I fish the tie out, looking a little wrinkled for its wear, tied up in a knot at the bottom of my messy bag, I smoothe it out as best I can, square my shoulders, and glance at myself in the mirror. Crap. I look like a mess—my hair is frizzing all over the place from the rain, and my skin is red from the facial I got at the spa.
Any sense of calm I might have found there has definitely evaporated by now.
Still, I square my shoulders. Remind myself of what Becky said. I deserve someone who treats me better than this. Someone who doesn’t drive me insane or leave me second-guessing my own sanity all the time.
“This one, right?” I ask him, inanely, as if I have dozens of guys over here potentially leaving ties around my apartment. He arches an eyebrow, and I flush. “I found it the other day. I was planning to bring it back to you, but…” I swallow hard.
He just watches me, his expression unreadable.
Did you ask him about it? Becky’s voice whispers in my ear, an annoying bug I can’t get out of my head. Because deep down, I know she’s right. I should have just had a straightforward conversation with Lark about this, long before now.
I move closer to him. Close enough to
catch that infuriating scent. Close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest, the jump along the side of his neck where his pulse beats. I wonder if his heartbeat feels as erratic as mine right now.
I hold out the tie. He reaches for it, but before he can grab it, I draw it back an inch, just out of his reach. I keep my gaze on his when I ask it. “Are you still married?” I ask him.
There. I did it. Point-blank. Straightforward. No way to dodge it.
At least, so I think. Lark’s expression darkens, his brow lowering and the set of his jaw turning hard. “Who have you been talking to?” he asks, his tone low and dangerous.
That’s when it happens. That’s when my heart finally and completely cracks in half. Because that reply is not the sort of answer you get from an unmarried man, when confronted with that question. My stomach sinks. “I can’t believe you,” I say.
He scowls. “Cassidy, it’s not what you think.”
“All this time. I can’t believe it. You told me; you told me you were divorced.”
Lark holds up both hands and takes a step toward me, placating. “I never said divorced, exactly. I said things were over between me and Sheryl, which is true—”
“You’re still married to her, though. That’s kind of a huge thing to hide from somebody you’re fucking.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I watch him flinch. But I don’t care. I’m past feeling sorry for him now. I’m just angry. “You lied to me, Lark.”
“I never lied, Cassidy.”
I shake my head. “A lie by omission is still a lie. You knew what you were implying to me when you told me things were over. I thought that meant they were really over, not that you two were still seeing marriage counselors and the lot.”
I don’t realize what I just admitted until the words slip past my defenses.
Best of Penny Wylder: Boss Romance Page 30
