by Hazel Kelly
“I have a right to explain myself.”
I shook my head. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t have the right to see or speak to me.
“You can’t just sit in there and leave me out here like- like-”
Like what? A piece of shit? A greedy, womanizing bastard? A bloodsucking coward? “You gonna finish that sentence?” I asked.
He jiggled the door handle again. “Think about what you’re doing. Don’t you want to work this out?”
I squinted at the door. Work what out? How I could possible devalue my self-esteem enough that I could take him back?
No thanks.
I mean, I wasn’t a huge fan of being alone, especially after having been in a relationship for so long, but I knew there were worse things.
Like being alone with a jackass.
“I made a mistake, babe. That’s it.”
I rolled my eyes.
“We can get past this. It doesn’t have to be over.”
Shows what you know.
“Don’t you want to give me a chance to make this right?”
I poured some wine down my throat, hardly tasting it. Was it even possible for him to make this right?
I didn’t see how. After all, he was a pilot, not a magician.
And if he couldn’t be faithful to me at what I thought– albeit wrongly- was the height of our love, how could I expect him to keep his dick to himself after the honeymoon?
Or when he was on overnight flights three nights a week- with stewardesses that he always joked were old and unattractive, probably to hide the fact that he was bonking every last one of him in the cockpit?
And I hadn’t suspected a thing.
Shit.
Love really is blind.
“Are you going to let me in or not?”
I cocked my head and rubbed my neck. It was tempting. I could just open the door, let him explain, tell him how mad I was, and believe the promises he made to honor me forever from now on until he was blue in the face.
Then I could take him back and we could have makeup sex.
Nope. That killed it.
The thought of touching him after he’d… a shiver ran up my spine and my gag reflex forced my tongue out.
Even if I let him try and make love to me again, it wouldn’t work. Cause I wouldn’t believe it.
I’d just be thinking did he do that to her and did she like it rougher than that and will you still like sex with me when I don’t look like this anymore cause of the stress of dealing with your shit?
It just wasn’t possible.
I couldn’t have been more disgusted with him if I’d watched him choke a kitten to death with his bare hands.
“Carrie,” he said, his head hitting the door again. “I love you. Let me in so we can work this out.”
I blew air out through my lips. Jesus. I knew “love” had different meanings, but we must’ve been on different planets for him to show up and devalue the word like that.
“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so, so sorry,” he said. “Please tell me what I have to do to make this right. I’ll do anything.”
Did he really mean that?
Would he eat shit and die, for example? Or hold his breath for two full minutes? Would he chop his dick off? Stop flying? Learn Chinese? Doubtful. I wasn’t even convinced he’d sit outside the door all night if I asked him to.
He’d probably get bored and go somewhere else.
After all, apparently he was partial to that.
My phone buzzed on the table.
I reached for it, expecting another text from him.
But it was an email. To my work address. From some guy named Ben who saw my ad.
My chest doubled in size as the hopeful relief swelled inside me.
Thank god someone answered the ad.
I’d been worried all week that it had done nothing but increase Woody’s popularity with a bunch of people who were as far from potential clients as it got.
But Ben had seen it, too. And he wanted to schedule an appointment!
If I hadn’t been so drunk and depressed I might’ve done a cartwheel.
I heard Simon slide down the door and sigh.
And as much as I wanted to forgive him for a second so I could celebrate my expensive ad’s first and only lead, I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t open the door, throw my arms around him, and let him congratulate me while he rubbed my back and told me how great I was going to be on my first independent job, how proud he was.
Cause it would be a lie.
What’s more, I didn’t trust myself. If I opened the door, it might blur the line that he had so blatantly crossed.
Besides, I didn’t want to take him back.
And you can’t take something back if you don’t see it. You can’t hold onto something and never let it go if you don’t touch it in the first place.
That’s why they let you play with the puppies at the pound. Cause once you see them and hold them and let them cuddle you, you’re totally fucked.
Chapter 12: Ben
I was a few minutes late for my appointment with the designer, but I hoped she wouldn’t be too peeved since it was pissing rain.
I found the suite number of her office on the board downstairs, and after discovering that the elevator was being repaired, I had to jog up several flights, adding to my delay.
When I walked in, a curvy brunette with heavily lined eyes looked up at me from behind a tall desk. “Hello.”
“Hi,” I said, unbuttoning my jacket. “Is this Carrie Callihan’s office.”
Her eyes crinkled at the edges. “You must be Ben.”
“Guilty,” I said, fighting the urge to shake my head like a wet dog.
“Can I take your coat?” she asked, rising to her feet.
“Please,” I said, stepping up to the desk.
She walked around and took it from me. “If you’d like to have a seat. I’ll tell Carrie you’re here.”
I nodded and looked around. It must’ve been a new office space because it appeared to be only halfway unboxed.
Unfortunately, what had been unpacked didn’t have much personality and failed to inspire my confidence in the woman’s design aesthetic, but I figured the least I could do was hear what she had to say.
“Right this way,” the girl said, opening the only door I hadn’t already gone through.
“Thanks,” I said, ducking my head in first.
The woman from the picture stood up from behind her desk, looking polished enough to make up for her dreadfully decorated office.
“Hi,” I said, hearing the door shut behind me.
“You must be Ben,” she said, walking around her desk.
I stepped forward and shook her hand, feeling even wetter and sweatier in comparison to her. “Sorry I’m a bit of a mess,” I said, staring at her big brown eyes.
She blushed, and two deep dimples formed in her cheeks when she smiled.
I felt a stir in my groin.
“Carrie,” she said, letting go of my hand- hopefully because she was done shaking it and not because she’d been disgusted at how clammy it was. “And there’s no need to apologize.” She took a step back. “As long as you’re not uncomfortable-”
“Not at all,” I said, putting my hand on the back of the chair beside me. “I actually prefer my socks to be slightly damp.”
She pushed a strand of blonde hair out of her face. “Perfect.”
I noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring. “I like it almost as much as I enjoy that feeling of cold rain dripping down the back of my neck.”
She pursed her lips and cast her eyes down for a moment. “Oh yeah, I love that, too.”
I felt like a junkie for how badly I wanted to catch sight of her big brown eyes again.
“Please,” she said, stepping back around her desk. “Have a seat.”
My eyes dropped to her hips for a moment when she turned around, causing me to silently curse whoever invented the knee length skirt. �
�Are you sure?” I asked. “I can’t promise it will be dry when I get back up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, dismissing my concern with a wave of her hand. “You’d be doing me a favor if you destroyed it.”
I furrowed my brow.
“Oh come on,” she said. “As if you didn’t notice my office furniture is hideous.”
I shook my head. “No. I did wonder whether you were half packed cause you were coming or going but-”
“It’s a new space,” she said. “And everything- especially that chair you’re sitting in- is only temporary.”
“Oh.”
“So please don’t judge my design sense based on anything you see in either of these two rooms.”
I leaned back in the chair, wincing inside at the knowledge that my lower back was probably damp with sweat and not rain. Thank god I was wearing a jacket. I didn’t want to seem a mess in front of this woman when she obviously had her shit- if not her office- together.
She raised her eyebrows. “Deal?”
“Sure,” I said, trying to keep my eyes away from the two open buttons at the top of her shirt. “Besides, I’m here because I need a designer, not cause I am one.”
“Right,” she said, leaning forward and clasping her hands together. “You said you saw the ad?”
“Actually my roommate saw it first,” I lied. “And your picture caught his eye.”
She shifted in her seat.
“I won’t repeat what he said, but you’ll be relieved to know I haven’t brought him with me today.”
She swallowed. “So what kind of space do you need designed?”
“I just bought a club.”
She raised her eyebrows. “A club?”
I shrugged. “Well, it’s not a club yet. That’s the problem. Right now it’s just thirty five thousand empty square feet in the meat packing district.”
“I see.”
“But I’m hoping- perhaps with your help- that it can be transformed into a space worthy of being the most exclusive venue in Manhattan.”
“Wow,” she said. “That’s very ambitious.”
I smiled. “I’m an ambitious guy.”
Her lips fell apart.
I stared at them, eager for them to start moving. “Have you designed any clubs in the past or-”
She shook her head. “No. But I’ve always wanted to.”
“Do you do much clubbing yourself?”
“I used to.”
I furrowed my brows. “You don’t anymore?”
“Not for a while now.”
I squinted at her. “You just over that scene or-”
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
“I was just into a different scene for a while.”
I cocked my head. “Can I ask what scene that was?”
She pursed her lips.
I raised my hands. “You don’t have to say. I’m only asking because you’re exactly the kind of woman I’m hoping will come to my club, and if there’s a scene I need to compete with, I’d like to know.”
She shook her head. “There’s not.”
“I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s fine,” she said. “I was just in a long term relationship for a while so clubbing wasn’t a priority.”
“Oh. Sorry-”
“Don’t be.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Anyway-”
“And now you’re not?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.
“Not what?”
“In a relationship?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She craned her neck forward. “Excuse me?”
“Not good that you’re single,” I said, running my hand through my hair. “I just meant good cause I was thinking we might have to go to some clubs so I can show you what I do and don’t like and if you’re some kind of anti-clubbing spinster-”
Her eyes went wide.
Fuck. I leaned forward in my chair and raised a hand. “That was a joke. You’re obviously not- I didn’t mean-”
“It’s perfectly valid to ask whether I’m willing to go to a few clubs to better understand your professional needs.”
“Yeah.” My professional needs. “That’s all I meant.”
She nodded. “And I’m fine with that, of course. Learning a bit about your vision and aesthetic is the very least I would expect to do on a project like this.”
I wanted to ask what the most she would do was, but I figured I’d have a better chance of finding out if I kept my big mouth shut. “Great.”
“Great.”
“And since I already put my foot in it-”
She leaned an ear towards me.
“Can I just say- assuming your ex didn’t die of a terminal illness or a tragic accident- he’s obviously an idiot.”
She took a deep breath and flattened her hands against her desk. “Thanks.” She looked up at me. “I think so, too.”
I rubbed my palms together. “So we agree on everything so far then.”
Her eyes crinkled at the edges. “I suppose we do.”
“What’s the next step?”
“Ideally, I’d like you to send the specs over so I can get a better idea of the layout and scale of the space so I know what we’ll be working with.”
“That’s no problem at all,” I said. “I’ve got blueprints already, and I’m happy to get whatever else you need.”
She smiled. “Perfect.”
“Actually, I was going to head over next week and take some pictures-”
“That would be really helpful as well.”
“Would you like to come?” I asked. “You have to see the space eventually anyway, right?”
“I would assume so.”
“Plus, I’m kind of in a hurry.”
“Okay.”
“And it would be a lot easier for me to walk you through my ideas if we were actually there, ya know?” I said, trying not to let my waving hands give away how excited I was. “So I could picture it as I was describing it.”
She nodded. “I think that’s a great idea. When exactly were you thinking of going over?”
“Sometime next week.”
“Sure. Just send me the address- and the specs if you wouldn’t mind so I can come prepared- and I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, great,” I said, putting my hands on my knees and standing up. “It’s a date.”
Chapter 13: Carrie
I felt weird inside when he called it a date.
I mean, I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but he was so flirtatious…
Then again, maybe I was just surprised because I hadn’t expected him to be so friendly. After all, his email was so curt. I thought he would be much more formal. And older. And less handsome.
Seriously, everyone was less handsome.
He didn’t look like a businessman at all- apart from the bespoke suit. His hair was blonde and messy, and he looked more like an Australian surfer than an American property don.
What’s more, his energy was so intense it was almost intimidating. I felt like if I took my eyes off him, I might miss something.
Not that keeping my eyes on him was a chore.
“Thanks so much for braving the weather to meet with me,” I said, walking around my desk after he stood up.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” he said, taking my hand again.
His hand was big and his fingers were thick. It didn’t feel like holding Simon’s hand at all, and I was ashamed of the ruffle of warmth I felt in my gut when he touched me.
“I’m really looking forward to showing you my place,” he said. “I mean, my space.”
My cheeks burned at the slip of his tongue. “Me too,” I said, pulling my hand back and realizing a man hadn’t touched my bare skin since Simon.
And when his blue eyes smiled at me one last time, I felt like I was going to pass out.
