“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes and stands up. “I don’t need your insincere apology.”
“Insincere?”
“Yeah, insincere!” Maggie Mae’s slurring her words. She’s drunker than I realized.
“If you’re not going to be here, if you don’t want to be here, then don’t. Then just go over there and move in with him!”
She gets up and starts stumbling around the kitchen. I walk over to try to hold her up, but she pushes me away. I didn’t realize that she was this mad.
“I don’t need you, Annabelle. You know that? You were the one that needed me!”
She smashes her body into the kitchen counter, knocking over a half-empty bottle of red wine. The bottle shatters, and the wine goes everywhere.
“Oh, shit!” I run to her to make sure that she’s okay. But Maggie Mae simply steps over the glass and walks to the bathroom.
She doesn’t close the door, and I hear her throwing up into the toilet. I leave the mess and go to her. With her head buried in the toilet, she begins to sob and utter something. But I can’t make out what she’s saying.
“What?” I ask over and over, holding up her hair.
“We broke up!”
“Who?”
“Me and Elliot,” she says through her sobs.
I have no idea who she’s talking about. Oh, my god, I’ve been more absent and self-absorbed over the last two weeks than I even realized!
“He dumped me. He said he didn’t want to see me anymore.”
I pull hair out of her face and wrap my arms around her. I feel so sorry for her. And I hate myself for not being here for her.
“You don’t even know who Elliot is,” she says accusingly.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’ve been so distracted. With all the work—”
“Oh, please.” She gets up and runs her mouth under a stream of water. “You’ve just been too busy fucking your boss to pay any attention to anything else that has been going on.”
“You’re right. You’re totally right.” I nod. “There’s no excuse for any of this. How can I make it up to you?”
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head.
In her room, I help her change into her pajamas.
“I’m really sorry, Maggie Mae. But I’ll be there for you more in the future. It’ll be just like before. I promise.”
Maggie Mae finally relents. She lets me pull the covers over her and whispers, “Okay.”
* * *
Back in my room, I lay in bed relieved. I really messed up. Maggie Mae was there for me when no one else was, and I have been a terrible friend. Everything that has been going on with Gatsby is no excuse. It’s just selfishness and self-involvement. No guy is worth this.
My mind starts to go in loops. But then again, Gatsby isn’t just any guy. I am really starting to fall for him. He might even be the one. Really? The one? I’ve known him for barely a few weeks, and he lied to me through many of them. No, I can’t let myself think like this. It gives him too much power, leaving me with barely any. But something about that was also sexy.
Shivers run up my spine, and I have trouble falling asleep.
The following morning, I get to the office a few minutes late, and Gatsby is already waiting for me.
“Atticus is coming today,” he says.
He’s drinking a cup of coffee that I was supposed to make for him.
“How long have you been here?” I ask.
“Since five am. I had a lot of things to get done.”
“So how was your night?” I ask. I want him to tell me that he has missed me.
“Sleepless. I fucking hate Atticus for doing all of this.”
I nod.
“So what are you going to do?” I ask.
“I have no idea. I have to see what he says about everything.”
“What?” I ask accusingly. I should give him some space, not just saddle him with my opinion on the subject, but I can’t keep my mouth shut.
“What?” He asks.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “You can’t just hide this, Gatsby. You can’t just not tell the shareholders about this. Then you’ll be an accomplice.”
He shakes his head. I feel myself getting through to him.
“They’ll blame you for all of this, you know that, right?” I continue. “They’ll think that you were in on it all the way.”
“That’s if they find out.”
“Of course they’ll find out. They always do.”
“You don’t know my father. He’s a very powerful and influential man.”
I look straight at Gatsby. His eyes are no longer twinkling. He looks defeated and lost. I shouldn’t have left him alone last night. I should’ve insisted on staying with him. Maybe then he would’ve gotten some sleep. Maybe then he would be thinking straight today.
“What, why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
“Because I just can’t believe what you’re saying. This is ridiculous.”
“This is ridiculous?!” He starts to get angry. His cheeks flush, and his eyebrows furrow in discontent. “You know what’s ridiculous? Taking business advice from some personal assistant. How dare you speak to me this way. Who do you think you are?”
I shake my head. I can’t believe what he’s saying.
“Answer me!” he roars. “Who do you think you are, Ms. York? You speak to me as if I need your advice. You’re just my assistant. Nothing more!”
“Nothing more?” I whisper. “Silly me, I thought that we had something…”
“We have nothing! We are nothing. You’re just some girl that I fucked for a while. So what? Does that give you permission to fuckin’ advise me on personal family matters? No!”
I step away. The man before me no longer looks like the person who I left last night. Or even the person from only a few minutes ago. His eyes are filled with hate and anger. He really doesn’t think any better of me, does he? Of course not. I shake my head. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t just end like this.
“My father and brother are going to be here soon. I need you to go.”
I nod but don’t move. I can’t. I feel like my feet are glued to the floor.
“NOW!” Gatsby roars in my face. I wipe little droplets of spit off my cheek and turn to walk away.
I turn to go to my office. I want to lock the door and not see him for the rest of the day. But he stops me near the door.
“I would like you to collect your things and leave now, Ms. York.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I feel him watching me. I head toward the desk and grab my purse. I stuff some papers into it and look back at him.
“I’m sorry that you didn’t think that we had something special. Because I did,” I say.
“Well, then you don’t know me very well.” He laughs.
“No, I guess not. I don’t think I know you at all.”
I try to walk past him, but again he stops me.
“Can I get through, please?” I say.
“You didn’t take everything.”
I look at him. I thought that he was just sending me home for a day. Maybe a few days.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying that I want you to leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes, please take all of your things. Otherwise, I can get Ms. Greaves to send them to you. But you’re not invited back here again.”
I shake my head. My heart feels like it’s about to stop.
“Am I fired?” I whisper.
We are still standing in the middle of the doorway. He’s so close to me I can hear him breathing. He takes a moment to answer. I want him to change his mind. But he doesn’t.
“Yes.” he nods. His eyes are firmly on mine. He means what he’s saying. He doesn’t want to take it back.
I feel tears welling up behind my eyes. But I can’t give him the satisfaction of hurting me. I hate this man. I
love him at the same time. I thought I knew him, but now I realize that I don’t. He’s a mystery. An enigma. And now, he’s no longer my enigma.
I go back to my desk and gather a few things. I don’t have much here that belongs to me. I meant to bring in a plant last week, but I didn’t even do that. I grab all the pens and pencils, even though only three are mine. I take the eraser that I brought thinking that I could actually get some sketching done while I was here. I take the sketch board. Nothing else is mine. It’s embarrassing how little of an impact I’ve made on this place.
Suddenly, my mind goes to the woman who I’ve seen leaving the place when I still worked outside with Ms. Greaves. Oh, how nice and normal that time seemed to be. Now, I wish more than anything that I could go back to it. To return to that girl sitting at that big desk and tell her not to come here. Not take the job inside the big cube near Gatsby. Mr. Wild, whatever it is that I’m supposed to refer to him as. The woman who was escorted by the security guards was carrying a large box with all of her things. I’m leaving with nothing. Everything I have fits into my rather small purse. But I can’t bear to think about this any longer right now. I still have Gatsby to get through.
I turn to face him again. He’s still standing in the doorway. His eyes are steadfast now. Sparkling again. Is this making him happy? Is he completely different from the man I thought he was? Disappointment courses through my veins. I want to hit him. Punch him hard in his face. Shake him and demand to speak to Tristan, the kind, sweet guy I met in Yosemite. I can still see that man somewhere behind the façade, but I don’t dare raise a hand to him. I don’t want to be crying and panting and cursing when they eject me out of this place. I will leave with dignity and grace. He deserves neither, but it’s not for him.
“I really thought you were someone else,” I say to him when I get close.
“I’m sorry for you,” he mocks me.
“I’m not.” I shake my head. I don’t know where all of my strength is coming from, but it’s holding me up and making me say things that I never knew possible.
“And why’s that?”
“Because I found out the truth about you now rather than two weeks, two months, two years from now. You saved me a lot of heartache. And for that, I thank you.”
I can’t believe those words actually came out of my mouth! From the look on Gatsby’s face, he’s just as surprised as I am. His jaw even opens a bit.
“Close your mouth,” I say. “I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Chapter 34
Gatsby takes a beat. My patience is wearing thin. I don’t know why he’s blocking my exit if he’s so keen on kicking me out. I’m about to ask him to move when I feel him grab me. His hands dig into my shoulders, and his lips press hard against mine.
“What are you—” I manage to get out. But then he kisses me again. Without my consent, my tongue moves on its own and intertwines with his.
“Gatsby—” I push him away, but he comes at me. He presses his body against mine and buries his hands in my hair. We are kissing again. He pushes me against the wall. I want to push him off, but lust mixed with anger takes over. I kiss him back hard. Our kissing is frantic and out of control, mimicking the feelings that we are feeling for one another. I want to tear off his clothes. I want to put him in my mouth. But I resist the urge. Instead, I capture everything I feel about how much I hate him in my kiss. And then I push him away.
“Gatsby. No,” I say definitively and wipe my mouth.
It takes him a moment to collect himself. He smooths his suit, adjusts his tie, and runs his fingers through his hair.
“Yes, of course.” He nods.
“Can I get through, please?” I say. He’s standing in the doorway again, blocking me from leaving. I want him to drop to his knees and beg my forgiveness. I want him to ask me to stay. I want him to say he was sorry and to forget everything that he has just said to me. I want him to say that I’m not fired anymore.
But he doesn’t.
The kiss was just a kiss. Perhaps something of a good-bye kiss for both of us. The chemistry that binds us is undeniable. He knows it. I know it. But perhaps this chemistry is all we have.
Finally, he moves out of my way.
“Annabelle…” he says quietly while I wait for the elevator.
I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. Please forgive me. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. You were right. I just couldn’t admit it. You’re not fired.
I wait for him to utter any one of those sentences. Or any other words that resemble those. But he says nothing.
“Yes?” I urge him. I give him another chance. His eyes shift back and forth, and I see him struggling to find the right thing to say.
“Good luck in finding another job,” he finally says.
I want to scream and run at him full force. I want to slap him so hard that it leaves a bright red welt across his perfect face. I want to punch him in the eye.
“You will, of course, receive comfortable severance to tide you over until your next place of employment,” he adds.
He’s making this unbearable. I can’t breathe. The elevator can’t come fast enough.
Ding. Ding.
The elevator doors open and I leap in. Tears are flowing down my face before the doors close again. Who is this asshole? Why did he have to kiss me again? Why am I such a fool?
I hate him. Hate him. Hate him.
I hate myself more. I’m weak. He has broken me. Or maybe I was broken all along. That’s why he was there for me. That’s why he had such a power over me.
* * *
I don’t know how I get home. But some time later, I walk into my bedroom and plop on the couch. I want time to stop. It seems like it’s speeding up. Maggie Mae isn’t home. Thank God. I can’t explain anything right now. I can’t talk. I can only sob, cry, and bury my head in my pillows.
Gatsby Tristan Wild.
He will be the hardest man to get over.
* * *
I’m not sure how much time passes, but it’s getting dark outside. Suddenly, I get an overwhelming urge to run. I look through my closet and toss out almost all of the clothes on the floor, but I still can’t find my jogging clothes. I haven’t used them in ages. Finally, at the bottom of my dresser, in the last drawer that I look, I find a sports bra, shorts, and an old USC shirt that I’ve used for jogging and hiking. This will do.
I drive to Runyon Canyon. There’s hardly any parking as always, but I’m lucky enough to find a spot right near the entrance.
People in Los Angeles call Runyon Canyon a park, but it’s really a giant, steep hill made of yellow dust and dirt that rises a thousand or so feet above the city. The trail leading to the top is crowded with hikers, runners, walkers, and their dogs. I haven’t been here for a long time and start out walking. As thoughts of Gatsby flood my mind, I speed up my pace. I start to walk faster and faster to escape those thoughts.
He has hurt me. Again. I had forgiven him the first time. I had forgiven his lies and his deceit. But this time, there will be no forgiveness. Not that he was even offering me any. And that’s what I hate most about him. I didn’t do anything wrong. I was just trying to help, and he has banished me, fired me, excluded me from his life for NOTHING. Absolutely nothing.
About half way up the hill, I realize that I am running. The more I think about Gatsby, the faster I run up the hill. I’m winded and out of breath, but something keeps me going. Something continues to fuel my climb and pushes me harder.
How dare he fire me? How dare he push me out of his life for trying to convince him to do what’s best for him? He is a spineless asshole who doesn’t deserve a second thought, but I can’t stop them from coming and taking over my body. I can’t think of anything but Gatsby. And the harder I try to run away from him, the more I think of him.
Finally, I make it to the top of the hill. From there, the expanse of Los Angeles fills the horizon all around. The view is breathtaking, but that’s not why I am out o
f breath. I’m sobbing so hard that I can hardly breathe. With all of my might, I try to take a full breath of air, but nothing comes in. And then, everything fades away to black.
Chapter 35
I wake up in the emergency room with a handsome young doctor looking down on me.
“She’s awake,” he yells, turning away from me. “Maggie?”
I open my eyes and look around. The bright fluorescent lights blind me, and I put up my hand to block some of the glare. Suddenly, Maggie Mae appears. She stands over me with a wide smile on her face.
“Oh, my God, you’re finally awake,” she says, giving me a warm hug. Keeping her long arm wrapped around me, I see her give off a sigh of relief.
“I was so worried, sweetie,” she whispers.
“About what?” I manage to say. My voice cracks and the sound that comes out doesn’t sound at all like me.
“What’s going on?” I try again. This time, I sound more like me. I sit up in the bed. The first thing that pops into my head is that I have no way to pay for this bill, and it’s going to cost thousands.
“How long have I been here?” I ask.
“A while. Two days,” Maggie Mae says.
Two days! No, no, no. This is crazy. This can’t be right. I couldn’t have been here for two days!
“I have to get out of here,” I say and start moving to get out of the bed.
“You can’t leave quite yet, Ms. York,” the doctor replies.
“Annabelle, this is Elliot.” Maggie Mae smiles at me. Elliot? Didn’t they break up?
“Yes, that Elliot,” Maggie Mae adds as if she’s able to read my mind.
“I thought you broke up.”
“We did. But then we got back together.”
“How long have I been here?” I ask.
“Ha ha,” Maggie Mae says sarcastically. “Very funny. But two days is a long time.”
I didn’t mean to be sarcastic.
“I still have to go.”
“I’m sorry, but you can’t. Not just yet.” Elliot puts his hand on my arm.
Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction Page 38
