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“No buts. Here.” She hands me a small flask. “Have a sip while we wait.”
I unscrew the top and take a cautious sip. The smooth, smoky taste of Glenfiddich coats my tongue. Relieved it’s not the tequila Lauren prefers, I take another generous sip, letting the warm heat of it settle in my stomach.
“Keep it.” She pushes it into my hand when I try to give it back. “I have a feeling you might need it more than me.”
“Ma’am?”
Rex, the night security guard, is standing in the doorway. “Are you Elinor Price? Mr. Sutton said I was to let you wait inside. If you want,” he adds, stepping back to let me through.
“See,” Lauren leans close to whisper. “Rex doesn’t recognize you and you see him at least a few days a week.” Without waiting for me to respond, Lauren steps inside the building. “Hi Rex, we’ll wait inside, thanks.”
“I didn’t realize that both of you were going with Mr. Sutton,” Rex glances between the two of us. While I’m dressed to the nines, with my hair twisted up in a fancy updo, Lauren is rocking a pair of leather leggings and a flowy tank top. She looks ready for a night of bar-hopping and fun. I look like I’m ready for a night of small-talk and finger food.
What I really want is to be curled up on the couch with my pajamas and my laptop, writing.
“Do you want me to wait with you?” Lauren asks once we’re inside.
“No, you go. I’m a big girl, I can wait all by myself.” I walk toward my desk, intending to check my email while I wait, when Lauren pulls me back sharply. “Don’t give yourself away dummy. Elinor doesn’t work at the front desk.” Her whisper is harsh and I freeze, sheepish. Technically, Elinor works completely remote and has never even visited the office in Portland.
Changing direction, I pull out my phone and sit in one of the plush chairs dotting the lobby. I don’t actually think I’ve ever sat on one of these before. They are surprisingly uncomfortable.
“Bye! Have fun, please!” With an air kiss, Lauren is out the door and on her way for a night of fun with Emma. With nothing else to do, I scroll through my phone, ears tuned for the sound of an approaching car.
I’m about to absently tap like on a photo of a couple getting engaged, the girl looks vaguely familiar, when I freeze.
No.
What the fuck?
I stare at the photo, not believing what I’m seeing. Jake. On one knee. Holding out a ring to some twenty-something baby.
Every muscle in my body locks in place as I stare, dumbfounded, at the photo. The caption catches my eye.
“I’ve been waiting for this day for two years, can’t wait to be your wifey and raise this baby with you.”
Two years?
The court mailed me the divorce papers a week ago.
Emma and I moved out nine months ago.
Two mother-fucking, orgasmless, forced to listen to him fart in his sleep, years.
I’m not sure what’s responsible for the bile rising in my throat—the fact that my ex-husband just proposed to his girlfriend of two years when we’ve been divorced for all of a week, or that she looks closer to Emma’s age than ours and says shit like “wifey.”
Wait.
Baby?
“Ma’am? Are you okay?” Rex’s voice echoes in my ears as a cold sweat breaks out over my skin. My mouth waters and my stomach heaves. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I dart to the nearest trash can and promptly lose everything in my stomach. I haven’t eaten so there isn’t much, but the smell of my own vomit, laced with that last shot of whiskey, has my eyes watering.
Leaning against the nearest wall, I breath in through my nose, attempting to calm down. Keeping my eyes closed, I focus on letting my stomach settle before I move again.
“There’s a bathroom right over there, if you need it,” a gruff voice says quietly from above my head. Great. As if this night couldn’t get off to an even worse start.
I open my eyes and look straight up into the blue ones of Theodore Sutton. He doesn’t look angry, more like disappointed, or maybe resigned is the better word.
“Thanks.” I push myself off the wall and take a wobbly step towards the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.” I escape to the lobby bathroom before I can make even more of a fool of myself. Bypassing the sink, I go straight to the janitor supply closet, to the secret stash of toothbrushes and travel-sized toothpaste I keep stocked back here. Mercedes, Sutton’s assistant, orders it in bulk for his private bathroom and gives me some to keep in the lobby for emergencies.
