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“You’re right, he’s not a walk in the park, but he also hasn’t spent the last twelve years alternating between glaring at me from across the room or completely ignoring me at every family function.”
Mal tosses her braids over her shoulder and purses her lips. “But see, that sounds like more of a personal issue. This is a professional matter. You’re both there to do your jobs and get paid. You don’t need to be friends to do that.”
“Yes, but every working relationship requires mutual respect, and the only thing Dominic and I agree on is that we don’t have any for each other.”
“Well, you better find some!” She wiggles her brows at me and smirks. “The opening for La Grande Nuit is in ten weeks, and I’m not listening to James whine about having to bring in another contractor.”
The finality of her statement is punctuated by the ringing of my doorbell. Mal jumps up and sprints towards the door. As soon as it swings open, the smell of sushi and fried rice waft towards me. My stomach grumbles at the heavenly scent.
While she settles up with the delivery person, I run upstairs to my bedroom to change clothes. The black heels I wore all day are the first thing to go, and the rest of my outfit follows in quick succession. I breathe a sigh of relief when I unhook my bra and toss it on the bed. After the stress of the day, it feels good to relax. I’m even thankful to have Mal here. She’s messy and always telling me things I don’t want to hear but being annoyed by her is better than being alone.
After four years of being a widow, I should be used to being by myself, but I’m not. I still miss Eric’s presence in my life and usually at the oddest times. Like when my feet are cold at night or I cook too much food for one person to eat or days like today when I’m worried about his best friend making it impossible for me to finish the last leg of a project I’ve been working on for months.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror next to my bed, I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to imitate the way my husband would hold me after long days. I close my eyes and imagine his warmth enveloping me. The smell of his cologne flooding my senses and making me feel safe, loved and at home.
“Sloane!” Mal’s voice rings out, breaking me out of my reverie. “Get your ass down here. The food is getting cold.”
My eyes pop open and heat rushes to my face at the sight of the lonely woman staring back at me. She looks tired and worn down. Like someone who’s had her heart shattered and completely given up ever being whole again because she knows those pieces are lost to her forever — floating around in the universe with the love of her life, never to be seen again.
I reach into the top drawer of my dresser and retrieve the shirt I sleep in every night, slipping it over my head before pulling on a pair of sweat pants. The cotton is soft as it settles on my skin. Years of wear have made the material feel like a warm hug. I rub the frayed hem between my fingers and wish it still smelt like Eric. Mal calls for me again, threatening to eat my dragon roll if I don’t hurry up.
“I’m coming, girl.”
She’s already settled on the couch scrolling through my Netflix account with her plate in her lap when I come back down. She glances at me over her shoulder.
“Grey’s Anatomy reruns?”
I shake my head as I move into the kitchen to grab the plate she fixed for me. “Hell no. I don’t have time for Shonda’s nonsense today.”
Mal pulls a fake pout as I plop down on the couch beside her. “Please, Sloane.”
“Fine.” I toss a piece of sushi in my mouth and sit back. The opening credits for the episode start rolling and then Meredith Grey is asking how I would want to spend my last day on Earth. “Mal! Is this the bomb episode? You know this one always makes me cry.”
Particularly on a day like today when I, much like Meredith, have had my whole life blown up unexpectedly at the hands of irresponsible and eternally selfish men with no care or concern for the damage done by the bombs they’ve dropped at my feet.
Mal can say what she wants, but I know—with an absolute certainty I can feel in my bones—working with Dominic Alexander is going to be the death of me.
.
5
Sloane
Now
Here’s the worst thing about having an enemy: they’re always in your head. Not in a good way. No. It’s more of an angry, unhealthy obsession. A think about every word they said and everything they did that pissed you off kind of madness. And once you give in to it, it doesn’t stop. Your brain just keeps going, flipping through every interaction and breaking down every minute into endless seconds that are bursting at the seams with new reasons for you to hate them.
That’s exactly what is happening to me right now. It’s a Saturday night and I’m trying to work on the reconfiguration of a master bathroom for a residential project a couple of streets over from the home Eric and I shared before he died, but Dominic Alexander and his infuriating face refuse to leave my mind. I can’t stop picturing that smug look he gave me when I walked into James’ office and found him sitting there like he belonged.
And the headache that started with the rage-inducing curl of his lips is still slamming against my forehead over twenty-four hours later, making getting anything done impossible.
I glance down at my sketch and cringe when I realize I put two toilets in the water closet. My mind is not in the game at all, so I turn my tablet off and get up from my desk. I wander around the house restlessly for a few minutes before going to my room and grabbing my phone to text Mal and see what she’s doing.
She stayed over last night and left early this morning to take Mama on her weekly errand run. I usually go with them since errand runs with Annette Kent generally end with a home-cooked meal and desserts from scratch, but I didn’t want to risk running into Dominic. He always stops by on Saturdays to check in on her and fix things around the house. The way he takes care of her is honestly his one redeeming quality, but I’ll never give him the satisfaction of knowing I like something about him.
I’m stretched out on my bed scrolling through social media to keep my mind off of my arch-nemesis when Mal’s reply comes through.
Mallory: I’m at Club Noir! Are you coming to get drunk with me?
