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“Natasha decided she enjoyed second-partner dick more than mine, I guess.”
“No way! Henry? That’s fucking low. Well, screw her. Find a hot piece of ass, bang it, and let’s get back to work. Yeah?”
A very graphic image of Liv’s ass pops into my mind, and I have to swallow it down. She’s more than just some random hookup, as uncomfortable as that makes me feel.
“Yeah. You got it.” I sigh. “Look, I have about a million more emails to answer. I’ll talk with you later, okay? And I’ll send all the details and let you know about me coming down there.”
“Yeah. Email ASAP. Talk later.”
We end the call, and this time when I go back to my desk, I silence the phone. I can deal with everybody else through email, and they’re just going to have to wait.
As I type furiously to put out every remaining fire, sure that more will come up, I remember how much I hate this part of the job.
Henry was there to take some of the slack before, and without him, every aspect of this business falls squarely on my shoulders. It’s just my luck I have to deal with a divorce from both my wife and my business partner and former best friend.
Malinda comes by with several coffees as I truck through the morning, and I allow her to take my out-of-office calls whenever Natasha tries my cell. That forwarding service has been well worth the money as of late.
I look at the clock after answering all the emails and decide to check my response rate since retaining strong relationships with contractors and investors is so important.
When I scan the summary, I can’t for the life of me understand the low rating, especially considering how many emails I’ve just written, but then I notice a dip over the past few days.
And it started when Liv came to work for me.
“Fuck.”
I know I’ve been distracted, but seeing the proof in black and white is a little unnerving. What’s more, Liv is still totally off-limits.
Nothing about who she is or who I am has changed.
The rest of the afternoon goes by in a blur as I struggle to focus through my spiraling thoughts. At about three thirty, I give up.
There’s a bar not far from the office, and I drive over for a happy hour that used to be spent shooting the shit with Henry.
Anger and regret swim through me like a shark chasing a whale, along with a healthy dose of guilt and panic swirled in for good measure.
“Hey, Noah. Haven’t seen you in a while. I was getting worried. What can I get you?”
Nate, the friendly bartender who’s just the right combination of good listener while minding his own business, smiles as I sit down at the bar.
“Hey, Nate. I’ll have a gin and tonic, please. Double.”
“Oof, rough day?”
“Rough few months.” I set my cell on the bar, turning off the sound once more.
“Sorry, man. Where’s Henry?”
“Probably fucking my wife.”
I’m too tired to play it cool at this point, and I figure it’s better to just rip off the Band-Aid.
“Fuck, dude.” He drags out the curse as he pours the gin into a glass. “Rough doesn’t quite cut it, does it? Sorry, man.”
“Yeah. Wish I found out sooner. Wish I signed a prenup.”
Another shot goes in the glass, and Nate muddles a thick wedge of lime in the bottom of the cup. It’s how I always took it, and I can’t help but be impressed he remembered.
“To be honest, Noah, I never really liked Henry. Whenever you let him pay, he tipped for shit.”
