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I nod and he taps my shoulder as he walks past me to leave. No kiss or thanks for stopping by. I can’t remember the last time my father gave me more than five minutes of his time.
“Goodbye, Mother,” I say as I head toward the door, picking up my purse.
She stays at the office door, waiting to talk to my father. “Yes, see you soon.” She doesn’t even look my way when she speaks.
“He said what?” Emma asks, shaking her head. I show her the text message again. “So, does that mean you have to move out of here?”
“No. No way. You think?” Oh gosh, I didn’t even think of that.
“I think you may have to. Otherwise, your father will wonder. And it’s only a year, so just keep everything here and take what you need there. Then, when it’s over, you can come back as if it never happened.”
“A whole year,” I moan. “That’s so long.” I lie back on my bed and press call, and it rings for exactly a minute before the asshole answers. “Will I have to live with you?” I ask, while squeezing my eyes shut.
“Yes.”
I hang up the phone without saying another word.
A whole year of my life is gone.
“He said yes?”
I nod keeping my eyes closed. “He said yes.”
“Okay, so we assumed this. Only a year, Lottie. Then, in the contract it says all evidence will be destroyed. You can do this.”
I open my eyes. “Can I, though?” My phone rings and I put it to my ear. Whiskey has a set ring tone now, which isn’t a particularly nice one; it says a lot of swear words.
“I’m at your door, here to answer all your questions. Let me in.” I hang up the phone, sit up, and open my mouth, but I’m left speechless.
“Lottie?” Emma asks, getting off my bed, which I might add, is a mess due to me going through my closet to find the perfect outfit to wear to his damn office. Why I cared if I looked good is beyond me.
“He’s here,” I manage to say. Whiskey is here. At my apartment. And I’m not sure I’m ready to face him.
Here goes nothing.
“Shit! Really?” I can see the extra bounce in her step as she runs for the front door, and before I can stop her, the door is flung open, and Emma has her hand on her hip with her blonde pixie cut blowing strands in her face as she looks up to Whiskey, who’s standing in my doorway. “You have some nerve, you piece of shit. Who the fuck does that? You need a fucking stick shoved up your ass so you know what it’s like to be screwed by someone.” Then, she steps back and slams the door in his face.
My eyes bulge from my head, and when Emma turns around, she’s smiling. “That felt good. Okay, you can talk to him now.” She walks off, smiling as she goes, leaving me standing there with Whiskey on the other side of the door. That is, if he hasn’t left already.
Yeah, there’s no way he’s leaving. Whiskey is the type of man to always get the last word in. This instance is no different.
Walking up to it, I pull it open with a shaky hand and see him still there. He looks me over as I yank the door open wider to let him in. Whiskey is dressed in a suit. Much like he was when I went to visit him when I signed the contract. He looked good then, but he looks even better now. Whiskey doesn’t have his suit jacket on, just black slacks and a white button-down shirt. His sleeves are rolled up, showcasing forearms which are strong, tanned, and ones I remember very well from when they were wrapped around me.
“Your roommate seems—”
“I can hear you, asshole!” she yells, making me smile as I shut the front door.
“Interesting.”
“Good choice of words, asshole!” she yells again.
Taking a deep breath in, I walk away from the door, leaving it open for him to enter as I pull out a seat at the table. Our apartment is pretty big, almost a loft-style. Our open-plan room with windows that are floor to ceiling, our two bedrooms are at the end of the apartment but before that is our kitchen and living room which you have to walk through to get to the bedrooms. In between is a large rectangular wooden table with six white chairs surrounding it.
He sits at one end while I sit at the other, attempting to stay as far away from him as possible.
“What do you want to know?” His fingers tap on the table, and I glance at him—really look at him. He’s always been very handsome. But now, the older I am, I appreciate the way he looks. Whiskey is a very attractive man. His chiseled jaw has considerately less stubble since last time I saw him. His strong, tanned arms are corded with veins. A watch sits on his wrist, and I know it’s expensive because it’s the same brand my father wears.
“When do I have to move in?” I ask. My hope is that I have time to get everything squared away in my life before I have to completely immerse myself in life as a married woman.
