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Whiskey’s office is quiet. It’s the weekend, but his light is on, and I can hear him talking on the phone. Pushing the door open, I don’t even bother knocking as I barge in. He looks up from his computer and continues his conversation but stares at me. It’s business, but the way he speaks makes me think he’s talking directly to me.
I step over to the wall where a photograph of a man is hanging. He looks like Whiskey, except older.
“That’s my father. This was his business.”
“And what exactly is this business.” I cross my hands over my chest as I wait for him to answer.
“You didn’t google it?” he asks.
“Emma did, but the only conclusion she could come up with is that you’re rich.”
“You are rich,” he adds.
“True, so what makes you rich?”
“Bad men,” he says, and a shiver goes up my spine.
“How?”
I notice the phone is down on his desk, and he’s watching me, and not answering me.
“Are you close?” I ask, stepping away and over to his desk. My fingers run along the hard wood until they come to the corner.
“We were. He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
Whiskey shrugs and closes something on his computer before he looks back up to me.
“You didn’t answer my calls. Again.”
“I was busy.”
“So, I heard.” He stands from his desk, and now that he does, he’s closer to me, only inches away. He leans in, so we are even closer, and I can smell his cologne. It’s a masculine scent mixed with something sweet. I like it. A lot.
“Your father called, asked what he needed to pay for.”
“Did he?” is all I manage to say back breathlessly.
“He did. I don’t want money from your father.”
“It’s not for you, it is for our wedding. It’s what a father does,” I argue back.
His lip lifts and he shakes his head. “No. I will be paying for it all. I won’t be taking one dime from that man.”
I heard his accent, it got thicker when he’s mad. I’ve never noticed it before.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asks, but just before I can tell him, the door opens, and heels click on his floor. I turn my head at the same time he does, and when I do, I see her. Blonde hair as white as the clouds in the sky. A dress—I try to not laugh, but I’m not all that successful—that’s so short I can almost see the color of her panties. And eyes so blue you’d think you were staring at a deep ocean.
Her eyes flick from myself to Whiskey, then they stick on him. “He told me, but I didn’t believe it.” Her eyes fall to my hand where that ring sits, and I have the urge to move it around to hide it away from her eyes, because it’s as if I’m physically hurting her. “So, it’s true. You are engaged?”
“Serena,” Whiskey says, but I already realized it’s her, I’ve seen pictures, but she looks different her hair is shorter and the pictures I see she’s always dressed in some type of gown. The way Whiskey says her name, it’s laced with feeling and emotion. It’s the first time I’ve seen or heard anything like it from him. Serena’s hands clutch her sides, and tears threaten to break free, but somehow, she manages to hold them back.
“I loved you. I would have given you all of me,” she says, as if I’m not standing between the two of them, is she choosing to ignore that I’m the one currently wearing his ring on my finger?
“I know,” he replies, “but we agreed, you knew we weren’t right.”
A single tear leaks free from her eye and runs down her cheek.
