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I’m guessing Matt’s office should be somewhere up the backstairs on the second floor, but I decided to ask anyway.
“Hi, I’m looking for Mr. Battaglia. Can you tell me where he is, please?” I asked a girl with purple hair who was counting money behind the bar. She looked at me from head to toe with a disgusted look, taking her sweet time before replying.
“Mr. Battaglia doesn’t do reruns, Doll. There’s no use in wasting your time coming after him. I can understand why you're hooked. It’s pretty hard to forget a TOM when you find one, and I know from personal experience that’s what he is, to say the least. But save your efforts for someone who will give a damn,” she said with a nasty grin on her face.
“He’s a what?”
“A TOM?” She grunted to my face, leaning over the counter, talking louder as if I was experiencing some hearing problem. “A triple orgasm machine. I know. Been there and done that. Good, right? Just out of reach for seconds, thirds, or whatever you’re after.”
“Just tell me where the fuck he is,” I spat, losing any ounce of patience my body still held. Hearing someone talking about my husband’s performance in bed had my stomach twisting in anger. I knew I wasn’t his first, but fuck, it still rubbed me the wrong way.
“Upstairs in his office,” she said, motioning to the stairs at the end of the club. “But like I said, Doll, it doesn’t matter how pretty you think you are, he probably won’t even remember who you are. He's already moved on to his next conquest. Not even being married sways him away from his normal self.” Her voice was full of pride as if her words were the final cut of all the blades she’d been throwing my way.
I turned to leave, heading for the stairs as Max arrived, before thinking twice and spinning on my heels towards her again. She needed that bitchy grin swept off her face for good.
“Back so soon?”
“Yeah, I’m back. Just came to tell you that you’re fired, Doll!” Her brows furrowed in confusion, stuck staring at me with a disgusted expression on her face.
“Fired?” Her voice rose an octave and then some, “By whose order?” She asked in that obnoxious tone of voice, questioning my authority.
“By whose order, Max?” I mocked, placing my hands on my hips. “Oh, right! Your new boss, Mrs. Battaglia. That would be me. Now get the hell out of my club before I personally throw you out.” I ordered, locking my arms around my chest, waiting for her to pick up her jaw from the floor.
I was beyond pissed, and right now, I couldn’t give a damn if she was the Pope to Matt’s Holy Church. She had to go, and she had to go right now.
Max stifled a laugh, badly. I could still hear him from behind me as the girl removed her apron and left the bar, constricting the little temper tantrum I saw brewing behind her eyes, not going too far, afraid of any repercussions.
I watched her leave, giving her a condescending little wave goodbye when she looked back just before the door closed behind her.
“He’s in his office.” I turned to Max, who was still trying to hide his laughter. “Do you mind leading the way?” He nodded, his smile still barely concealed under the nod of confirmation he gave me. “What?”
“Nothing. That was just hilarious. The look on her face was priceless. I never really cared for her, and you just wiped the smirk off her smug face in a sentence!” He chuckled as we walked up the stairs.
“I don’t know who she is or how important to the business she was, but she had it coming,” I replied, laughing on the outside while her comments stung me inside like a ravenous swarm.
I knocked on the door while Max stood behind me. By now, I was sure Matt must have ordered him to follow me closer than my own shadow because he wasn’t even giving me enough breathing space.
I knocked again, since there was no answer, and received nothing again.
Pushing the door open, I stepped inside and, after barely crossing the threshold, I saw Matt sitting in his chair, the back turned to us. He was facing the tall floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the entire club.
It took a second glance and three more steps inside his office for me to see the blonde girl kneeling between his legs. She gasped in surprise, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand as she noticed our presence. As she stood up, Matt’s chair spun slightly towards us, and it was clear there was no misunderstanding. It was indeed Matt sitting on that goddamn chair.
My husband!
MY FUCKING HUSBAND!!!
I fought the sting of tears that threatened to spill right there. Inhaling deeply, trying to regain my poise, I swallowed the lump in my throat, not wanting to crumble in front of all of them. Max, the blonde, and especially Matt. He didn’t even have the decency to get up.
He didn’t reach for me. He didn’t pull her off him. He didn’t even react. Nothing.
“Max, please get me out of here. Take me home,” I said, walking out of that place as if it were infected by a deadly disease.
Max guided me back to the car, his head hanging low, taking me straight home in a silent drive charged with pity. Fuck that. I didn’t need anyone’s pity.
He followed me up to the apartment like a shadow, and I locked myself in what was supposed to be the spare bedroom.
The sting was gone. I couldn’t find a tear to shed or a cry to weep as I sat down on the edge of the bed, looking straight into nothing. The only feelings invading me now were shame and anger. A deadly mix that constricted my airways, making it hard to breathe.
