CHAPTER 2
VANESSA
Five months ago
“Happy divorce day. Congrats on being Vanessa Meyers once again,” I mutter to myself, picking up my celebratory amaretto sour and slinging back half the contents in one gulp.
I set the glass down, pressing at my lips with a napkin, careful not to mess up my lipstick because I worked too damn hard to look this good. The last thing I wanted to be doing today was sitting in a bar alone in New York City. I thought this day—now that it hasfinallycome—would be celebrated with friends and family, but no. It’s just me.
Alone.Again.
I’ve finally accepted reality—Neal won our friends in the divorce. I guess I should wonder if they were ever really my friends at all if they can pick that cheating, lying sack of shit over me, but it still wouldn’t make it hurt any less that I’m sitting here all alone on such a life-altering night.
Not even my dad and stepmom are here. They’re out with my hockey-playing stepbrother. I get it—Reed rarely comes to New York these days unless his team, the Seattle Serpents, is playing,but did they really have to ditch me to hang with him? On today of all days? Sure, they invited me to go along with them, but I wasn’t feeling like being the awkward fifth wheel since my brother’s girlfriend is here too.
I wanted tonight to be aboutme. Selfish? Perhaps, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone said I was. In fact, people have said a lot of things about me over the last year-plus. They’ve called me cruel. Vindictive. Bitchy.Vengeful.
None of it bothers me. Why should it? They’d be the same way if they found out their husband of less than six months—the man I gave five years of my life to—somehow managed to fall dick first into his secretary.Of fucking courseI’m mad at the world. I have every damn right to be.
I just wish all that spite and revenge actually meant something. Sure, Neal lost his fancy high-paying job when I sent the video of him banging his secretary to his boss, but it didn’t feel nearly as good as I hoped it would. Much like this celebratory drink doesn’t feel as good as I wanted it to.
If I’m being honest, nothing about this day feels good. I’ve been looking forward to my divorce being finalized for sixteen long months, thanks to Neal dragging it out far longer than he needed to, but it doesn’t feel as freeing as I thought it would.
It just feels…sad.Ifeel sad.
“Hey there, sweetheart.”
I turn to find a guy who looks to be about my age slipping onto the stool next to me. Crisp white polo and pressed slacks. Loafers. Dark blond hair slicked back in a way that looks purposeful yet effortless all at once. He looks like a total boy-next-door kind of guy.
I remember when I fell for that once upon a time.
“How do you know?”
“Pardon?” he says into his half-empty beer as he brings it to his lips, a shiny silver watch catching the bar lights and nearly blinding me.
I lean closer, not missing how his eyes drop to my cleavage. I wore my very favorite dress tonight, the silky midnight-blue one that hugs every curve and leaves little to the imagination.
“How do you know? How do you know I’m asweetheart?”
He chuckles. “Well, I suppose I don’t. But you sure look sweet, and I’d love to find out if you are.”
He rolls his tongue over his lips, eyes sweeping over me appreciatively, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the attention. But unfortunately, this guy is doing nothing for me. He reminds me too much of everything I lost for that to be the case.
The familiar ache that settled into my chest the night I found out about Neal’s indiscretion makes itself known again. I’ve never been one to feel bad for myself, at least not until The Video happened. Since then, I’ve been finding myself alternating between anger and sadness, and I hate it. I want my old life back. I want to go back to being the girl who always held her head up high and commanded a room. Not the girl who got cheated on and can barely hold it together half the time.
A hand lands on my arm, and I glance down.
A wedding ring.
Suddenly, I don’t want to be ogled or flirted with. I want to be left alone to sulk.
There go those damn mood swings again.
“Want to go somewhere a little quieter and get to know each other?” he asks, not realizing I’ve caught on to his game.
“While the offer isoh so tempting,” I say, each word dripping with sarcasm, “I’m fine where I am.”
I shake his hand off me and give him my shoulder. To anyone else, it would be obvious I’m dismissing them. This guy doesn’ttake the hint, though. He leans in closer, his breath smelling like a horrible IPA, and I scrunch my nose in disgust. It doesn’t deter him.
