CHAPTER 1
TOMÁS
“Trust me, man, you donotwant this.”
I look at the lock screen my colleague, Trent, is pointing to on his phone. Smiling faces stare back at me, spanning from Trent and his wife to their four children ranging in age from early teens to no older than five, maybe six years old.
“Don’t get me wrong, I lucked out. My wife is not only smoking hot, but she also lives for that housewife shit. Cooking, cleaning, she handles and loves all of it. Thank god, because after the hours I put in at the office, I don’t have the mental capacity or desire to deal with any of it once I get home. Or at all. Am I right, guys?” Trent laughs, looking around at our colleagues who all share in his laughter.
I don’t find anything Trent said amusing. He couldn’t sound more misogynistic if he tried.
People like him, arrogant and entitled, are in serious need of a reality check… or a punch to the fucking jaw. Unfortunately for me, since my recent promotion to junior partner at Turner & Vize Law technically makes me his superior, so I can’t shut him up —or punch him— the way I’d like to.
Trent continues. “Still, as good as I have it, marriage, kids, all of it, it’s fucking hell. I…”
Unable to handle another second of Trent’s rambling, in fear that I’ll lose control and direct the fist clenched at my side to his smug face, I cut in.
“How’s it hell?” I don’t bother hiding the disgust in my tone.
Trent loosens his tie as his gaze falls to the cluttered surface of half-finished drinks on the table that he reserved for us at Luxe, the exclusive gentleman’s club he’s a member of. Coming here tonight was his idea. He invited us under the guise of some colleague bonding time. But now that I’ve heard how much he can’t stand his life, clearly it was a ploy to escape his family for the night.
“Well, for starters, thisthing—” He pauses, raising his left hand as he wiggles his ring finger. “Doesn’t help me get some here, or anywhere for that matter. It’s like a repellent,” he scoffs. “Actually, a death sentence is more accurate.”
Everyone chuckles once again. Everyone except for me.
Death sentence?Seriously?
Does this ungrateful prick realize how many people wish for what he has? Or how many would kill to be in his position?
Hell,Iwould kill to be in his position.
And the worst part is I have no one to blame for that other than myself. I’ve spent so long focused on getting to where I am now, that I seemed to have forgotten that you can have all the accolades, success, and money you’ve ever dreamed of, but if you have no one to share it with, that loves you how you love them— unconditionally— it’s all hollow and meaningless.
Yet here Trent is, unappreciative and acting like what he has is a burden. It fucking sickens me, almost as much as that smug look on his face does.
“Trent,” I singsong his name sarcastically. “C’mon, buddy, you’re a smart man. Why would you assume the ring you’rewearing has anything to do with why anyone with an ounce of discernment or common sense would wantyou?”
Stunned silence meets my rhetorical dig and since he’s unable to string together a retort, I take the opportunity to continue.
“You’re married. You shouldn’t be looking for anyone. And not just that, you’re married to a woman who takes on the full burden of the household while you’re busy doing god knows what since we all know your billable hours leave much to be desired.”
Trent winces. It appears the truth has rendered him speechless. He should consider himself lucky that he’s talking to Tomás Ramos, attorney and businessman. If this were years ago, and he got the version of me I’ve suppressed from my early teen years, this conversation wouldn’t be via words but through physical force.
I’m used to dealing with assholes like Trent, but that doesn’t make it any easier to sit still and handle it in stride. At least in this setting, outside of work, I have control over whether I stay or not. Since I only agreed thinking an outing would help my mounting stress levels which it hasn’t I rise from my chair to leave.
I say goodbye to everyone, watching through the corner of my eye as Trent gets up from his seat. To my surprise, he reaches out his hand for me to shake.
“Thanks for coming out tonight, Ramos.”
“Yep,” I say flatly, fully aware that I should leave it at that, except I can’t. Squeezing his hand, I pull him in close, making it appear as if I’m about to give him a hug, but it’s really to spare him the embarrassment of our colleagues hearing what I’m about to say. “The next time you disrespect your wife like that in front of me, I won’t be so poised with my response.”
“Excuse me?” Shock lines his vocal cords.
“You heard me. She’s your wife. She deserves your respect.”
Trent peels his hand away from me. “I think you’ve had one too many there, buddy,” he says, deflecting from the truth, as he peers down at my polished-off whiskey glass I left on the table.
“I’m not your buddy.”
