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She turned away from me and the moment was lost. I took a deep breath while the stylist began putting pins in random places on the clothes, but I kept my ears tuned to her conversation as she began to talk.
“Hey, Greyson,” she said.
Of course, it was him.
“Greyson. Greyson? Can you hear me?”
I watched her nose crinkle as she held the phone to her ear. The smile dropped from her face, and her shoulders rolled back, and I knew where she was headed. Something had thrown her into defensive mode, and I felt my fists ball up at my sides.
“Loose hands, please,” the stylist said.
She stood there with the phone at her ear, her back turned to us as her body slowly slumped. I heard her say Greyson’s name one last time before she hung up the phone, but when she turned around, I could see her eyes were red.
“Stella?” I asked. “Is everything alright?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said flatly.
“Was he there?”
“I think he butt-dialed me,” she said.
“Then why do you look like you’ve just been stabbed in the heart?” I asked.
“I’d rather not say.”
“Stella, could I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she said breathlessly.
“Why are you with him?” I asked.
And she looked up at me with glistening eyes before she shrugged her shoulders and sighed.
“I really don’t know,” she said. “But I have to go.”
“Well, hold on. Let me get changed and I’ll help you.”
“Get the suit. The green looks fabulous, find one more dress shirt with a tie that looks good. Maybe blue. That’ll bring out your eyes. I have to go.”
“Stella, wait just a second.”
“See you at the office,” she said, sniffling.
And with that, she was gone.
Chapter Fourteen
Stella
After thinking about the phone call for a couple of days, I finally decided to confront Greyson. He was dodging my calls and not returning my text messages, so showing up at his home was the only option I had. My mind was spinning with every single excuse I could concoct: maybe the woman’s voice I heard was on the television. Maybe he was in a meeting with a woman. Maybe he was helping a woman who was in labor or in pain.
But deep down, I knew what I had heard. And I wanted to see if Greyson would be man enough to admit it to me.
I pulled up to his home at 7, an hour before I was due at the office. We needed to talk. In my heart, I wanted him to look me in the eye and tell me it was all in my head. That the butt-dial phone call where I heard his grunting and a woman’s panting was nothing more than a workout partner or him saving someone’s day.
