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Truthfully, I spend more time with my boss than I do with my own husband.
Perhaps that’s why you’re getting a divorce.
A deep sigh escapes my lips, and I flop down onto the soft white comforter. The room is beautiful—pink walls, white bedding, and an insane view of the turquoise ocean. Although I know Marion arranged the trip because she thought it would be good for Steven and me, it is precisely what I needed. Screw my no-good ex. He doesn’t deserve this type of treatment.
The stress has already begun to ease in my shoulders, and I feel lighter than I have in weeks. Getting rid of two hundred pounds of useless man can do that to you. If Steven were here he’d have us signed up for volleyball or touring ruins that I don’t care to see. He would never take a nap when the sun was out or just sit on the beach with a book. Which meant I never did either.
As my eyes close, I try to convince myself that the smile on my lips is from this newfound freedom and not from the three hours I just spent flirting with a stranger.
When I wake, the sun is lower, the sky a brilliant shade of pink, and the room is lit in a soft glow. I turn to the clock and see it’s already past seven p.m.
Great, I wasted my first day of sun by sleeping inside.
But wait, I wanted to sleep. And I liked my nap. And I feel rested. It’s going to take some time to decondition myself from Steven’s voice in my head, but I’m intent on not living my life for him any longer.
I stretch my arms out and extend my legs over the entire length of the bed. There is just something about having all this space to myself. Although, I guess that is going to be my life going forward.
A pinch of nervous excitement fills me. Will I keep the house? Or will Steven and his hussy move in?
Without even thinking about it, I know I’ll give it up. I can’t live in a space where I thought we’d be raising children. I remember when we first saw the house, how we had walked from room to room, and I’d laid out my visions to Steven and the realtor. Dreams of a nursery and a playroom in the basement. I’ll never be able to erase those memories, and I don’t want to live in the past.
Mentally I tick that off my list of things to discuss in the divorce settlement. For the time being, I can stay in the city at the apartment Marion keeps. She no longer uses it as she prefers to be at home with her husband, Asher, and she’s offered it to me time and again when I have late client meetings.
I’m guessing those nights when I was too exhausted to drive home to the suburbs were the same nights my husband was seducing a woman in my house. The thought makes my stomach turn. Or maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t eaten since I woke up this morning. The only thing I’ve put in my body all day was champagne. I probably drank a bottle myself this morning.
Memories of my delicious neighbor on the plane bring a smile to my face. I haven’t felt that alive, or that brave, in a long time. But the fun ended as soon as we got to the hotel. I’m a chickenshit. There was no way I was really going to sleep with him—I was just a tease.
For a second, I hoped he would have grabbed my hand and told me he wasn’t taking no for an answer. I want to be dominated, for him to want me so badly that he can’t control his movements. That’s not real life though. He simply said goodbye like a gentleman. I know that scenario I had concocted in my mind is nothing more than a fantasy—something that will keep me warm at night, but not at all real.
As I get up and imagine him waiting at the bar earlier, wondering if I was going to show, I laugh at myself. I’m sure he found someone while sitting at lunch and hasn’t thought about me since. As disappointing as the thought is, it’s the reality of my life. He’s too young, too good-looking, and clearly too much of a playboy for me. I’m not what he wants, and he certainly isn’t what I’m looking for. Which is nothing. I’m looking to enjoy a few days, recharge, and get ready for my next assignment. Once I’ve matched this last couple, I will get my promotion, my divorce, and then I can think about moving on with my life.
I pull a black wrap dress from my bag and set it out to remove the wrinkles while I take a quick shower. When I get out, I blow-dry my hair and let it fall in soft waves against my shoulders. I’ve always loved my thick, long hair that tumbles halfway down my back. It’s easily one of my best attributes, next to my eyes.
Violet eyes. They really are more brown in the dark, but in the right lighting they take on the deep purple color which always has people commenting. Interestingly, Cash said nothing about them. Obviously, he wasn’t as interested as he acted. I apply a smoky purple shadow whichenhances the color and leave my lips their natural peach with only a gloss.
Pleased with my appearance, and not really worried about impressing anyone but myself, I set off for the bar. Earlier, I noticed there was one located in the restaurant so I won’t have to sit at a table alone. Just in case, I grab my book so I have something to do while waiting for my food.
I’m no stranger to eating alone. In my profession, with late nights and events I often have to attend, I spend plenty of evenings alone at a bar eating dinner. I don’t even mind. Half the time when Steven and I would be at a restaurant he’d be looking at his phone or we’d be sitting across from each other with nothing to say. And to be honest, I just thought that was normal. What does that say about my expectations of marriage?
I’ve seen couples with chemistry. I created the chemistry. I’d sat in the corner and watched them on dates and the men didn’t stare at their phones—I’d trained them to never do that.
There weren’t lulls in their conversation unless the date was a dud. Which, once again, didn’t happen because Marion didn’t find duds. Even people that weren’t perfect matches had enough in common to make conversation through a meal.
But not Steven and me.
I wonder if Marion noticed. Did she think we were a perfect match? Or did she purse her lips. I try to remember what she thought of him when I introduced them, but I think I was so enamored with him, and so in awe of my boss, that I wasn’t astute enough to look for the signs. It certainly felt like she’d given us her blessing; she hosted the bridal shower and doted on me like a proud aunt. As my mother’s best friend and my Godmother, it’s a role she relished. Somehow, she’s now become one of my closest friends too. I hate thinking how disappointed she’ll be once she knows the truth.
Spotting an empty seat at the bar, I sit down and order a drink. As soon as the cocktail is pushed forward—a dirty martini with extra blue-cheese olives—I slide the stick into my mouth and moan as the bursts of flavor hit my tongue. I’m starving, and these olives are giving me life.
“I thought you said I didn’t like women with big breasts and skirts?” Cash’s smooth voice whispers against my neck. I arch my back, surprised by the way his voice alone sends a thrill straight between my legs.
Without missing a beat, I turn around. “I said short skirts.”
He smiles as his eyes drift to my legs. The black wrap dress I’m wearing has parted, and the fabric has fallen to a dangerous angle which exposes almost my entire leg up to my panty line. I quickly pull the fabric over my legs and feel a blush creep onto my cheeks.
“Ah, but you were right about me liking a challenge. Strangely enough, I thought you said you weren’t going to be one for the next few days.”
I bat my lashes. “That’s the thing about challenging girls; they tend to change their minds.”
