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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Harper
The music is a little louder than normal, but I’m desperate to drown out the hammering and drilling next door. Every day, it’s a painful reminder of the lengths someone would go to just to get what they want.
Well, he won.
The building is his.
I don’t even really care anymore that he won the bid, and I didn’t. I mean, did it suck, finding out? Hell yeah, it did. I had plans for that space, dreams even. This expansion would have meant the potential influx in business for Kiss Me Goodnight, by bringing in more local product and expanding my inventory. I can probably figure out how to still make some of that happen in my current space, though it’ll be a little more challenging.
What hurts the most is being made the fool. Being duped. Trusting someone and having him let you down. Should I have questioned him after I started to suspect he was the other bidder? Yes. I know that. But he should have told me. Maybe not in the beginning, but the moment we started sharing a bed (or a wall or floor, in some cases), he should have come clean about everything.
Instead, he kept it to himself.
And slept with me.
My gut starts to churn with anxiety as I think back to our fight. He tried to defend himself, though I really didn’t give him much of a chance to speak. That’s one of my faults, not to listen when I get so worked up. I blame my dad for that fun trait. But in the end, I just couldn’t get past the truth: he slept with me for the building.
Thatwas the most painful realization of them all. That someone I care about, someone I fell in l-word with, would do something so dirty. So cheap.
Yes, l-word. I refuse to say it.
Instead, I’m going to put it all behind me. I’m going to make a few changes to my shop and inquire about a small loan to remodel and expand my product line. Rhenn has already given me a few suggestions, and even offered to have Ryan Elson, my cousin Jaime’s husband, come by on their next visit, to give me a few ideas. I have space here; I just need to figure out how to maximize it.
I’ve been working late into the evening, most nights, to make the most of my space. Well, that and because I can’t sleep. When I’m at home, I think about Latham, and he’s the last person I want to think about. Even Snuggles has been sad. She mopes around, setting her head on my leg and giving me the worst case of puppy-eyes I’ve ever seen.
She misses him.
Just like me.
The weather is as crappy outside as my mood. Even the upbeat tunes of the Backstreet Boys can’t seem to bring me out of my Saturday morning funk. Free should be here anytime, and her objective was this: largest mocha with as many espressos as she can legally add and something sweet that could induce a sugar coma. I don’t care about healthy anything this week (or the last two, if I’m being honest). When I finally feel up to it, I’ll go back to the gym. For now, I’m going to continue eating crap and drinking too much caffeine, the way my mama told me not to.
The bell over the door chimes, pulling my attention from the super soft pajama sets I just got in. There’s no doubt these babies are going to fly off the shelves when I get them priced and on display. I glance up, expecting to see my best friend blowing through the front door like a hurricane, but it’s not Free.
It’s Felicity.
“Well, good morning,” she coos in her fake, over-the-top voice that makes me want to stick pencils through my eardrums.
I swallow the reply I long to give, and turn on my own sugary-sweet greeting. “Good morning.” Even though I’d rather tell her to turn right around and walk into traffic, I decide to be the bigger person here. I mean, if she’s willing to fork over a little money to outfit her next conquest, who am I to turn that profit down? “To what do I owe the pleasure this morning?”
I literally hurts to be nice.
“I have a date tonight, and I need something…amazing,” she replies, glancing around at the nearest displays. There’s no missing the look of disregard on her face as she glance at the soft pink nightgown on the mannequin. She quickly bypasses the timeless, breathtaking piece (the one I have at home – that Latham seemed to love so much) and hurries over to the leather and lace section. Clearly this is more her speed, not that I’d expect anything less.
There’s also no missing the Douglas Hardware Store T-shirt she’s wearing, that she clearly found in the kids’ section of the store. Her fake boobs look like they’re going to rip the sides of the shirt at any moment.
“We have plenty of items to fit your date night needs,” I tell her, abandoning my new pj’s and meeting her on the far side of the store.
Felicity quickly picks up a black bra with gold edging. The cups are sheer, as is the matching thong panties. “This looks a tad cheap, doesn’t it?” she asks, her mouth in a nasty little sneer.
“Are you referring to the undergarments or the woman potentially wearing them?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She looks up and pops her gum, rolling her eyes so wide, there’s a good chance she just saw her brain. Felicity tosses down the bra and panties on the table, completely disregarding the outfit. She makes her way over to a red corset – the only one left in the store – and pulls it off the shelf. She fingers and plays with the material, running her hand over the cups, and essentially fondles the shit out of the bustier. “This is nice.”
“There are matching panties too. I only have the one size left though. I could probably order something for you, if that doesn’t fit.”
She checks the sizing. “It’s a small. Are you saying I can’t fit into a small?”
