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I pull up the robe and see the little fingerprint bruises on my hip. My finger brushes against them as I close my eyes. The brief flashes of pain remind me of the way he held me last night. The way he forced me against the railing as he fucked me in the open where anyone could see.
It should have been a fantasy come to life, and my body certainly appreciated it. But something was off about it. Something was off about him.
He was angry, and I don’t know why. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I sigh and try to push it, along with my fears and loneliness, to the back of my mind. There will be plenty of time to talk about what happened when I get back to New York tonight. There’s no need to muddy today with thoughts that won’t have answers.
I move back to the coffee pot and that’s when I notice something out of place. Someone’s slid a manilla envelope under the door. When did that get there, and what could it be?
I pour myself some coffee and add two packs of sugar and a touch of powdered creamer. Not my favorite, but it’s all I have.
As I stare at the envelope, I realize that this is exactly the kind of funny thing that Em might do. Who else would have left something at my door?
A flutter of excitement stirs in me. He left me roses. What else could he have done?
When I bend over to pick up the envelope, I notice that my name is written in black sharpie on the front. I’m grinning as I open the envelope. God, I love that man.
At first I’m confused because there are photos inside the envelope. I don’t remember Em ever taking pictures. But as I look at them, my breath catches.
It’s a photo of a place I know well. Beautiful plaster columns in front of a grandiose doorway. I can even see the gravel that separates the circle drive from the porch. More than anything, I could never forget the door. A frosted glass ‘A’ is inset in the dark wood.
And in front of that door is Em and the woman he went to the red carpet event the night before last. Her arms are wrapped around him, her lips pressed to his neck.
She’s wearing the same silver dress with cutouts that she wore at the event.
I drop the envelope as shock runs through me. A dead phone and no text messages for a whole day. The way he’d come all the way to Pittsburgh and then acted so strangely. More than anything, that look in his eyes.
Rage boils inside me. He swore that he never took anyone back to his house. Not even his friends. I could have overlooked the way she’s got her arms around him as part of the act. I could even have forgiven how close her face is to his.
But bringing her home…
That’s unforgiveable. He promised me he wouldn’t hide things from me. That he wouldn’t do all the things I was afraid he’d do.
I know I should be sad, but sadness is the furthest thing from the way I’m feeling right now. There’s no room for pain when I’m so full of anger.
I told him that if he ever cheated or lied, I’d be gone. Unlike him, I keep my promises.
Chapter 49
Emery
I needed to see Madison last night. After having to go to that damn event two days ago and then not being able to talk to her at all yesterday, I felt like I’d lost a part of myself. Like the happiness had been sucked out of me.
For the first time since she left to go on this business trip, when I walk into the office this morning, I’m not frustrated. She’s coming home tonight, and then we get four days together. It feels like I can breathe again, and I do my best not to think about the fact that she’s going to go even further away on her next trip.
But this is part of the job. No one else in the office travels, but now I’m realizing that Madison won’t do anything like the rest of the people in the office. She won’t adhere to “normal”.
I think that’s partly what draws me to her. I’ve never met someone who is so good at flipping everything I think I know on its head.
There’s a steady hum of activity as I cross the idea room. I’m running a few minutes late this morning after leaving Pittsburgh at two in the morning. It was almost painful pulling myself away from Madison.
Settling into my chair, I smile at no one in particular. Life is pretty damn perfect today.
Then my phone rings. It’s Howard Landish, the lead cameraman working with Madison.
“Good morning, Mr. Brooks,” he says. His tone of voice sounds worried. Almost afraid.
“What’s going on, Howard?” I don’t need to have any small talk right now. There’s only one reason he’d be calling me instead of talking to Madison. There’s something wrong with her.
