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"No, I'm going," Clarissa says, her lips set in a thin line.
"Hey, don't let me stop you," I say, holding my hands up. "I'm sure there's a shoe sale somewhere out there that you haven't hit yet."
Fury and loathing is the look of choice that she shoots me before she pushes through the circle and disappears into the crowd, leaving a faint waft of Dior's Balade Sauvage. A fitting scent. Savage, indeed.
"So, how've you been?" I ask Leanne, ready to forget the unpleasantness of an unexpected run-in with my brother's ex.
She just shakes her head at me, as if disappointed in something I've said.
Frankly, I'm kind of getting used to that.
Chapter 5
Clarissa
Iwalk,no,run, toward the stairs, practically flinging myself down them.
Fucking Baxters.
Does nothing good ever come out of them? Fucking fuckhead, fucktard, fucking dickface fuckers! Every single fucking one of them.
Not just Damien, but fucking Gerry too, who'd promised me that our plan was going to work. Gerry, who I'd believed even when I knew he was the last person who should ever be believed.
And now, they're all flying high while I'm stuck in a fucking run-down building, sleeping on a dusty couch and showering at the gym a block away from my "home".
And to think that Leanne was trying to set me up with one of them. The worst of them, in fact. At least Damien was serious with his work and wasn't a manwhore. Wasn't it just a few weeks ago that Matthias was reported to have knocked up two women?
I hope he catches something that turns his dick green and oozing and it falls off, then it's dipped in rancid hot sauce and fed to him. Hope he chokes on his pustulating, gangrenous pickledick!
Fuck!
Andhe'd outed my business to everyone. Once he dropped the information, Halifax had looked at me like I'd looked at Matthias.
The front door sticks so I slam my body against it and fall out into the warm late spring afternoon. I inhale deeply, then exhale with a loud "pahhhh" trying to expel the anger from my mind and body.
Fuck!
Blinded by rage, I step out onto the street, trying to flag a cab. But it's five p.m. and they're all full. I don't really have the presence of mind to book a Lyft on my phone so I just keep my arm in the air, taking in deep, deep breaths.
A few seconds go by before I realize my cheeks are dripping with tears. I can't remember the last time I cried, or at least the last time I let myself cry. But these are tears of anger, of frustration, spurred on by a man from the same family who's responsible for where I am in my life right now.
A car horn startles me out of self-pity as a cab rushes by me, leaving a hot cloud of fuel in its wake.
Shit.
I'm going to get myself run over if I don't start paying attention.
Another cab turns onto the road and it looks empty. I raise my hand, just as someone wraps their arms around my bicep and yanks me back.
It's Matthias, with a smug fucking grin on his face.
"Hey," he snickers, his voice saturated with self-satisfaction. Can one word make you want to slap someone? Because he's just proven it can.
"What do you want? Shouldn't you go inside to perform for your adoring audience?"
The left side of his mouth lifts into an ironic curl. "Oh, Rissie, have you forgotten? Everywhere I go, there's an adoring audience." I can't help but let out a snort. "Oh, so you agree? Why I'm flattered." He bends at the waist in a deep bow. It makes me want to shove him down and knee him in the fucking balls.
"I agree about as much as I agree that you should step out onto the road in front of that truck!"
