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“Well, seeing as it’s nearly Christmas, I had no choice but to let you try the Gingerbread latte today.”
“Oh my God, thank you,” I say before blowing him a kiss. Grabbing the cup between both hands, the steaming drink warms my insides, the cinnamon lingers in the air.
Shifting in his seat, he presses his gaze to me. “Maddie texted me over the weekend,” he starts, his voice quiet. “Are you okay? I heard about what happened with Jamie. You should have texted me Si, you know I’d love to punch him square in the jaw.” Concern drips from his tone.
I know David hates Jamie.
David and Jamie’s history goes back way beyond me. They used to work together at Jamie’s dad’s law firm until Jamie stole David’s promotion from under him.
“I fucking wish I never introduced you two. I’m so fucking sorry he did this. I could kill the prick for laying his hands on you, Si,” he says, placing his hand over mine.
“Honestly, it’s fine. I’m okay, just a little shaken up. I’m more bloody embarrassed than anything. I don’t even recognize the man he’s become. The hatred in his eyes and his anger at the club Friday was fucking weird,” I explain, rambling. “Have you heard anything? Why is he so obsessed with trying to get me back? He cheated on me - clearly, he didn’t love me that much.”
“I’ll ask around, Si. I have a hunch this little drug problem of his goes back longer than we think. He’s a snaky asshole. Just be careful.”
“YesDad,” I mock, raising a brow.
He tips his head back, laughing. “Jesus Si, are you really calling me Daddy now?”
“You two! It's barely the start of the day. Shut the fuck up and log on to work. Don’t make me move you to separate ends of the office. Again.” Alan points at us, disapproving, as he stands in his office doorway.
He shoots David a look, and we smirk and turn to face our computer screens.
“Sorry Alan.” I try not to giggle.
The door slams shut. David leans over onto my side of the desk.
“You still up for drinks with me and Maddie Friday? Please come,” he pleads, giving me those puppy eyes.
I can’t resist those sparkling emeralds. I fake roll my eyes dramatically. “Oh, if I must.”
* * *
The rest of the week flies by. I keep myself busy with work during the day and the new series,Good Girlsin the evenings on the sofa with Maddie. Still, every day I’m receiving apology texts from Jamie from unknown numbers. On Wednesday, a box of one hundred blood-red everlasting roses is delivered with a note.
“Everlasting roses just like my love for you. I’m sorry.”
Me and Maddie spent the evening chopping the roses up into a bin bag.
He always bought me red roses, thinking they were my favorite. Because every woman likes red roses, how original. Well, I don’t.
If he’d have taken the time to even ask, he’d know I hate them. My dad used to buy a bouquet for my mom every week on his way home from work. After he left us, if anyone happened to buy her roses, she’d be off on a week’s bender.
Now it’s Friday. I’m standing, wrapped in a towel, dripping wet, swiping through the dresses in my wardrobe, deciding what to wear tonight.
I’m feeling something black, tight, and sexy. My fingers run down the black sequined cocktail dress, the tags still hanging from the label. I bought this dress for a charity dinner for Jamie's firm a few months ago. But he’d told me I looked like a stripper, so I changed into a longer red dress, not wanting to ruin the evening and piss him off.
Ripping off the tags and throwing them in the small trash can, I place the dress on the bed and focus on my hair and make-up. The events of last weekend invade my mind, as I dip the eyeliner in the black ink. I guess Keller really wasn’t interested in seeing me again.Sigh.
The whole week, the memories of his touch, his power, hell, even his deep raspy dirty voice made me hot as fuck. Every night I had to use my purple friend to find some sort of relief.
But every night I was left feeling disappointed. I need to get over it. I can’t keep imagining being with a man I haven’t even had. He isn’t and can’t be mine. Tonight I need to find someone to scratch this itch. I doubt they’ll even come close to Keller, but I have to try.
Maddie comes strolling into the room, dressed to the nines. Her platinum blonde hair is straight, resting just over her boobs, like a mermaid. Her make-up is natural, emphasizing her contoured cheekbones, and clear gloss draws attention to her plump lips. She’s wearing a metallic silver dress, with spaghetti straps, that just about covers her butt. I suppose being taller with legs for days, most dresses come up short. I don’t have that problem.
Plonking the prosecco next to me at the dressing table, the bubbles spilling over the rim of the glass.
“Si, we only have half an hour before we need to leave. Let me do your hair,” she says as she’s already grabbing the hair dryer and brush.
