I Love My Healed Heart: 4 Book Box Set/Omnibus (Erotic Romance) (10 page)

I look at
her expectantly, but she keeps watching the show. Does she know where I was and
who I was with? Please let her not know. Please let her remain clueless and
happy. Well, she’s never happy. Let her remain bitchy and disenchanted with
life. Anything but vindictive and murderous. Please? She side-eyeballs me with
an expression I can’t read. I raise my eyebrows and stare at her, waiting and
terrified on the inside, totally and completely cool, on the outside.

She turns
her head away from me, looks back to the models, but leans over and whispers to
me from the corner of her mouth, “I need a drink.”

I am
stunned.

She needs
a drink? What a perfectly normal thing for her to say! One of my girlfriends
would say such a thing. But she never talks to me like she’s my girlfriend. She
talks to me like she’s Satan.

She needs
a drink. Huh. I lean back in my chair and stare at the last model coming out,
but I don’t see her, because my world has just been turned upside down. The
Bitch needs a drink. The Bitch is human. And she for sure does not know I just
got my ass handed to me on a fuck-platter by her ex… who she sends flowers to…
who she hopes to get back together with. Playing this over in my mind makes me
remember David - how he cheated on me and how badly that hurt. And yes, I
understand that The Bitch and James are not still together, but she still cares
about him. And I, in a way, maybe just did to her what was done to me.

Oh. My.
God. I out-bitched The Bitch.

When the
show is over we all get up and file out. People stop to schmooze her. She
smiles and talks to them. Me? I just stare at her. I try not to, but I’m pretty
sure I fail. I can’t get it out of my head that there’s a woman in there. Does
she have friends? She must. Are they real friends? Does she have a pet? Does
she walk around and pick up its poop, like the rest of the world?

Just when
I feel like I’m the biggest jerk on the planet, she walks by me and blurts,
“Would you close your fucking mouth! You look worse than you normally do, and I
thought that was impossible.”

The
heavens open up

…and all
is right in the world.

I am off
the hook. She is still Satan, and fuck her! Or rather, fuck her by fucking
James. Wow. That’s a lot of f-words. Exhale, Jess. Exhale.

Shoebox Sweet Shoebox

At the
end of the longest first day of New York Fashion Week I’ve ever known, I go
straight home. I’m exhausted. This whole office-fling thing is a roller coaster
I can’t believe I got on. While I’m riding the subway all by myself, I think
about the parties I’m missing tonight, but somehow I just don’t care. I need
some space. I don’t go out with friends. I don’t go out with co-workers. I make
a beeline for my comfortable little shoebox apartment in the East Village.

As soon I
walk inside, I inhale, close the door and lean on it, looking around the
sanctuary. Home. It’s not big, but it’s all mine. Throwing my bag, my keys and
my phone on a table, I strip my clothes off as I walk.

In the
bathroom, I look at myself in the mirror. “Jess. Do you know what you’re
doing?” No answer comes back to make me feel better. I can think about
everything later. James, The Bitch, David… all of them can wait.

I rinse
myself off in a beautifully hot shower, let the water wash away the muck of
uncertainty and restore me to sweet sanity. I put my softest sweats on, pile my
clean dyed-red hair on top of my head, and brush my teeth. I put some eye cream
on around my baby browns, and give myself a smile because I can tell I need
one. I’m starting to feel more like me again. This is good.

In the
kitchen, I pour myself a chilled glass of Pinot Grigio. Putting it beside me,
resting it on the coffee table, I cuddle up on my overstuffed couch to catch up
on my reading. I’m into a new series called Fire Nectar and I gratefully let it
steal me away into a world of vampires, addiction and love.

Far, far
away from bosses, confusion, and stress. Yessss…

Friday

When I
arrive at Bryant Park the next morning, I walk into Pax on the corner of 40th
and 6th Avenue to get my favorite apple and Brie cheese baguette sandwich.
Soooo good. I grab the sandwich and am humming to myself thanks to a good
night’s sleep when I see him. David. My ex. He’s in line and about five people
ahead of me, reading something on his phone. No no no no no! I really want this
sandwich, but I don’t want him to see me. I turn right around, toss my sandwich
to an employee who catches it, surprised, and I casually sprint like a
motherfucker out the door. I’ll eat later, I guess.

As I walk
really quickly across the street, hidden within the fast-moving crowd, I wonder
what he is doing in this part of town. Is he stalking me? The last time I ran
into him – only last week – it was pure coincidence. I wasn’t
anywhere near where I normally am, so that surely had to be just God playing
his little game, laughing as he moves the pieces around his game-board called
Manhattan. But today? There is no reason David should be coming anywhere near
Fashion Week. He knows I have to be here, though.

Worries
spinning ‘round about my ex, I walk up and see The Bitch standing at the top of
the stairs in front of the entrance to the tent. Another face I don’t want to
see, even though I get paid to. She’s on her phone and she’s laughing, which
means only one thing - she’s talking to the owner of the magazine. We all have
a boss whose ass we have to kiss.

As soon
as The Bitch sees me, she jerks her head for me to join her, her long angry
spike of a ponytail bouncing once, despite hairspray lockdown. It’s kind of
like Madonna’s during her Blond Ambition tour only The Bitch has made hers her
signature style, for a decade now. Picasso would have loved this thing. He
would have painted sharp renditions of it stabbing me in the heart.

I’m not
being overly dramatic. I promise.

I arrive
at the space she’s designated for me to stand in and I wait. I wait and I wait
annnnnnd I wait. Her phone conversation goes on for over twenty minutes. The
entire time, she is not looking at me. I feel like I’m an accessory to her
power suit. It’s a beautiful feeling.

I can
deal with this, I tell myself. I’ll just make the time go by with people
watching. I notice that everyone – except for the paparazzi – has a
phone in their hand. They’re either on it talking to someone, or looking at it
and ignoring everyone. Mostly the latter. There are a lot of sunglasses, high
heels, and fabulous hair. For the men there are a lot of sunglasses, form
fitting suits with skinny slacks, and Blue-Steel facial expressions. When
Tadashi shows up, the paparazzi goes nuts. When Donna Karen walks up, they
practically pee themselves. When Gretchen Jones arrives, they start signing
over their first-born. The whole thing has me smiling. All I can think about
when Gretchen arrives is that girl who was waiting in line for the bathroom
ahead of me, when James was waiting for me, in it. And that gets me thinking of
James. Mmmm… My smile grows wider.

“Oh no.
I’ll be bringing a date,” The Bitch says proudly. My head jerks to her, my
attention firmly arrested. She freaks me out completely by winking at me
through her Dolce and Gabbana shades. I force a smile. She’s got a date, huh?
So she’s over James. That’s good! Now I don’t have to worry about her finding
out about us, and cutting off my head.

“You’ve
met him,” she says to her boss. “He works in H&R. James, yes. No, he’s not
gay.”

My heart
stops. It’s not beating anymore! It’s frozen. I’m dying. There’s a hollow place
in my chest and… oh, there it goes beating again. Now it’s hammering so loudly
in my ears that I am sure the entire red carpet can hear it. I feel dizzy. Then
I feel angry. Dizzy and angry. I’m going to throw up. The shiny black Marc
Jacobs boots I’m wearing all of a sudden start swaying as my knees threaten to
buckle. I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here now. I look at
her. I can see her lips moving, but I can’t hear anything. All I can see is a
smile that I want desperately to slap off her face.

Wait. Why
am I mad at her? It’s him I should be mad at! The asshole who bent me over a
chair yesterday and who didn’t tell me he started seeing my boss again. Where
is he? I’m sure he’s here. I look at her. She looks like she’s laughing at me.
Oh my God, she knows. Does she know? Where is that bastard? I am going to…

I don’t
say goodbye. I don’t wave. I just leave and walk quickly inside, hunting for
retribution. I have no idea if I’m always going to be like this, but right now,
I’m like a bat out of hell when it comes to betrayal. Being cheated on will do
that to you. I’m seeing red. Does James think that just because he’s drop-dead
handsome and has a magic cock, that he can use me and not tell me that he and
MY BOSS got back together?

No. No
way!

Searching
with laser focus inside the tent, I don’t see him. I am walking really freaking
fast; scanning every male face for the one I’m going to yell at. I pass various
booths hocking expensive designer wares, the information booth with the
very-bored-models leaning on their elbows. Not seeing him anywhere, I make a
beeline for the stages. As I turn a corner, I show my badge to an apathetic
elephant-sized security guard and go into The Theater stage where they’re
setting up for the 10 a.m. show.

I see
him. Jackpot. Look out James…hell is coming! He’s talking to one of the
minions, a pretty brunette who can’t be older than twelve. Perfect. Of course
he’s moving onto his next conquest. As I advance, he assesses correctly from
the pissed off expression on my face that it’s time to talk.

I hear
her say, “Can you please set up an interview for me?”

I halt
behind her and tap my feet on the fake flooring and wait, staring at the back
of her head. She turns and looks at me, takes her pacifier out of her mouth,
shuffles her feet and asks for a bottle. Okay, she only does one of those. I’ll
let you pick which.

“What are
you looking at?” I ask her.

“Nothing.
No one. Uh…” she stammers.

“Are all
the goody bags out?” I spit out. I shift my impatient judgment from her to him,
to her again. Goody bags aren’t his job, so he just watches me, looking very
amused. Fuck him.

She gulps
and answers slowly, “No. Tyler and I were just putting them out when I saw
James and I… um… wanted to ask him to put a good word for me for a permanent
position.”

“Oh. I
bet you’d like a permanent position, wouldn’t you?” I say.

She looks
at James, confused, then back at me. “Yeah. I… um… always wanted to work at
this magazine. It’s my dream.”

She and I
stare at each other. I don’t say anything. In my head, though, I acknowledge
that I would do the same thing, were I in her shoes. I may be assuming all the
wrong things. I may be acting like a crazy person. I may be dreaming and none
of this is really happening. I wish.

But I
remember that James does work in Human Resources after all. Maybe his
intentions are noble. Yeah, right. I say nothing, he says nothing, until she
feels so confused and uncomfortable that she finally excuses herself.

“Take
your teddy bear with you,” I call after her.

I didn’t
really say that, but wouldn’t that have been awesome?

“What’s
up, Jess? You look amazing today,” James smiles, looking annoyingly dashing.
He’s wearing a Todd Snyder suit with skinny tie and slacks that look great
under Todd’s trademark fitted jacket. Yum. I mean, Yuck! Screw this guy. Wait.
No, don’t. My head is spinning. Argh!

“Can I
talk to you in private, please?” I say in my most aloof tone.

“Really? Yeah, sure. Follow me,” He
looks around for his ex to make sure the coast is clear, turns and I follow him
backstage, trying not to look at his cute butt. Backstage, we ignore the models
getting made up, the tailors fitting, trimming and hemming, and a photographer
from our magazine who’s capturing all of it. Walking fast past all of them, we
make a beeline for a secluded area, away from the crowd, behind a closed-off
curtain.

Now that we’re alone, James turns and
faces me. He slides both hands into his pant’s pockets, inhales and waits
patiently for me to talk. Looking at his calm face, I realize I do not want to
come off as bat-shit crazy. I work with James. I also have no claims on him,
right? Right. But I do have a claim on my own body, and he entered it yesterday
without telling me the story dynamic had changed. Why does this keep happening
to me? If he had told me they were dating again, I wouldn’t have let him fuck
me in some storage tent-closet-thingy. He took away my right to choose.

Still, since we are co-workers, and
he’s banging my boss, I want to play this very cool.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know
that?”

Oops.

“I’m a…what?” He is literally thrown
backwards, having stepped away from me when I swore at him. Good. I am woman.
Hear me swear.

“I just heard what you’re doing with
you know who. And you know what you did with the other you know who, yesterday.
When you… and someone… when you… you know what you did,” I trail off, nodding
with innuendo.

“What are you talking about, Jess? You
know you look ridiculous, bobbing your head like that, right?”

The fact that he is keeping his cool
has a calming effect on me, but I’m fighting it. I bite my lip, unsure of what
to do or say. Help. Please help, somebody. I’m flailing around in my mind and I
hate it when anger takes over me. It’s like I can’t stop myself from acting
nuts.

I look down, feeling like an idiot.
“You…I…” I can’t finish.

He takes his hands out of his pockets,
steps forward, reaches out and takes my hands before he looks into my lost,
fluttering eyes like a hero.

Sincerely and quietly he says to me,
“What has got you so worked up? I didn’t tell anyone about yesterday. Is that
what you think happened? I’m very discreet. You don’t have to worry.”

I choke out, “Great. You’re so
discreet that you don’t tell a girl when you and your ex get back together.”

He lets go of my hands like I burned
him and steps back again. I watch him pace in a circle looking down, silently
asking the ground-gods what to do. My fears were founded. He is a guilty person
pacing, who’s been called out on his lies. Well, at least I wasn’t wrong. He
looks up at me and frowns. “Who told you that?”

“She did.
She told her boss right in front of me, that you’re her date for the bigwig
party. I am her assistant, remember?” I blurt out, hurt.

He shakes
his head, the crease between his brows deepening. I want him to apologize. I
want to hear him say he’s sorry for hurting me… that I didn’t deserve it! But
he has never apologized to me before, so why would he now?

Wait.
Woah. What?

My brain
is playing tricks on me. James has never had a
reason
to apologize to me. James and I barely know each other. I’m
thinking of David! I just transposed him and David in my mind. Okay. This is
scary. Step back, Jess. Something you don’t understand is going on. Do I want
David to apologize? Is that what I want? A little voice in my head screams YES.

And then
Bam…I am crying. Tears fall down my cheeks and there’s nothing I can do about
it. Someplace I wasn’t paying attention to, deep inside of my heart, has
unleashed itself and is pouring down my face. I gasp for breath, and try to
make it stop, the pain in my lungs excruciating as they close in on me.. I
cover my face and turn away. What is happening? Please stop. Please stop
crying, I beg myself.

He comes
to me and pulls my hands down, turning me around and taking my face in his
hands. Gently and quietly he says, “Jess! Hey hey hey. I’m sorry. There’s been
a big misunderstanding.” He bends down and kisses my wet cheeks. It feels so
great, these tender kisses. I don’t object because that place inside of me? It
needs to be heard. My breath is locked in my throat, trapped, escaping in
little choked sobs. My eyes are big and pleading but I can’t pull myself
together!

I choke
out, “I… don’t… know… why… I’m… crying!”

He holds
me tight in a hug. “It’s not true, Jess. I’m not her date for that party! She
thinks I’m going, because she thinks she can convince me. But I already told
her no. I should have said that to you right away when you started talking… but
I was so shocked by what you said! I’m sorry.
 
Don’t cry.”

“It’s not
that!” I sob.

“It’s
not?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“No. This
whole thing…triggered something deeper and (sob) I’m sorry! I didn’t know. This
is something else (choke). I’m trying… not… to cry! I can’t stop!”

He pulls
me against him, holds me close. His embrace is so reassuring that I melt in it
and bury my face against his chest, taking deep breaths. He joins me in
breathing deeply, to help me. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. In. Out.

Meekly, after a moment of this, I whisper against
his tear-drenched suit jacket, “James, you can date her if you want to. You can
date anyone. I don’t have any claims. Just tell me first, okay? I can’t take
being a detective. I can’t.”