Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Our life? Dafuq was I saying? We had no mutual life together.
“Or?” She tilted her chin up, her eyes tapering.
Seriously?
“Or I’ll be the one singing to the press about our affair. I’ll spare no detail, Gretchen. The props, the frequency, the faces you make when you come . . .” I let loose a spiteful, sly grin. “Trust me, I can be very chatty when prompted.”
She took another step back, her eyes glittering with rage. “I can’t believe the bitch got you.”
I grabbed my phone, having had enough bullshit for the entire day. “There’s only one bitch in this story, and I’m looking at her right now. Duffy may not be everyone’s cup of tea—hell, who in this world is?—but what you did to her the last day of her job is unforgivable. And the worst part . . .” I shook my head, chuckling. “Is that you didn’t even ask for forgiveness. Your narcissism looked really good up close when we were screwing, but from every other angle? It’s really ugly. Have a good life, Gretchen. Or better yet—don’t.”
With those parting words, I shoved the door open and made my way to the subway. I knew Gretchen would never contact me again. Her ego was too big to sustain this kind of blow. Which worked out well, because her ego was also too fragile to survive the tell-all interview she knew I’d give the Enquirer if she messed with Duffy’s visa somehow. I had nothing to lose.
Or so she thought.
Because now I was starting to wonder . . . did I have something to lose?
Was Duffy mine to lose?
I don’t know, idiot, is she? Because last I checked, she is still talking about Cocksucker in the present tense and scheming how to work somewhere where she could bag a millionaire.
One thing was for sure. I had feelings toward my wife. They weren’t always positive, but they were in existence.
And that was becoming a very big problem.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
RIGGS
Later that day, I went to the hospital to visit Charlie.
Duffy was helping her friend Laura by taking her cat to the vet, since she had a last-minute presentation. Laura, not the cat. She sounded really upset on the phone that she couldn’t make it earlier and promised to visit him in the evening, once she was done.
I told her I’d keep her posted and spared her any mention of my meeting with Gretchen today. What was the point of ripping open that old wound? It wasn’t like I had any news to tell. Gretchen was still an asshole.
Joining me for moral support, or more accurately so we could all get trashed afterward, were Christian and Arsène. Most people would shy away from meeting a complete stranger in a vulnerable condition. These two didn’t flinch at the sight of misery, though.
“I want to see the person who makes Riggs go grocery shopping,” Christian explained as he power walked through the hospital’s corridors in his Tom Ford suit. “It’s unfathomable that you’d give a damn about someone you don’t plan on bedding.”
It was a good thing I didn’t tell them about my hookups with my wife. First of all, I wasn’t eager to hear them say “I told you so.” Second, I was strangely protective of Daphne and her privacy, especially after she’d gone viral since meeting me. Twice.
“I’m capable of feeling,” I protested, my jaw locking in annoyance.
“Only without a condom,” Arsène sneered. Christian snickered.
“What’s wrong with the old man, anyway?” Arsène wondered.
“Dunno.” I stopped in front of Charlie’s room number and knocked on it. “Guess we’ll find out now. He’s supposed to be awake.”
“Come in.”
I heard Charlie’s voice and pushed the door open.
Charlie was sitting upright in his bed, white as a Colorado Christmas but looking better than I’d seen him last week.
“Hey, R.” His face broke into a tired smile. “Thanks for coming. And you brought some friends.” His eyes scanned the two men behind me. “How . . . inappropriate.”
Christian and Arsène chuckled behind me.
“The one in the obnoxiously expensive suit is Christian.” I stuck a hand in his direction, yawning. “And the one who looks like a vampire and doesn’t need a six-grand suit to feel like he’s better than God is Arsène. They’re my best friends.”
They both reached to shake his hand.
“How’s Duffy?” Charlie turned to me.
“‘How’s Duffy?’” I echoed, taking out my stoner kit and then rolling him a joint. Surely, he was in pain. I could wheel him out of here for a quick smoke. “I found you passed out in your bathroom. Tell me how you feel.”
“First of all, that must be the stupidest thing anyone’s done in a hospital.” He pointed at the joint I was rolling. “And second, I’m good. Just had a little accident. Those happen.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. What’s going on with you?”