Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
I have cried more in the last couple of weeks than I have in the last fifteen years, starting with the night I caught my father with Margaret. I’ve cried nearly nonstop since Saturday afternoon, since Gaige walked out of this hotel room. My throat is raw from it. My eyes itchy and swollen.
But I made myself a deal before bed last night. I had to get them all out and today I was a new person. I was done crying over men who disappoint me. I was done resting my happiness in their hands, giving them the ability to hurt me.
I set the alarm, and at eleven fifty last night, I washed my face and put an end to it. Technically, the last tear fell a minute after midnight, but I’m calling it a win.
I’ve alternated between hot and cool cloths this morning to try and get the swelling down in my face, and I’ll use makeup to cover up the rest. I doubt he’ll be paying much attention to me as it is. Getting dressed is easy, another blouse, another pencil skirt, another pair of sensible heels. I have a forty-minute ride to the airport to prepare myself to see him, and that gives me plenty of time to get a better handle on my emotions, one last chance to lock everything up tight.
Before leaving the hotel room, I check my email one last time, shocked when I see the itinerary for the week rather than a termination letter. The car is waiting by the curb as always, but when the driver pulls the door open, Gaige is waiting inside instead of the back being empty.
“Mr. Ward,” I say as I settle in the seat. I immediately pop my AirPods in my ears.
He pulls the left one out, holding it in his palm as he smiles at me.
From the look in his eyes, I can see that he’d be perfectly fine with continuing the sexual relationship we started, but that’s impossible for me. I don’t know that it has ever been just sex after I knew he wasn’t married. It’s going to be hard enough working with him. Sleeping with him would be torture on my heart.
“No,” I tell him before he can speak. He’s too smooth, too convincing. I can’t risk it. “We’re both professionals. Unless it has to do with work, it doesn’t come out of your mouth.”
His face falls. “You’re sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
He drops the AirPod into my hand and doesn’t say another word.
The ride to the airport is silent as well as the flight to Georgia. He doesn’t say a word other than introductions during our first meeting. He doesn’t interject or offer information, and we leave that appointment much the way we’ve left all the others. I’m not southern, but I know bless your heart when we explained what we were looking for wasn’t a good thing.
The ride to the hotel is quiet and miserable. I know he’s doing exactly what I asked of him, but he’s doing it so thoroughly it feels almost insulting, like a childlike silent treatment.
He waits for me on the curb when we arrive, but his attention is on his phone. We walk side by side, but we might as well be strangers.
As usual, I stand to the side while he speaks with the desk clerk, grabbing our room keys. When he returns, he hands me the small cards with two keys in it, making me realize he’s been keeping the extra one of mine each time we’ve traveled. He no longer has an interest in it now. I should feel safety in that, but I don’t. It’s just more evidence of his disinterest.
“Dinner?” he asks, his eyes still down on the electronic device he was focused on during the car ride back from our appointment.
“No, thank you,” I say, praying he’ll remind me that it’s in the contract and required.
He simply gives me a little nod and walks in the direction of the restaurant alone. Pain nearly cripples me right there in the lobby, seeing how easy it is for him to switch gears. Two days ago, he made his family think he loved me and tonight, he’ll probably fuck another woman in the room beside mine.
I head to the elevator, reminding myself that my tears are done. Only four more days of this, and I’ll have some time to myself. I can handle this. I head up to my room. Maybe there’s a spa nearby. A full body massage sounds perfect right about now, and I’ve been so busy the last couple of years, that I haven’t had time to schedule one.
Once I get to my room, nothing could convince me to leave. Maybe the thoughts of going back out and not holing myself inside were just false bravado to get me moving so some poor employee didn’t need to spend time scraping me off the floor. Maybe it was the motivation to keep me from heading into the restaurant and asking Gaige to share a little of his assholishness so I could have some of that black heart I swore to him I had when I slapped him.