Текст книги "Suite 269"

Автор книги: Christine Zolendz

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

After a loud smack of her hands across the tabletop, Sophia stood up and stormed out of the bar. I wondered if she’d go find Kevin. There was some sort of drunk tingly itch in the back of my brain that told me I should go after her, stop it from happening, but really? Why should I? I didn’t know if I could find it in my heart to forgive either of them.

My eyes followed her out. She was perfect, every single unfaithful, backstabbing, fiancé stealing inch of her. Me, not so much. I was just average old me. Turning my head back in Mr. Holt’s direction, I froze and met with his icy cold stare. He was definitely no giraffe.

You know that feeling you get when you experience looking at someone for the first time, someone way beyond gorgeous, and they're looking back at you? You get that whole body tingling feeling and your heart speeds up. That moment when your eyes lock and your fingers start to fidget, you can’t control your breathing, and your lungs actually begin to ache along with your lower regions. That's the idiotic feeling I was experiencing looking at my boss.

I stood immediately, mouth flooding with the burn of regurgitated apple martini, making my eyes sting with its acidic fire. My lips tightened and pinched, teeth clenched like a dam, and I was about to blow. Jutting my chin up to the best of my ability, I rushed through the middle of the bar and only stumbled when I was out of view in the hallway against the lovely antique planters that were stationed alongside the exit.

Where, slumped on my knees, I emptied my stomach and retched out my broken heart as my tears chased each other down my cheeks.

Reality slapped me hard in the face in the form of spiky, green plastic leaves dripping with my very own martini-scented filth. My Kevin had slept with someone I worked with, and now the person I truly thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, wasn’t someone I could spend the rest of my life with. My stomach heaved again as the outrageous conversation Kevin offered me played back in my mind.

"You're addicted to working; it's all you ever do. I have needs, Lexa, and you act like I'm not here. She was there when you weren't. It was only one damned time!" With squinted eyes, he tilted his head and stared up at the ceiling, exhaling a long, drawn out breath. He really did look like a giraffe– long, wide nose and strange ears that stuck straight out of his head. I must have been blind. Blind and stupid. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from our mini bar, twisted it open, and downed it as he continued to list the reasons it had all been my fault, how I had forced him to be with someone else, justifying breaking my heart. I tried to wipe the memory from my mind, gagged back more vomit, and attempted to stand.

Gravity laughed at me with plans of its own.

The hallway, carpeted with its deep red and brown obnoxious patterns, spiraled and reeled wildly around me. The offensive designs seemed to attack my inebriated state and the vomit-filled planter somehow tackled me at the hips, sending me flying into the air until gravity had its way with me, landing me flat on my back.

So, that’s where I stayed, sprawled out on the suspiciously criminal carpet, looking up at the flat white painted ceiling, hoping that I’d somehow turned magically invisible within the last few seconds. I had never felt so utterly pathetic in all my life; I had never even known that could be an emotion.

A heavy weight crashed through my chest, bubbling and sobbing as it tore past my lips. It felt like something broke inside me; my heart maybe? Whatever it was just drained out of me, seeped into the rough surface of the rug beneath me, leaving me completely empty.

Somewhere above me were voices. Some sounded panicked, some may have been giggling, but I heard them like they were somewhere far above me, floating in the air. I couldn’t understand them; they were just sounds strung together with no real meaning. Because all I could hear were Kevin’s grunts and moans, his whispers and filthy words, and his slips, slides, and slaps against skin that was not mine. Yep, all I could still hear in my head, all I could still see in my mind, was Kevin, the man who was never going to love me the way he promised me he would since he’d brought Sophia Willington to a screaming orgasm like none that he’d ever given me.

3

Lexa

“I COULD continue being my nice self or I could be an a$$hole. What are you into?” @Kavon #WomenAlwaysChoosetheAHoles

The next morning at exactly 10:04 am, the conference room was thick with conversations—every one of them about me.

"So hold up a minute," Evan, one of the Ad Execs, said as he tossed his files on the conference table and collapsed into the seat next to Jameson Holt. "Sophia was screwing the mailroom guy?"

"Yep. Lexa Novak caught them." He leaned back against the leather conference seat and ran his hands down his face. How freaking humiliating; my boss knows! "You know her, right? I've only seen her a few times around the office."

"Yeah," Evan said, scratching at his chin. "Lexa, she's that brunette in fact checking, right?" His eye widened. "Oh, man. Did she catch them screwing in the office?"

Jameson looked at Evan and sighed. "No, Trager the Mailroom Guy is Novak's fiancé, or was her fiancé. I'm not sure anymore. They were getting married at the end of the month; we were all invited to the wedding. She walked in on them in Trager's apartment."

Trager's apartment? Wonder where he got his wrong info? Gossipy fool needs a fact checker.

"Whoa. I thought that Novak chick was into women; you know," he lowered his voice, "butch. She always dresses like a guy."

Butch? It's no nonsense business attire, you moron.

Around us, the conference room began to fill with more of my colleagues and more murmured conversations floated past me. I knew they were all talking about whatever rumor they had heard from last night. We were a news crew, a bunch of writers and reporters; of course, what happened would be headlines to them.

"That blows, man. What are you going to do about Sophia? Was it just a one off or something?" Evan asked.

Jameson shrugged an answer at him.

I moved silently behind them to the coffee table as Jameson muttered something to Evan that I couldn't quite hear, which made them both laugh. Grabbing a cup and pouring myself some coffee, I stared at the back of their heads, trying to figure out why the hell Evan asked Jameson about what he was going to do about Sophia. He could fire the woman, but I didn't think her sleeping with my fiancé would warrant such harsh punishment from him. Something more was going on.

Sipping at my coffee, steam rose in thick vapors over the cup.

Evan laughed quietly, nudging Jameson on the arm. "She's pretty hot if you look at her long enough and squint. Take down that hair, get her out of those awful clothes... yeah... I bet she'd be smoking. Think she'd need a rebound bang soon? Or should I wait for a couple of days?"

I was going to put out a contract hit on that perverted jerk.

"I think the poor girl needs to be left alone. She’s getting married in like three weeks. No woman is going to cancel her own wedding just because the groom's a douche."

I stepped out of the shadows and pulled out a chair at the long conference table, trying to mask my trepidation. Evan's eyes snapped up and met mine as a hushed, "Oh shit," fell from his lips.

"Or, Evan, you could squint really hard and find that your penis is really small and realize that I wouldn't give someone like you the time of day," I snapped, kicking my foot into the back of his chair.

Oh. Oh my God. That just came out of my mouth.

Jameson leaned forward, eyes snapping to mine, and belted out a hearty laugh. He glanced at Evan. "That's the best thing I've ever heard a woman say to you. She's got a pair of balls, at least."

"Yeah, but not as small as his," I pointed at Evan. I think I may have even snarled a bit.

My standoff with Evan ended as Remington Holt strode in and headed right for the head of the conference table. Silence followed him. A coffee and a sesame seed bagel was placed in front of him, which he ignored as he promptly began his presentation. I could barely keep my eyes open. I'd been through this presentation no less than ten times; heck, I put most of it together checking freaking facts. My eyes scanned the room and I realized everyone was in rapt attention. Everyone except me, who sat rigid in my chair, spinning a pen through my fingers. It never fell. I just continuously looped and entwined the pen through each finger, over and over. Repeatedly, as Mr. Holt droned on and on and on.

Until he just stopped.

He stopped abruptly, waited a few seconds, then said, "Well, well, well. Miss Willington, I'm so glad that you could make it to my little conference thirty minutes late, the one my company has paid your airfare and hotel for. Did you have a rough night?"

I raised my eyes to the doorway where Sophia stood in the sexiest outfit I'd ever seen her in. What the heck? This was InTrend not Playboy magazine.

"Sorry, sir, I had a lead on something and was on the phone with a contact," she bragged, pulling out a chair across from me and sitting. Cheeks bright red and beaming, eyebrows arched up to her hairline.

She crossed her long legs under the table, kicked me, and smiled. "Sir, I have been in contact with Alex Kavon. Theeee Alex Kavon!" Sophia was desperate to make her spot in this magazine. Pulling the Kavon card was beyond ambitious. Alex Kavon was a one-man powerhouse. Never seen before, but had a name for himself as the number one blogger/entertainment online magazine founder that ever existed. His blog, his fans, and his connections to the music and film industry were immense. Yet no one had ever had contact with him. No one.

And I knew she was a lying sack of crap. She was probably late because of Trager; that idiot always slept through his alarm. If it weren’t for me waking him up every damn day, he'd sleep until noon, wait for his mother to dress him, and serve him smiley-faced pancakes.

Remington interrupted my thoughts. "Hopefully your contact with the infamous Mr. Kavon is morally sound and not of the same nature you have with our in-house mail service."

Whoa. I tried not to laugh but failed miserably.

"And, really, Miss Willington, the worst part about you being late for my meeting is the half-drunk iced coffee in your hands."

Sophia gasped. Jameson and Evan smirked.

Me? I burst out in uncontrollable laughter. The kind that you can't stop even though you desperately want to.

"Shut your mouth," Sophia hissed under her breath. The room went dead silent, like one of those sudden, anticipation filled moments in a dramatic movie. That old western standoff music sounded in my head. And I tried; I tried to stop. I even slapped my hand across my mouth and pushed my chair away from the table, but the giggles spilled over my fingertips like an overflowing fountain, flooding the room. "I'm not the one who has a problem with keeping things shut," I snipped through hysterical laughter.

All hell broke loose in the conference room then. People were tearing each other apart with words until Remington yelled at the top of his lungs that the conference would resume after we all grew up, promptly at nine the next morning. We filed out of the room with our tails between our legs.

"That was the most unprofessional thing I have ever seen," Jameson snapped, glaring at Sophia. I stopped abruptly, watching his cold eyes as they flitted from hers to mine.

Of course, he was right. "I apologize, Mr. Holt. It won't happen again," I said through clenched teeth, hoping that my voice would somehow hide my rage and shame.

My eyes widened as Jameson gently nudged the back of his hand to my elbow and escorted me through the lobby into the elevator, then pushed the button to the fifth floor where all the business suites were. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Miss Novak," he murmured as the elevator doors closed between us. "You're not the office slut around here."

What?

I stood stunned in the elevator, eyes averted to the floor, my fingers fumbling with the gray and purple card key of my room.

Yeah well, enough slut slamming, because maybe if I were more of a slut, Kevin wouldn't have had to look to someone who was.

4

Lexa

“First thing I said to my date: Ima be honest, don’t know where you want me to look. That shirt shows off your boobs…I ended up eating alone.” @Kavon #CheckPlease

The cheater was in my room. I stared at him through teary eyes.

All I wanted to do was throw myself on the hotel bed and scream into the pillows. But no—as soon as I swiped my card key and opened the door, Kevin was there in my face, all puppy-dog eyed, begging, "We need to talk, baby."

Baby? That was the same thing he was calling Sophia when he was smacking her ass two nights before. My hands immediately covered my mouth. Visions of him and his little friend mixed with a thunderous hangover headache made me almost vomit.

His hand touched my back and I spun around, shoving him away. "Don't you dare touch me," I snapped, stepping back, feeling a bit of adolescent delight in watching him stumble away.

Catching his footing, he raised his hands above his head in mock innocence. "I've thought this through and I've come to realize now—to swear to you—it was nothing," the cheating ass pleaded, walking closer and grabbing me gently by the shoulders, ushering me deeper into the room. "I swear I was just scared of being with one woman for the rest of my life. I’m twenty-seven. What if I’m making the wrong choice, what if…?”

"Then you shouldn’t have asked me to marry you, idiot."

"You wanted me to."

"That’s why you asked? Because I was perfectly happy with having a nice boyfriend I could trust, not a husband who cheats. You should have never asked me!"

He chuckled as if this was just a little incident to him. "Honestly, this is just a silly case of cold feet. You," he said, raising his eyes to the ceiling, "you have been so busy with dress fittings, food tastings, and registries, it just seemed like you were too busy for my needs..."

"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuckyoufuckyou! I was left alone to put together this stupid wedding. With your mother calling me up every day, inviting all her friends, and making a list of baby names for me. Baby names, Kevin!"

"It was cold feet, that's all it was, babe, please! I’m so sorry. You have to take me back. Let's just forget it, please."

"Take you back? For what? So I can worry the next forty years that you're sticking your thing in other people. You might call me petty, but guess what; I’m allowed to be petty right now. You would have kept her as a sidepiece well after we were married. I heard the things you said to her. Did you even use a condom?"

His face blanched.

"Oh, my God! I’m supposed to let you double-freaking-dip? Three weeks! Three weeks before our wedding and I find you balls deep in someone I work with and you want me to forgive you?" Oh hell no. No, it's all about me now. "You selfish ass, there's no CLEAR HISTORY button on your penis. I can't forget it."

"Lexa, please. I know you think this is all my fault but, things weren't..."

Sarcasm boiled my skin. "No, Trager, it's not you—this isn't your fault—any of it. It’s my horrible choice in men. My mistake." I grabbed his bag, the same one I had packed for two hours before my bachelorette party, opened the hotel room door, and tossed it out into the hallway. It smashed loudly against the far wall, spilling clothes and personal items across the floor. I couldn't have planned it better if I’d tried. "As soon as we get home I want your belongings packed and gone from my apartment."

"What? Are you serious? We are supposed to get married in a few days." He held his hands against the frame of the door as I pushed him into the hallway.

"Not any longer. You and your cold feet are off the hook."

"What? I'm not. I'm not leaving. We can get over this. I'm not moving out."

"Yes, you are. You cheated on me. I saw you. Do you even understand how I feel right now?"

He stood in the middle of the hallway, shoulders slumped, eyes wide and staring at me. He looked pathetic and guilty, even remorseful, but I couldn't not see what I saw. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it. Every time I looked at him, I saw it. I leaned against the door for support. "Just leave, Kevin. Just leave me be. You've hurt me enough."

"But...but...but what about the cat?"

That's what he was concerned with at the moment? "I'll tell him you died," I snapped, slamming the door in his face. In my head, I was writing his eulogy and speaking about the numerous reasons he deserved to be thrown into traffic.

Finally alone in the room, I flipped off my shoes and flung them into the air. I dug through my suitcase for a pair of pajamas and of course came up with the sexy lingerie that I bought to surprise the stupid, cheating ass. There was no way in hell I was going to sit alone in my hotel room in lingerie feeling sorry for myself. I slapped on a pair of boy shorts and a sports bra and flopped on the bed. As soon as the hotel pool opened at one o'clock, I was going to put on a bathing suit and go for a swim. Forget everyone.

I leaned back against the headboard, cold hotel room sheets soft and cool against my skin, and folded my legs underneath me. I turned on the television and flicked through the channels while I waited, the slow hard thud of my hangover still pounding against my temples.

Sleep instantly claimed me.

Blinking my eyes open, I glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning. The sky outside the window was dark and the television was playing a late night infomercial about mops. What a waste of an entire day. I counted the hours I had slept on my fingers and cringed—that must have been some hangover. My stomach rumbled violently in hunger and my hair was a mess of wavy knots, my tight no-nonsense bun having somehow vanished.

I flipped open the hotel booklet and skimmed for the time room service was open. The kitchen closed at midnight and opened again at six. There was no way I could wait three more hours to eat. I'd have to hit a snack machine.

Grabbing my key card and wallet, I opened the hotel room door and slipped out. The hallway was silent, just the soft overhead buzz of the light bulbs hanging behind the shell-shaped sconces near the ceiling could be heard. Ugly, creepy looking decorations. Padding quickly over the plush business level carpet, I followed the maze of hallways, listening for the hum and groan of any vending machines.

After a five-minute search, I found one in a small corner.

Unfortunately, someone else seemed to be hungry in the wee hours of the morning, because Jameson Holt was sprawled out on the carpet, leaning against the machine. An array of wrappers and two cans of soda sat next to him. He had a bottle of water to his lips when he noticed me walking towards him.

I jerked to a complete stop, dead center of the hall. Slowing my steps, I wondered how insane I’d look if I just ran like heck the other way.

A splash of spilled water spread over his t-shirt as he fumbled with the bottle. He looked down, shook his head, and laughed at the wet spot on his shirt. Feeling a bit self-conscious, I folded my arms tightly across my chest then gasped aloud when I realized I was wearing practically nothing and standing in front of one of my bosses. How much of an idiot could I be to not even notice what I was wearing when I walked out of my hotel room? My face heated. I mean, I was seriously almost naked standing there. What a lovely way for my boss to see me: awkward, clumsy, half dressed, and freshly cheated on. If he calls me Nipples too, I'm quitting my job. Oh, screw this! I straightened my posture and sucked in my gut. Might as well pretend not to feel completely humiliated. Though my flaming cheeks were probably giving me away.

I tried for a smile. "You holding this machine hostage, or can a ravenous girl get a snack?"

He brought a chip to his lips and crunched. His eyes slowly grazed up and down my body without pause then quickly flitted to the huge pile of snacks on the floor next to him.

"Sit." His voice was husky and thick, like melted caramel and chocolate, and I wanted to pour him all over me. My stomach fluttered as a fantasy of Mr. Holt, me, and a slew of syrupy condiments slammed into my head, and my shame wasn't strong enough to stop it. I'm a dirty, dirty girl. Well, at least in my own imagination anyway.

Stepping back until my shoulders hit the wall across from him, I slid my body down. My back scraped against the wall, making my pulse race and my stomach quiver with nerves. His eyes never left mine; light hazel eyes, almost green, yet almost golden. A strange, intoxicating mix. Darn, I was caught in his playboy mating call, wasn't I? He had those super testosterone laser eyes that made women just want to hand him their panties.

I did—I wanted to hand him my panties.

Instead, I sat down with a little oomph; eye contact never broken. There are a handful of times in your life when looking someone straight in the eye for so long seems like the most dangerous and frightening thing. For some reason this felt like one of them.

I tried averting my eyes to the floor, but they magically got pulled right back to him, as if magnetized, no, more like captivated, and I found myself looking at all of him all at once. Holy freaking hell, I'm going to have a panic attack sitting here half-naked, gawking at my boss. Kill me now.

Dark blond hair, messy, tapered on the sides and a short mop of bed head on top. Streaks of a golden blond mixed in, the kind you get from the brightness of the sun always falling on you. Broad shoulders, solid arms, angular features. Gorgeous. And those eyes, sage green with flecks of gold; just a look in that overly intense gaze and you get that heated butterfly effect low in your belly. A tight fluttering and achiness—the kind that needs immediate filling. He had the allure of a bad boy and successful businessman blended perfectly together—like he majored in it in college.

"What do you want," he asked as a ghost of a smile passed his lips.

Why, why, why did that sound sexual to me?