Текст книги "At Last"

Автор книги: Whitney Gracia Williams

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

“I love you too.”

He kissed me one last time and I watched him leave through my side door. He looked over his shoulder every few seconds and smiled at me, so I waited until he was no longer in my sight.

I immediately rushed over to my suitcase and searched for my vibrator so I could end this frustration myself. I pulled the flap open where I knew I’d placed it, but it wasn’t there. Instead, there was a folded napkin with a note: “No cheating, Future Wife. You’ll get it back AFTER the wedding :-)”

I cursed under my breath and headed for the kitchen, where Bobbie Jo, Kim, and Helen were all staring at me with looks of horror on their faces.

“You brought someone home with you from the club last night? And don’t you dare lie because we all heard voices this morning.” Helen practically lost it. “That’s not like you at all, Claire! What the hell were you thinking?!”

“What? You think I cheated on Jonathan?”

“It doesn’t matter what we think.” Bobbie Jo stood up and paced the floor. “It’s okay. We can definitely fix this...I know we told you to let go, but you weren’t supposed to completely let go...You’re marrying Jonathan-fucking-Statham! You don’t need to experience any other man, ever!”

Helen shook her head in disagreement at that last line, but she kept the look of worry on her face.

“No more clubbing this week.” Kim clasped her hands together. “We’ll still drink tons, but we’ll stick to the lame ass activities we were doing before. We’ll even take you shopping for a whole new wardrobe today...Jonathan will never find out about this. Your secret is safe with us...”

Chapter 12

Claire

I sat in the middle of Starbucks, sporting a brand new tan and a light grey dress the girls had picked out for me on the last day of the trip. It was short with a deep V-neckline and it hugged all my curves perfectly.

It was the type of dress that Jonathan would love, at least I hoped he would when he saw me later tonight for our date.

He’d told me he wanted to take me somewhere special as soon as he picked me up from the airstrip the other day. He’d left little reminder notes in my closet, in my purse, even in my car: “Tonight will be the best date you and I have ever had.” “No...I’m not shutting down the Golden Gate Bridge again...but I can if you want me to.” “I’m looking forward to seeing you later. You are always the best part of my day.”

“Miss Gracen?” My high profile client cleared her throat, snapping me out of my trance. “Is that all? Do I need to sign anything else?”

“I’m sorry. I’ll have my secretary forward you a copy of the contract tomorrow morning. Do you have any other questions for me, Lisa? I mean, Miss Kane?”

“Not at all.” She stood up. “Thanks for treating me to coffee today. This was... different.”

I laughed and watched her walk out of the store.

Thanks to my employees—who had failed to shut off the air conditioning the entire week I was gone, my store’s ventilation system had crashed and I’d had to reschedule all of today’s appointments outside of the office.

I looked through my planner to make sure I didn’t have any more meetings for the day, and suddenly heard my phone ringing. Ashley.

“Hello, Ashley.”

“This is Caroline.” She scoffed.

“You’re using Ashley’s phone, Caroline. How am I supposed to know it’s you?” I could practically see her shrugging her shoulders and rolling her eyes.

“Ashley and I would like to know why we weren’t invited to your bachelorette party. We are in the wedding, your maids of honor at that.”

“Because you can’t take off a week from school and my friends didn’t think it was appropriate for you two to come. And after going there, I’m completely sure they made the right choice.”

“Right...Anyway, I’m just calling to let you know that we got your email. We love it and we think Jonathan will love it too.”

“You didn’t tell him anything did you?”

“No...” She sighed. “Although we are finding it a bit strange that we hear from him more than we hear from you these days.”

“What? That’s not true!”

“It is true. He calls or texts us every day.”

“And he sends us care packages every Monday!” Ashley yelled in the background.

“I’m sorry...” I realized that they were right. Lately I’d only been checking in on them once or twice a week, but I thought that was what they wanted. “I’ll do better. I promise. I’ll start calling you more often.”

“No, no, no.” Caroline clucked her teeth. “Just send us some care packages. Actually, now that we’re on the subject of care packages... Jonathan gives us three hundred dollars a week in his boxes, in addition to a bunch of other nice gifts. Now, we both know you don’t make as much as he does, but we know you make enough to give us two hundred a week without breaking a sweat. So, we’re thinking—”

I hung up and sent them both an ‘I love you’ text.

Laughing, I started to put my things away. I felt something brush against my table, and when I looked up I saw Ryan sitting in front of me with a smug expression on his face.

“Busy day, huh?” he asked. “You’ve met with lots of clients...”

“Fuck off.” I stood up to leave, but he grabbed my elbow. “Please, Claire. Two minutes...That’s it.”

I looked into his eyes—those familiar green and grey irises that I used to love, and saw a world full of pain. I wanted to walk away—knew I should’ve walked away, but the look in his eyes made me feel sorry for him.

“Two minutes. That’s it.”

“Thank you...” He waited for me to sit down and slid a cup of coffee towards me. “Does Jonathan Statham make you happy?”

“He doesn’t make me cry.” I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t give you two minutes for a discussion.”

“You’re still incapable of small talk?”

“With my philandering ex-husband?”

He sighed. “Fair enough, Claire...I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past few weeks because...Amanda’s ill...”

“So?” I shrugged.

“So?”

“Yes. So. As in, what does that have to do with me?”

“It’s fatal, Claire.” It looked like it hurt him to say those words, and for a half second I felt bad for her—for both of them. “She wants to talk to you...”

What?! “Why?”

“Because you were her best friend...Her only friend...”

“We had other mutual friends. Why doesn’t she want to talk to them?”

“Is your head really stuck that far up your ass now?”

I stood up to leave again, but he grabbed my arm and cleared his throat. “Please, Claire. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that...” He looked as if he wanted me to sit back down, but I remained standing. “All of the mutual friends were on your side.”

“Really? I wonder why...”

“I’m not asking for you and her to watch chick flicks together and cry, and I’m not asking for you to be BFFs again. I’m just asking on behalf of my wife—”

“Your wife? I still can’t believe you can say that without a shred of guilt crossing over your face. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m just asking for you to see her. Maybe even grab some lunch together next week? It’s one of her dying wishes and I’m doing my best to fulfill all of them.”

“What?! Are you out of your fucking mind?” I scoffed and left him sitting at the table. I couldn’t believe his nerve—to act as if I owed him or Amanda a damn thing, to have the audacity to even ask me to do anything for their benefit.

I stepped outside of the shop and opened my umbrella, walking over to my car in the pouring rain. As I unlocked the door, I felt strong hands on my shoulders—someone spinning me around.

“Spare me this stupid ass act and stop being so fucking childish, Claire.” Ryan stood underneath my umbrella and gripped my arms.

“Excuse me?” My eyes widened. He wasn’t behaving anything like the Ryan I knew years ago—that Ryan would never grab me like this.

“Ryan...I—”

“You owe me twenty seconds.” He hissed. “Twenty fucking seconds and I’m going to use every last one of them. You honestly think marrying a billionaire means you don’t have to care about anything? You think it makes you a better person now? It doesn’t.”

“I guess being a lying philanderer does though, huh? Get the fuck off of me.” I raised my knee up, fully intending to kick him in his balls, but he grabbed my leg and moved it around his waist, holding it stiffly.

“Seriously, Claire? Were you trying to do what I think you were trying to do?”

“Save the human race from more bastard offspring?”

“When did you become such a bitch?” His eyes darkened. “Are you still that bitter about what happened between us? Five years ago? You clearly came out alright.” He glanced at my engagement ring.

“Get your hands off of me, Ryan.”

He didn’t move back. Instead he tightened his grip on my arm and leg and spoke slowly. “Listen to me, Claire.”

I considered spitting in his face, but for some reason I couldn’t muster enough saliva in my mouth.

“Amanda and I moved here so we could commute back and forth to St. Francis.”

The hospital?

He nodded as if he’d heard my thought. “She’s been working at that catering shop part time to keep her mind off of her upcoming treatment...” He sighed. “She has another brain tumor—a malignant one. We came here to get a second opinion and to try a new procedure because none of the doctors at home will touch it...” His voice cracked. “She just...She just wants to see you again, just in case—just...You never gave her a chance to say all she had to say.”

“She was fucking you behind my back! There was nothing left to say!” I tried to wriggle free again, but his grip was too tight. “Look. I honestly don’t wish her any ill-will, and as a human being I do hope whatever treatment she’s here for goes well. However, personally, you two don’t exist in my world anymore and her sickness has nothing to do with me. So, if you could please let me go and get back to whatever life you’ve built with Amanda that would be great. I’ve given you more than twenty seconds and I’m not giving you anymore.”

“She was your best fucking friend.”

“Was—just like I was your wife. Funny how one three-lettered word says so much, huh?”

His face turned red and it looked like he was about to really lose it, but he leaned in closer so that we were nose to nose– lip to lip. “Stop pretending like you don’t care, Claire. You do. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Are you sick too? Please tell me St Francis has you scheduled for a few nights in their psych ward—I’ve heard they give out Jell-O now. Is cherry still your favorite?”

“All you have to do is talk to her for five minutes. It won’t kill you.”

“Yes, it will. Now, please—”

I heard the shattering of glass to my right—heard it echoing through the wind and cutting through the sound of pelting raindrops.

I looked over and saw Jonathan standing underneath a black umbrella, holding onto a single white lily—the only one that hadn’t fallen to the ground.

I moved my leg from around Ryan’s waist, but he was still gripping my arm and pinning me against my car. I tried to catch my breath and find the right words to say to Jonathan, the words that would tell him that what he was seeing was just a huge misunderstanding. But the way he was looking at me told me that he wouldn’t believe a single word I said.

The look on his face was one of anger, confusion, hurt. He looked over my fitted dress, at Ryan’s stance, at the small sliver of distance that was between the two of us.

“Get your fucking hands off of her. Right now.” His voice was colder than I’d ever heard it before.

Ryan immediately moved his hands and smiled an evil smile at me. It looked like he was about to say something rude, but Jonathan spoke first.

“If you value your life, Hayes—I suggest you get the fuck out of my sight before I take it away.”

Ryan looked at Jonathan and rolled his eyes, slowly backing away from underneath my umbrella, stepping out into the rain.

I watched him fade into the rush of umbrella holders that were now rushing out into the parking lot. I turned to face Jonathan again and realized he was still staring at me, looking as if I’d just broken his heart.

He bent down to pick up the white envelope that was on top of the shattered vase and flowers. Then he slowly strolled over to me and placed the single lily he was holding and that card on top of my car.

He narrowed his eyes at me and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Jonathan...” I could see the hurt in his eyes. “Let me explain...You know exactly how I feel about—”

He walked away before I could finish my sentence.

I rushed over to Jonathan’s office and stopped at Angela’s desk. I’d tried to run after him in the parking lot minutes ago, but he’d slipped away.

“Miss Gracen?” She looked up at me. “Are you okay? Would you like me to have someone bring you a set of dry clothes? A cup of hot coffee perhaps?”

I shook my head. I was drenched from head to toe, but I was too distressed to feel anything.

“I need to speak to Jonathan.”

She sighed and looked down at her hands. “He’s not accepting any unscheduled appointments.”

“Bullshit, Angela. He’s back there and you know it. Tell him I’m here. Now.”

She picked up her phone. “Mr. Statham? I...Yes sir...” She put the phone down. “He told me to tell you to go home.”

I swallowed and pulled my phone out of my pocket, calling him for the tenth time since I’d left Starbucks.

It didn’t even ring twice. He hit ignore.

“Angela, please...” I knew she had the only other key to his door. “Could you just let me in and I’ll deal with whatever he says?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Gracen. I can’t afford to lose this job. He made the orders very clear.” She pulled a notepad and an envelope from her drawer. “I can make sure he gets your message though. I’ll make sure he reads it.”

I felt tears falling down my face and nodded to say ‘Thank you.’ I scribbled down my message, signing it with an ‘I love you’ and then I slowly drove myself home. Alone.

And I kept driving myself to the same empty house for the rest of the week...

Thursday September 18, 2014

Jonathan

I don’t have shit to say.

Chapter 13

Jonathan

I stared out my office window, watching heavy sheets of rain fall over the city. As hard as I tried to rationalize what I’d seen in that parking lot, I couldn’t help but feel hurt.

My heart damn near broke at the sight of seeing her with someone else, but once I realized it was him—her ex-husband, it practically shattered.

Why didn’t she call me?

I knew there had to be a logical explanation—some type of reason, so I picked up my phone to call her, but there was already a call waiting.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Statham?” It was a high pitched voice. Miss Corwin.

“Good afternoon, Miss Corwin. Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, I um...I’ve been leaving messages with your fiancée, but she hasn’t gotten back to me. I’ll be staying in town for the next few weeks, so would you mind leaving me a wedding invitation with your secretary? I asked Miss Gracen to mail me one, but she probably forgot.”

“When was this?”

“When was what?”

“When did you ask her to mail you the invitation?” I knew damn well we’d made her one. In fact, we’d made her ten, just in case she wanted to incorporate them into the reception space somehow.

“Um...Well, I asked her that night you came to L.A., remember? And I called her two weeks ago about it.”

“And you never received it?”

“No...” Her voice was soft. “I’m sorry if I’m causing you any trouble...”

“It’s no trouble. I’ll have it delivered to you personally.”

“Thank you...”

I hung up and called Milton.

“I’m on my way to your office, Jonathan.” He picked up on the first ring. “No need to act like you actually give a damn about my financial reports today.”

“That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Of course it isn’t. What do you want?”

“Have you received my wedding invitation in the mail yet?”

There was a sudden knock on my door and I walked over to answer it.

“Would you like me to keep talking into the phone?” Milton walked into my office. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did.”

“Did you receive a wedding invitation?”

He shrugged. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure, but I don’t need one of those to be there if that’s why you’re asking...”

I shook my head. “No...I’m just...I’m just wondering.”

He asked me to give him a few minutes to get his files organized and I took a seat at my desk. I sent out a text to five people, five people who I knew I had personally told Claire to invite—addresses and all, and waited for them to tell me if they had received their invitation in the mail.

Their responses came back instantly: “No.” “No...” “No.” “I need an invitation to get in?” “No.”

What the fuck?!

I prepared to text Angela to get to the bottom of it, but I accidentally hit my email app and saw a message labeled: URGENT. It was from our cake designer:

To: Statham, Jonathan

From: Elegant Cakes, Inc.

Mr. Statham,

My name is Jacqueline Russell and I am the manager of Elegant Cakes. Per my conversation with your fiancée two weeks ago, I wanted to make sure that you were canceling your complete order which includes: One five tiered wedding cake, two three tiered dream cakes, and the customized frozen anniversary cake.

Since your name is on the contract and we have your signature on file, we’ll need you to verify that this information is correct.

We’re sorry we won’t be able to work with you on your special day,

Sincerely,

Jacqueline R.

My mind was officially blown. I couldn’t believe this shit.

“Jonathan? Jonathan?” Milton cleared his throat. “Are you there?”

I shook my head and sighed. “Go ahead...”

“Okay...” Milton handed me a folder. “Inside that folder, you’ll see that I’ve outlined your current assets, totaled your domestic and foreign bank accounts, and appraised the company’s future earnings. As you can clearly see, the future Mrs. Statham’s name is nowhere to be found because well...She did not contribute to you gaining any of these things so...”

“I thought this was a strategy meeting.” I rolled my eyes.

“It is. Angela informed me that you’ve cancelled all your appointments with the marital attorney as of this morning. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Well, maybe you’re not thinking straight... Let me help you out: Your net worth as of this quarter is nine point eight billion. Your net worth. We live in California, a fifty-fifty split state.”

“Milton...”

“That means that if you should ever get a divorce, your-ex-wife will automatically be entitled to over four billion dollars. If you last for more than ten years and your earnings continue to grow like they have in the past, you’re looking at handing over seven to eight billion easily. Do you understand that?”

“I do.”

“Glad to hear that. I’ll arrange for the attorney to come back.”

“There’s not going to be a pre-nup, Milton.”

His jaw dropped. “I thought you just said you agreed with me.”

“There can’t be a pre-nup if I’m not getting married...”

“What?” He gasped. “You two were just here weeks ago telling me about the wedding venue...It’s over?”

I didn’t answer him.

“Jonathan?”

I sighed. “I’ll call you later tonight to go over that mistake in the master file you mentioned at this morning’s meeting. I have a feeling we’ll need more than one accounting team to sort that out.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but then he shook his head. He took his folder back and patted me on my shoulder before leaving my office.

As soon as the door closed, I leaned back in my chair and shut my eyes.

I can’t believe this shit...What the fuck is Claire thinking?

I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions about the wedding, about marrying Claire, but invitation and cake bullshit aside—what she’d pulled last week had rocked me to my core.

At first, I didn’t want to believe that I’d seen her and Ryan inside of Starbucks when I drove by. I refused to believe it. So, I’d driven around the parking lot, telling myself that Claire—my Claire, would have called me the second Ryan showed up anywhere near her. Like she promised.

I’d decided that my eyes were playing tricks on me so I simply parked my car. With flowers in tow, I’d headed towards the Starbucks, but then I saw her again—with Ryan, pressed up against her car with her fucking leg around his waist, with her lips inches away from his mouth.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get that image out of my mind...

I hadn’t been home in a week, and I had no plans to return any time soon. I was too damn angry to be anywhere near her.

When she’d broken up with me last year and went her separate way for three fucking months, I was livid. Infuriated. Inconsolable. But this recent stunt of hers was—there were no words for this shit.

What part of ‘I don’t share’ does she not understand? What part of ‘Call me ASAP if Ryan shows up’ is difficult to comprehend?

She’d been sending me numerous text messages to apologize, trying to explain her side of the story and beg me to come home, but I never answered. And I sent each and every one of her hourly calls directly to voicemail.

I didn’t want to talk to her right now. I didn’t want to talk to her ever.

“Mr. Statham?” Angela’s voice suddenly came over the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Miss Gracen is—”

“I’m not here.”

“Sir, she’s standing right outside your door.”

“I’m. Not. Here.” I gritted my teeth. “Are we clear?”

“Yes sir...”

I waited for an hour, until I was sure Claire was gone, and then I stepped outside. I walked around the corner and stood at Angela’s desk. “Did my—” I stopped myself. I’d almost said my wife. “Did Miss Gracen leave another note?”

“Yes sir.” She handed me a folded sheet of white paper and I took it into my office.

I debated whether or not I should toss it into the trash with all her other ones, but I decided to open it:

Jonathan,

I know you’re very angry with me, but please give me a chance to explain what you saw last Friday...I’m sorry I ever allowed it to happen, and it’s not what you think. I promise.

I love you and only you, and I wish you would come back home...

Yours,

Claire

I crumpled her letter into a ball and tossed it into the trash. I took a deep breath and shook my head, trying to think about what I needed to do to get this off my mind.

I called Angela back.

“Yes, Mr. Statham?”

“Is the security team meeting still going on right now?”

“Yes sir.”

I sighed. “Write this down: I want last Monday’s interior and exterior security video footage from the Powell Avenue Starbucks—everything between the hours of four o’ clock pm to seven o’ clock pm. And I want audio. The very second that Corey gets out of his meeting, ask him to put his best team on it.”

“I will sir. Is that all?”

“No.” I balled my fists. “I want them to hack into Smith & Hayes Associates in Pittsburgh and get me Mr. Hayes’ full client list. I want the name of every client he worked with before he made partner, even the clients he worked for when he was a fucking intern. I also need a list of every single law firm in Pittsburgh—big, small, independent, commercial, every last one of them.”

“I’ll make sure it gets done. Um...Are you still sending flowers to Miss Gracen this week? The order has to be put in within the next half hour if you still want to send something.”

I was silent.

“Mr. Statham? Is that a yes or a no?”

I shut my eyes and tried to block out this past week. I’d never missed a day sending Claire flowers. Even when she was in Costa Rica, I’d called a local flower shop and made sure she woke up to a new set of blooms every morning.

Not sending them felt wrong—hurtful, and even though she’d damn near made me cry last Friday, I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

I sighed. “It’s a yes, Angela...But no note—just the flowers...”