Chapter 29
By the end of the following week, my mood had managed to get worse. I was shouting at people left and right, refusing to return calls, working by myself day and night. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept. The only reason I had even gone home each night was to shower and change my suit. I was glad that Cynthia agreed to extend her two-week vacation another week because if she had returned to me like this, she would have quit in a minute. She probably would have flipped me off as she strolled out of the office, and I would have deserved it.
Finally, it was Friday, and a few people in the office had hinted that if I did not actually take the weekend off to relax, the entire district attorney’s office might just get up and walk out.
I hoped it was a joke, but honestly, at this point, I really wouldn’t blame everybody if they did leave. I made another note for Cynthia to upgrade the coffee station in the break room at my expense. It wasn’t really a solution, but it was a gesture.
I left my office during lunch and just took a walk around a nearby park. Trying to clear my mind a little. I needed the break to get away from the stress of work but mostly from seeing Eddie at a different lawyer’s desk day in and day out.
She had been assigned to a very promising up-and-coming prosecutor who, I was surprised, hadn’t just moved onto the corporate sector yet. Maybe he just wasn’t done making a name for himself. Having Eddie on his desk was definitely going to help him do that. It was a good place for her. It was a place where she could learn a lot and advance her career, but it also put her in my direct line of sight every single time I left or came back to my office.
The walk during lunch had cleared my head a little bit and helped me refocus. I was genuinely feeling better and like I could maybe be productive for a few hours before I had to leave to attend a private dinner with my fiancée where she and I would discuss exactly how our marriage would work and what was and was not expected of each other. And then I saw Eddie at her desk, flirting with that fucking Detective Doyle again.
A hot spike of anger flushed through my body, so intense I saw red. I tightened my fist and had to stop myself from assaulting a police officer in my own office. Instead, I turned and marched into my office, closing and locking the door and then moving back to my private bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.
Walking into this room was a mistake, though. All I could see was Eddie the first time we met when she was in here with her blouse pulled up over her head, in the middle of changing.
Or even the second time I caught her in here with her shirt off and her perfect breasts exposed. That was the first time I discovered exactly how wet her pussy could get for me.
I couldn’t be in the office. Without looking at anyone else, I grabbed my coat and headed straight for the elevator.
It was getting harder and harder to breathe. My hands were balled into fists, trying to curb the shaking that wouldn’t stop until the elevator doors closed and I was alone.
With a quick text message, I told my driver to meet me downstairs, and I left the building without looking back.
The second I got outside into the cold, fresh air, the pressure in my lungs eased a bit, but it wasn’t enough. I got into the back seat of the car before the driver had even come to a full stop.
“The penthouse,” I barked and then put up the partition.
The panic attack started fast. I couldn’t remember the last time it was this bad. Before Eddie came into my life, I hadn’t had a panic attack since school days. But now it felt like everything was out of control.
There was more work on my plate than I could handle by myself, and that had never happened before. I needed help, but there was no one that I could trust to help because I couldn’t control myself around the one paralegal that was on my level.
I couldn’t even control my social calendar. My mother was adding more and more events where I was supposed to be seen with Catherine to make a good impression and secure my future. I couldn’t control Eddie. The woman I wanted was openly flirting with another man in the office, and there was nothing I could do about it.
It was her right to flirt with whoever she wanted to. I didn’t own her, although I really wanted to.
The irony of the entire situation was not lost on me. I refused to be with Eddie the way I wanted because the best-case scenario for her was that she didn’t get to live a full life. So, I’d let her go so she could live that life. But seeing her living it, seeing her flirting with another man, sent me into a tailspin so intense I didn’t know how I was going to make it through the day. I couldn’t watch her live the life she had every right to live.
The car slowed to a stop, and I looked up. We weren’t anywhere close to my penthouse. I considered just getting out and making a run for it, but there were so many people on the streets it would have been inadvisable. The last thing I needed was for the Page Six headline to say “Golden Bastard Loses Grip on Re-Election Golden Egg.”
That would kill my career along with any chance I ever had of running for any type of public office again. If I let that happen, I would be lucky to land a job as a part-time attorney at a third-rate legal clinic.
I bent down, tucking my head in between my knees, and tried to block out the rest of the world as I ran the numbers.
Five things I could see. I could see the black leather of my shoes, I could see the dark gray carpet on the floor of the car, I could see the glint of the metal rails that held the driver’s seat, I could see the back of the leather seat in front of me, and I could see the seam on the front of my pants.
Four things I could touch. I could touch the soft wool of my suit, I could touch the smooth, heated leather of the seat I was sitting on, I could touch the rough woven material of the seat belt across my lap, and I could touch the cool, sleek silk of my tie.
Three things I could hear. I could hear the soft classical music that the driver was listening to in the front seat, I could hear the traffic next to the car, and I could hear a woman shouting at a man on the sidewalk for stealing her cab.
Two things I could smell. I could smell the rich leather polish that the driver used on these seats, and I could smell the hot dogs from a cart right on the other side of my window.
And finally, one thing I could taste. I could taste the saltwater running down my face. Slowly, I reached up and touched my face, brushing the tears away. I hadn’t noticed that I had started to cry. I just prayed that the tears didn’t start flowing until I was already in the back of the car, hidden away from prying eyes.
I took several deep breaths as the car finally started to move again. I got myself together, wiping my eyes, straightening my tie, and sitting upright. The cold mask of indifference slid back over my features, and it was enough to get back to my apartment.
It took another twenty minutes before I was in my apartment in the Financial District, high above the hustle and bustle of the New York City streets. I was so far up it almost seemed calmer up here, looking out over the world at all of the problems that seemed smaller from this perspective. It was one of the reasons I loved this apartment so much.
I considered for a moment making an appointment with my physical trainer, to see if I couldn’t work out some of this anxiety, tension, and lack of control in a boxing class. It was actually why I started boxing, and lately, I’d been too busy to make it to the gym.
For a brief moment, I did consider making an appointment with the therapist I had used when I was younger. But I couldn’t risk it getting out that I was in therapy. There wasn’t anything wrong with being in therapy. Logically, I knew that, but I also knew that the stigma was still there, and it was just another mistake I was making that could be used as fodder on Page Six. I couldn’t do that. Hiring an escort had the same risk.
The thought of another woman in my bed made me a little sick.
Instead, I set an alarm on my phone and did something I hadn’t done in far too long. I took off my suit and went to bed.
Four empty hours later, I awoke feeling calmer. I was still overwhelmed, I was still stressed, but I was more in control. And that was what I needed to be.
It had occurred to me to cancel the dinner with Catherine and instead see if Luc or Marksen were up for a drink, or maybe even call my sisters and relive one of the nights we had when Amelia had made her escape from my mother’s clutches.
There were a few nights when the three of us would just hang out, watch movies, and eat pizza like we were born into a normal family.
The alarm on my phone sounded, reminding me that I had an appointment that, although I was not looking forward to it, needed to happen. Catherine and I needed to lay out exactly what was and wasn’t expected in our relationship and where we were going to go. It needed to happen tonight, and it needed to happen before my mother found out that we were having this meeting. This meeting would put me more in control of what was happening with my social calendar, which would be one less thing for me to stress about.
Still, I sent Amelia a text asking if she wanted to get together this weekend, and then I got dressed for my evening with Catherine.
Catherine, to her credit, did make us a reservation at some ridiculously upscale French restaurant that offered booths that were nestled into little alcoves and had curtains to give the diners a more private, intimate experience.
Although for all intents and purposes this was a business dinner, privacy was required, and it needed to look romantic.
I arrived only a few minutes after she did, and she was already seated at a table in the back corner.
“Catherine, you look lovely tonight.” I greeted her appropriately.
I wasn’t wrong. She did look lovely in a white sheath dress with gold earrings and necklaces. Perfectly understated. Demure, delicate, and expensive. It looked like my mother had dressed Catherine herself. Perhaps she had?
I didn’t know which thought was more terrifying, that Catherine’s taste was so in line with my mother’s, or the distinct possibility that she actually had my mother pick out her outfit for the night.
We ordered the first round of drinks and appetizers and got down to business.
It started simply enough, talking about events and charity obligations, those that she would be able to do on her own, others that she would prefer having my presence at, and a few where my presence was not optional. All things considered, it was very reasonable. Most of the events she would handle herself, and the non-negotiable events so far were on dates that I was able to make work.
“About your secretary,” she started as she finished her third glass of wine.
“Not my secretary,” I said.
“Whatever.” She waved her hand dismissively. “About the girl that was at your desk and any other girls on your desk or whatever after her.”
“What about her?” I asked, not liking where this conversation was headed.
“You need to stop seeing her.”
“Excuse me?”
“Look, I don’t care who you sleep with, but it needs to be more discreet than someone at work. I don’t expect you to treat this like an actual marriage because it’s not one.”
I knew she was right, but how she was so cold and dismissive about it made me a little sick. And I had to wonder, was this what I wanted? Did I want the same contract marriage that my father and mother had, or did I want more?
“Well, that girl, Ms. Carmichael, is no longer on my desk.”
“Oh, good. I was worried that you were going to keep her on even after everything, but Mary assured me you wouldn’t and that you have a very low tolerance for incompetence.”
“What do you mean, everything? You mean the altercation where my mother assaulted her?”
“Well, that and that other thing. Your mother is so bad.” She laughed and set her glass down roughly on the table, sloshing the dregs of the champagne around the glass.
“Oh?” I smiled at her. “What did she do this time? She always gets up to the most interesting things,” I said, playing along.
My stomach twisted, and I had a feeling I knew exactly where this was going.
“Well.” She leaned in like she was going to tell me some scandalous secret or let me in on the latest gossip. “While I was waiting for you and your mother, I started looking through the girl’s desk, thinking she might be up to something or she might have something of yours or something incriminating, but I couldn’t find anything. It was all work. Then all that stuff with your mother happened, and when you took that girl back into your office, your mother went into her desk and grabbed a couple of files.”
“She stole evidence?”
“Oh no, nothing like that. She just took a couple of files, just some work things. I’m sure they were nothing. She just wanted to make sure that the girl got in trouble and got fired so she’d no longer be a threat to what we were doing here. Really, Harrison, you should know to be more careful with who you sleep with. I mean, having an affair is fine, but does it have to be as cliche as to have it with a secretary? That’s almost as bad as sleeping with your yoga instructor. At least have it with somebody on your same level. If you’re looking for a little discreet hookup, I’m sure I can find someone who would be interested. However, the more I think about it, we should probably start having kids right away, so maybe it’s best if you don’t stray, at least until we have our first child.”
How could I have been so stupid? I knew that Eddie wasn’t stupid. I knew she wasn’t incompetent, and she understood how important those documents were. I owed her an apology. And she shouldn’t accept it. I had fucked up so royally there was no way she was going to forgive me.
Although, Amelia forgave Luc for being absolutely terrible. Olivia even forgave Marksen for kidnapping and then trying to blackmail her. If they could forgive their partners for that and still love them, could Eddie forgive me for being an asshole earlier?
Even if she couldn’t, did I want to deprive myself of the chance of finding a relationship like my friends had for this cold, icy woman?
“Catherine, I appreciate what you were trying to do, and I understand that in your head, you were doing the right thing. But this is not going to work.”
“Of course, it’s going to work. Your mother’s arranged everything. It’s all planned.”
“No, it’s not. Keep the wedding location if you want to keep the deposits. I don’t really care. But I will not be marrying you, not now, not ever.”
“You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am?”
I flattened my palms on the table and leaned down. “I know something way more important than that… I know what you are. A fucking bitch. I’m done.”
I put a few hundred dollars on the table and walked out feeling suddenly lighter and more centered than I had in weeks. I was over letting myself be manipulated by Mary Quinn Astrid and her privileged insanity.
I needed to go find my girl.