Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blue
Monday
My body aches in places I didn't know could ache, a dull throb from a weekend tangled in Red's sheets, with his hands pinning me down, his mouth mapping every inch of me until I shattered over and over underneath him.
I smile bigger, even though it hurts my cheeks, but I can't help it.
Exhaustion tugs at my muscles, and adrenaline surges through my veins, electric and insistent, replaying the way he whispered my name in the dark, the lazy mornings where we shared coffee in bed, and how his fingers traced patterns on my skin.
We talked about nothing and everything. And those hours wrapped us in a bubble, private and ours, where the world outside his condo ceased to exist.
I glance at the clock on my computer. Eleven thirty. My morning tasks dragged, my mom and co-worker's voices blurring into white noise while my mind wandered back to Red's laugh, low and rare, the one he saves only for me.
"He loves me," I whisper, filling in the bodice of a dress in red. I finish, put my pencil down, and stare at the drawing.
Impulse hits sharp and sudden. I grab my keys, escape the office, telling Mom I'm meeting a friend for lunch, then detour to Red's favorite deli.
I order him a turkey on rye with extra mustard, no mayo, and a side of the spicy pickles he raved about in bed.
I order a chicken salad on a croissant for me, and practically skip down the sidewalk, toward his office.
When I step into his building, the guards nod. I get into the elevator, and I'm soon stepping into Red's waiting area. But as soon as the door shuts, I freeze.
The air shifts, the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, erasing the warmth from our weekend. There's no more tangled limbs or hushed confessions. Red's office exudes professionalism, etched into every polished surface.
A woman sits at the reception desk, brunette hair knotted neatly, fingers flying over the keyboard with practiced ease.
She's polished in a bright blue dress that hugs her curves just right.
She glances up without missing a beat. In a soft Southern drawl, polite but firm, her brown eyes meet mine. "Can I help you?"
I grip the bag tighter and glare at her. "I'm here to see Dr. Mercer. Who are you?"
She rises and extends her hand. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I get so caught up in my work that I forget my manners. I'm Dr. Mercer's new assistant, Amy."
"Amy?" I repeat, my throat tightening. I don't take her hand.
She lowers it. "Yes. And you are?"
I stare at her another moment before answering, "I'm Blue."
No recognition flickers in her expression. "Blue..."
My face falls. "Blue Ivanov."
She pauses, hits a key on the computer, then wrinkles her forehead. "I don't see you on the schedule. Did you have an appointment that I somehow missed?"
"You don't know who I am?" I question, my stomach flipping.
She opens her mouth, then shuts it. She glances at the bag, then says, "Oh my gosh, I love that deli!"
The flipping turns to twisting.
Why does she love it? Did Red buy her a sandwich from his favorite sandwich shop?
She adds, "I went on a first—and only—date there. The guy was a big no, but the deli was a win!"
Relief hits me. I take several breaths.
She tilts her head. "I'm really sorry. It's my first day. Did you have an appointment?"
In a curt tone, I reply, "No, and I don't need one. You really don't know who I am?"
She bites on her lip for a moment, then winces. "I'm new to Chicago, and I don't know who's who in town. Are you a model? You're gorgeous enough to be!"
Another ounce of anxiety disappears. I shake my head. "No. I'm Red—Dr. Mercer's girlfriend."
She beams. "Oh my goodness! No wonder you looked at me like I'm crazy! I'm so sorry. Like I said, I'm new and still learning things! It's so nice to meet you!"
I stare at her, not sure if I should trust her.
Why didn't Red tell me he replaced Shirley?
Amy gestures to the chairs. "He's with a patient right now. Should be out in ten. Coffee while you wait? Water?"
She seems harmless.
Don't trust her until you know for sure.
She's looking for a man. It's going to be hard for her to resist trying to steal mine.
That's not fair.
I force a smile. "I'll take a water."
She grabs a bottle out of the mini fridge and hands it to me, gushing, "I love your dress!"
I glance down at my green maxi dress. "Thanks. I made it."
"You made it? Really?"
"Yes."
"Wow. How do you know how to make clothes?"
My pulse bangs between my ears. I debate whether to lie, then tell her, "My mom's Skylar Ivanov. She taught me."
Her mouth drops. "Wow! That's so cool." Her words needle me. She exudes neutral professionalism, but jealousy coils hot in my chest, sharpening my breath.
I sit and pull out my phone, not wanting to talk anymore.
She takes the hint and returns to her desk.
From the corner of my eye, I watch her type, trying to decide if I can trust her or not. Minutes stretch forever until the inner door opens and Red emerges.
He escorts a client out with a nod and a quiet word. Then his eyes land on me, surprise flashing before he masks it. "Blue. What brings you here?"
I rise, bag in hand. "Lunch. Thought you'd be hungry."
He glances over at Amy. "Hold my calls for fifteen."
"Of course, Dr. Mercer." She doesn't look up from her screen, but her efficiency screams competence, the kind that anticipates needs before they're spoken. It rattles me further.
We step into his office, and he shuts the door. I set the bag on his desk and unwrap the sandwich. I hold it out to him and sharply announce, "Turkey on rye. Your favorite."
He reaches for it, but tension lines his shoulders. "This is unexpected."
"Good unexpected?" I perch on the edge of his desk, crossing my legs toward him.
"Yes."
"That's good since we had an amazing weekend. Figured I'd keep the momentum going."
His gaze drops to my thigh, lingers a second too long, and heat flickers before he pulls it back. "Appreciate you bringing me lunch. But office hours are packed today."
I tilt my head. "Your new assistant seems to be on top of things. Amy, right?"
"She's efficient. Hired her last week." He takes a bite of his sandwich. "Mmm."
"Efficient." I echo the word, letting it hang.
He sets the sandwich down and wipes his hands. "Is there something you want to say?"
Suspension builds as my pulse quickens. I blurt out, "She's pretty. Curvy. That Southern accent probably melts right through boundaries."
He meets my eyes, calm and unyielding. "Blue. Stop."
I laugh, but it comes out sharp. "Just joking. Mostly. But come on, Red. You fire Shirley, who was all rules and judgment, and hire someone who looks like she stepped out of a small-town good-girl movie? What's the real story?"
His jaw tightens. "The real story is she's qualified. Handles the admin so I can focus on patients. End of discussion."
Jealousy surges hotter, twisting into accusation. "Handles you, you mean. She called you Dr. Mercer like she owns the title. How long until she's handling more than your schedule?"
He stands, voice level but edged. "My work decisions stay mine. You don't question them. This office, my professional life, remains off-limits to whatever we're building outside it."
The words land heavily, rejection echoing in every syllable. My throat constricts and tears prick, but I swallow them down. Smallness creeps in, dismissed like an afterthought, replaceable in his sterile space where he controls everything.
I slide off the desk. "Fine. Enjoy your lunch alone."
"Blue, wait."
I don't. The door swings open, and I brush past Amy without a glance.
Her cheerful eyes track me, and she calls out, "See you soon, Blue."
I don't reply, slamming the door and rushing to the elevator, stepping inside. The metal shuts, and my conviction hardens. Amy isn't just an assistant. She's a threat, slipping into spaces I claimed, ready to take what's mine.
I press my forehead against the cool metal wall and close my eyes until the box jolts to a stop in the lobby, and then I hurry outside.
The city noise rushes in, horns and footsteps and distant sirens, but none of it reaches past the ringing in my ears.
I walk the six blocks home on autopilot, the green maxi dress I made, sticking to my thighs in the afternoon heat.
My apartment door clicks behind me. Silence crashes down, with just the hum of the refrigerator and the faint tick of the wall clock in the hallway.
I wander into the bedroom, kick off my heels, and sit in front of the vanity mirror. My reflection stares back, and my flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and wild hair make me look wrecked.
My hand trembles when I reach for the red lipstick tube on the tray. The cap pops off with a soft click. I uncap it fully, twist the color up until the bullet gleams wet and bright.
My eyes well. I scribble Lov across the glass, pressing hard enough that the tip drags, then breaks.
I grab another tube, twist it up, and add an E then the word Hurts.
The crimson streaks look too clean against the silver backing.
I stare at it, waiting for the phrase to settle something inside me.
It doesn't. The words sit there, tidy and small and meaningless.
Too clean for the raw ache spreading under my ribs.
I grab a fresh tube, uncap it with my teeth, and slash across the message in furious zigzags.
Red smears over red, turning the letters into jagged smears, then into nothing recognizable.
I keep going until the mirror is a chaotic blur of color, and streaks running downward like blood that never quite falls.
My chest heaves. The lipstick tube slips from my fingers and clatters to the vanity top. I stare at the mess I made, breathing hard, then lift my fist and slam it into the center of the glass.