Chapter 1 #2
He looks over his shoulder at me. “Not to hang out with the guys?”
I slump back in my seat, feeling every second of my thirty-eight years. “Not tonight. We’ll be on the road next week. I can hang with them then. Madison spends too many nights alone. I plan to start making up for that.”
Patrick starts the car. “Of course, sir.”
“Actually, can you stop somewhere to grab flowers? I don’t know what will still be open this late.”
He pulls out of the lot. “There’s a grocery store that’s open late. They should have some ready-made bouquets available.”
After a quick stop, and a cellophane wrapped bouquet of orange roses later, he pulls in front of my apartment building.
Living in the penthouse in the Riverside Edge luxury apartments is just another way I’ve avoided commitment.
Sure, I own my apartment, but I don’t have to worry about maintenance while I’m traveling.
Now I’m thinking a house with a yard might be more in line with my plans to settle down.
These thoughts keep me company as I take the elevator to the top floor.
It opens in the foyer of my opulent bachelor pad.
There’s no sign of Madison in the living room.
I don’t really know what she does to keep herself busy on game nights.
I have always stayed out with the guys. She is on the board of several charities, as well as having a position at her father’s company.
Even though she’s as busy as I am, I still feel bad leaving her alone as much as I do.
I also feel guilty that I don’t feel more of a need to run home to her more often.
“Madi, are you here?” I call out.
There’s no answer, so I keep making my way back to our bedroom. I’d love nothing more than to shed this suit and slip into sweats.
The further I go down the hallway, the more I start to hear the telltale sounds of fucking.
Without thinking I burst into the room. Madison’s auburn hair is unmistakable splayed across the pillows.
Not that I can see her underneath the naked dude, bare ass flexing between her splayed thighs.
She’s mewling like a cat, doing her best impression of bad porn.
“What the fuck,” I shout, startling them both.
He jumps off her and wraps the sheet around his waist, leaving her in all her whorish glory.
Madison grabs my pillow and covers herself with it.
“Now you’re being modest?” I sneer.
“Y—you’re not supposed to be home for hours,” she stammers.
I open my hands in front of me. “By all means then, continue fucking some random dude in my bed.”
“Baby, it was a mistake. I get lonely sometimes,” she starts trying to apologize.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Don’t start with me. Get your shit and run home to daddy. Hell, go to one of your friends, I don’t care, just get the fuck out of my house.”
Her shoulders roll back, and I can see the moment the spoiled rich girl attitude I once mistook for confidence comes over her. “You can’t just throw me out. This is my home too.”
I grind my molars. She does have a point. Legally I will probably have to evict her if she pushes it. But, I’m not without other options. If she forces my hand, I’ll call her dad myself.
It isn’t that he loves me, but he doesn’t hate that my family runs the biggest construction firm on the west coast. Madison and I met at a business dinner, and our parents have been planning our wedding since we got together.
“You can play it that way. If you do, I’ll call your dad and mine and blow up the deal they’ve been working on. Maybe if I let him know that I don’t hold your sluttiness against him he will do what he needs to do in order to save his company. His lumber yards are still suffering, aren’t they?”
“You’re a bastard,” she says through her teeth.
“Yeah, I don’t take criticism from skanks,” I shoot back.
Her lover, who I recognize from one of her charities, has managed to get his pants on. I guess having his cock not flopping around has given him courage. “You can’t speak to a lady that way.”
“Really? Do you see a lady here? Get the fuck out of my house. This is between me and my ex-girlfriend.”
“Madison, do you need me to stay?” he asks her, ignoring me.
“How about you both get the fuck out. In fact, take her with you,” I suggest.
There’s a shifty look in his eyes. “I, uh, I can’t take her to my house.”
I look down at his left hand, and sure enough there’s a white line from a wedding ring. “Yeah, I guess your wife would have a problem with that.”
“You’re not packing fast enough,” I say, returning my attention to Madison.
She lounges back, giving me a full view of her tits. “C’mon, Knox, we can get past this.”
I make no effort to hide how much my love has turned to loathing. “Please tell me you don’t think you can entice me right now. Get your diseased cunt out of my bed.”
Moving to the closet, I start throwing her things onto the floor. All the designer items I’ve bought her over the years are tossed in a pile like garbage. I don’t care what she takes as long as she gets the fuck out of my sight.
Still she doesn’t move, so I help her more by throwing her things in one of the overpriced pieces of luggage she’s collected.
“I will drag your ass out of here naked if you don’t get dressed,” I warn her.
Finally, she sees that I’m not making idle threats and starts throwing on some clothes.
In an effort to speed things along, I make a call down to the concierge desk. “Geoff, can you get a cab for Madison, and while you are at it revoke her access to the building.”
“Consider it done, sir.”
“Time to go,” I announce and grab the bag with designer clothes spilling out of it.
“Knox, slow down. We can talk about this,” Madison whines as I move toward the elevator.
I should let the doorman get her into a cab, but I want to make sure she actually leaves. Then I can go upstairs and drink myself to sleep. So, rather than do the smart thing and leave her in the lobby with her things, I personally drop them in the waiting trunk of the cab when it comes.
“Your chariot awaits. I hope it takes you far, far away.” I grab her arm and manhandle her into the car. Not enough to hurt her, but she has to know now that there’s no sweet talking her way back into my bed.
Flashes of light go off, and I drop her arm like I’ve been burned. I turn and see the lens of a camera poking through the bushes. Fucking paparazzi.
Trying to keep a tight leash on my rising anger, I head back to the door. The photographer steps in front of me blocking my path. Instead of a camera he’s holding up a cell phone, recording me. “Is this how you celebrate a victory? Attacking an innocent woman?”
“Get out of my way,” I say through clenched teeth.
He puts his hand on my right shoulder and shoves me. The flare of pain shreds every bit of control I’m working hard to hold on to. Without a thought I swing with my left and knock him out cold. All of it is live streamed to his social media.
Fuck. My. Life.