Chapter Forty-Three – Verity
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
VERITY
I really hope no one can tell I just had sex.
I spent a solid ten minutes in the bathroom at Cullen’s office, fixing the smudged mascara under my eyes and brushing out my hair into a new ponytail. I even had to ask his assistant if I could borrow her hairbrush, which was totally embarrassing because she one hundred percent knew we just banged.
I mean, it’s not like his office is soundproof. I am just grateful she was the only other person present. I’ll have to bring her a coffee or Danish or something the next time I come over.
Because I will definitely be repeating that again.
Who knew office sex could be so hot?
I hadn’t planned on fucking Cullen when I went to surprise him with lunch, but the thought had crossed my mind. My pussy is thoroughly wrecked, and I’m glad I don’t wear heels to work, because my legs are still a little wobbly.
I’ve barely recovered from our weekend sex-fest. I am going to need a few days of rest before jumping back into action. Maybe. I have a feeling that my resolve isn’t going to last long. I am weak when it comes to Cullen.
The elevator dings and opens onto the floor of our offices. I triple check that my top is tucked into my pants and rub my freshly glossed lips together. My chin presses to my shoulder as I give myself another quick sniff, inhaling the lily and bergamot scent.
I stopped into a nearby makeup store after leaving the RARE offices and went to the perfume area to spritz myself with literally anything I could find.
I was worried someone would be able to sniff out the sex on me.
The last thing I need is to walk back into Delute smelling like I’d been freshly fucked within an inch of my life on a glass office table—which isn’t as uncomfortable as it sounds, surprisingly.
I am starting to understand more and more what Hannah meant by just banging anywhere. It is pretty fun.
I get back to my cubicle without issue even though I’m technically a few minutes over my allotted break time. It is unlikely that anyone will notice. Everyone takes their lunch at different times anyway.
I check the unread messages that cropped up while I was out, scanning to see if anything needs to be handled immediately.
There is a request for some transparent files from a project I closed last week and then a reminder from Anne to send over the final files for Frankie’s PR box, among other things that could be dealt with later.
I click on the alert that has been flashing on my bottom bar, opening it to see that our normal Monday meeting with Celine has been canceled.
Odd. We rarely cancel that meeting. In fact, I can’t think of the last time we didn’t have it. Even when Celine travels, she will dial in on video.
I shrug it off, instead going to work on the open requests so I can check them off before the end of the day.
I’m deep into messing with the layered files for Frankie’s PR box, cursing myself out because I put the font file on the same layer as the graffiti I’d drawn for the background, when a message chimes through on my laptop.
I move my tablet and digital pen to the side, grabbing my mouse to click on the notification.
CELINE: Can you come to my office?
What the hell?
Why is Celine calling me to her office, and via the Groupo chat at that?
My nerves go on high alert, my fight-or-flight response kicking in and tempting me to do a runner.
Then again, the last time she called me into her office, I’d been worried she knew I’d banged Cullen, and instead she let me know that a promotion is on the table.
Considering the way everything is going with Frankie’s stuff…
maybe this is the follow-up. She’d said that a project would be opening up within a few weeks, and it has been way over a month since then.
This could be the break I’ve been waiting for.
I shoot a message back to Celine that I’ll be there in a moment before saving my file and shoving my phone in my back pocket.
Butterflies swarm my stomach with anticipation as I walk over, my palms growing a little sweaty. I wipe them on the sides of my pants and then tuck any stray pieces of hair behind my ears.
I knock twice on the glass door to her office, waiting until she looks up and motions her hand for me to enter.
“Hi.” I give her my warmest smile.
Her office is like an igloo, and I have to stop myself from rubbing my arms as goosebumps prick along my skin.
Celine sits perfectly poised in her expensive leather chair, the red blouse she wears a stark contrast to the black material behind her.
She rolls her Versace pen in her manicured fingers, allowing silence to fill the space.
My nerves get the better of me, forcing my rambling response.
“The Frankie project is coming along nicely. PR boxes are almost done and will be headed to print tomorrow. His agent said if everything goes well with the launch, we could be looking at a pop-up down the line. They mentioned the way we ran the Kelton project and said they could see us as a great partner. Which is fabulous news; means that we could have a repeat client on our hands. And if the agency likes us enough, they could recommend us to others on their roster.” I swallow my tongue.
“I know it’s Anne’s project, but I just thought I’d give you my updates because… you know.”
“Take a seat, Verity.”
“Right.”
I slip into the armchair that is angled to the left half of her desk. It’s still as uncomfortable as ever. I cross my legs and then fold my hands together on my knee, reminding myself not to bounce my leg. Celine hates it when people do that.
She opens a drawer in her desk, pulling out a manila folder, and then offers it to me.
“Open it.”
There’s nothing written on the folder, nothing to hint at what could be inside.
Maybe it’s a contract with a new client, one of the big ones she’d been hinting at.
I’m not naive enough to think it’s a promotion letter.
She’d said I need another win under my belt before taking me to the next level.
If this is the project, though, it means I could be looking at a promotion before the end of the year—which would be amazing for my bank account.
I pinch the metal closure open and thumb open the folder. My heart starts beating a million miles a minute, a pressure building right below my sternum. I grab onto the paper that peeks out and pull it free.
What.
The.
Fuck.
There, on premium bright white printer paper in full CMYK vibrancy, is a picture of Cullen and me at the charity gala talking to Garrett. His arm is wrapped around my waist, and he is smiling down at me like I hold the world, while I look like a giddy schoolgirl fawning over Garrett.
Nausea rushes through my stomach and clogs my throat.
The air leaves my lungs as the world around me turns to a buzzing hum.
It feels like I am about to pass out, my body shutting down from the absolute shock.
I don’t even register the shaking of my hand until I notice the way the paper vibrates in my vision.
This can’t be real.
Inexplicable fear plunges through my chest, creating a hollowness in my body that slowly fills with pure ice.
“I—” I can’t think of anything to say.
“Yes?” Celine’s voice is devoid of emotion, and it throws me off.
I thought she’d yell at me, curse me out or something, based on the way I’ve seen her react to Cullen in the past. I slowly raise my gaze to find her still lounging comfortably in her chair, that Versace pen tapping rhythmically on the table and pure hatred in her eyes.
Her patience is unnerving.
“I can explain.”
“Can you?” She stops tapping her pen, opening her side drawer back up and pulling out additional pieces of paper.
She collects the thin stack in her hands, bouncing them on the table to organize them before handing them to me.
“I would love to hear your explanation. Think carefully about what you are about to say—those pictures are from credited paparazzi and photographers at the event, if you plan to claim that they’re doctored. ”
I take the stack with clammy fingers, leafing through all the incriminating evidence. It’s picture after picture of us at the gala. I hadn’t even noticed someone taking photos of us. There’d been cameras everywhere, but I didn’t imagine any were trained on me. Naive. So damn naive.
I fell into a false sense of safety, and now I am paying the price.
“I didn’t know.” The words sound so meek, my explanation pathetic.
“Didn’t know?” She lets out a haughty scoff. “You saw me arguing with him at the Kelton event. I even met with you for a postmortem on the matter, and you said nothing.”
“That was after I’d already met him. I swear I had no idea who he was. I didn’t even know you’d been married.”
“And you think that makes a difference? You think your ignorance absolves you?” Her voice rises an octave with slight hysteria.
I have no clue what to say. Any response I give will be wrong.
“I’m sorry, Celine.”
“Sorry doesn’t make up for sleeping with my husband.”
“I didn’t—”
“Didn’t sleep with him? You really expect me to believe that. Do I look like that much of an idiot to you, Verity? Do I? Tell me. Do I seem that naive?”
“No, but—”
“Am I a joke to you? Did you think it was funny? Coming into work every day, sitting across from me in meetings with the knowledge that the man in your bed is one whom I loathe with every fiber of my being. Did it make you feel special to take what I lost?”
“That’s not—”
“Tell me, Verity.” Her eyes thin to slits, venom spitting from her tongue. “Does he still have that scar on his hip?”
I am going to be sick. Everything is getting out of hand, getting to be too much. I can’t even process the situation. It doesn’t feel like it’s truly happening to me.
My vision starts to go blurry.
“Celine, please. I didn’t mean you harm.” I’m begging her, the whine clear in my voice. But I have no dignity left. I left that behind the moment I decided to enter into this relationship with Cullen, knowing this could happen.
“You should have thought about that before whoring yourself out.”
Her words hit me like a slap.
“Celine—”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you slept with Cullen.”
“I—”
“Say it.” Her voice punches louder.
“But—”
“Say that you screwed him!” She’s yelling at me now, bullying me, but my spine has snapped in half. I have no backbone to fight her.
“Cel—”
“Say it!”
“Okay! I slept with him!”
The confession rips out of me.
“Get out.” She tosses the papers around the room, cluttering the space with pictures of my sins.
“Please, just listen to me. Give me a chance.”
“A chance? You had your chance all these weeks, and you did nothing. You happily fucked my husband like the little wannabe tramp you are!”
Something in me finally snaps back, my whines turning into a shout to match hers.
“For the love of God. He’s your ex-husband!”
“Not in the court of law, sunshine,” she mocks with a hiss.
Everything stills.
“What?”
“Cullen and I may be separated, but we are not divorced.”
“That’s not possible.”
“Oh, I can assure you, I am still wed to that piss-punk man. I have tax returns from the last decade to prove it.”
“I don’t…”
This doesn’t make sense.
He said he was divorced.
They said they were exes.
They hate each other.
How could they be married?
Something close to manic glee shines across Celine’s eyes. She relishes my sudden confusion and goes in for the kill.
“That’s right, Verity. You just screwed away your entire career for a married man.”