Chapter 28
Troy
I hesitated outside Monica’s apartment door, debating if I should go back inside or leave like she asked. Like a piece of paper, I was being torn in two. I hated to see her like that. She was unrecognizable from the hurt that I had caused. So cold. So angry. It was better than seeing her cry because that would break me even more, although the redness around her eyes suggested I had just missed her tears.
I couldn’t believe the vile words that had come out of Veronica’s mouth. The spew of hatred her brain could weave together as a weapon to hurt someone she didn’t even know. I questioned myself on why I would ever be with such a woman, let alone marry her. There was no doubt in my mind that Monica wondered the same thing.
I had finally told her about that part of my past, but it had been too little too late. If I had just opened up to her sooner, maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation. Maybe she could be better prepared to ward off the insults Veronica threw, rather than be completely taken off guard in front of a roomful of fancy strangers. They’re all assholes anyways. That much was clear as I ran after Monica tonight, their laughter in my ears, only to find she was already pulling away in a cab.
I stood breathless on the sidewalk as I watched her go.
“Let her go,” I heard Veronica say next to me.
I whipped around to face her.
“How could you do that? How could you say those things?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Because she doesn’t belong here,” said Veronica with a simple shrug, as if that justified everything.
“Good!” I yelled.
She looked shocked.
“All off this is just for fucking show. Nobody here actually cares about what this event is for. Hell, I don’t even know what it’s for. But we all show up, year after year, to dress up and drink fancy champagne and judge anyone new who steps in.”
Veronica’s eyes widened slightly as she took in my words.
“Wow.” She laughed softly. “She really got to you.”
Maybe she did.
“Come back inside. Where you belong,” she said, wrapping her long fingers around my arm and pulling gently.
I almost did because it would be easier than knowing what I had to do, but I pulled my arm from her grasp and ran down the sidewalk with Veronica’s calls trilling after me. I didn’t bother trying to call for the limo. It would take too long, and too much time had been wasted already trying to fend off Veronica. I hailed a cab and gave the driver Monica’s address.
And now I stood outside her apartment. Alone. I could blame Veronica or my father even, but all of this came down to me. I had been the one to cause her pain because of my stupid past choices and my internal battle as a billionaire’s son. Why would she want to be a part of the mess that was my life?
That was why I left. As much as I wanted to open the door and take her in my arms, I didn’t. I wasn’t any good for her. That was clear. After a week of treating her like she didn’t exist, I thought I could fix it with a fancy party. I thought a dress and jewelry would make things right, but Monica wasn’t that kind of woman. She was different from the Veronicas of the world who only cared about money and their image. It made leaving that much harder.
When Monday morning welcomed me with the chill of the winter weather nipping at my face as dull sunlight came through my window, I pulled the covers over my head and groaned. I had spent the rest of the weekend either in bed or on the couch with a bottle of bourbon in one hand and my phone in the other, hoping somehow that Monica had changed her mind. She didn’t.
I lay in the dark of my comforter, warding off the impending headache from too much alcohol and too many thoughts. The last thing I wanted to do was go into the office today. It meant seeing Monica, and knowing I couldn’t have her. It meant accepting that I was back to being her boss and her being my personal assistant, but it had never just been that.
I could have called in sick, but with my father on my ass, that wasn’t an option. If I had lost the girl, I couldn’t risk losing my job too. So instead, I pulled the covers off and started getting ready for the day, after popping a few Advil for my headache. Nothing could help the unease in my stomach because I didn’t think it was from my hangover.
I arrived at the office a few minutes until 9 a.m., walking by a very surprised Kathy, judging by how high her eyebrows were on her head. I gave her a nod, trying to hide my satisfaction and reminding myself to be early more often just to see that look on her face. But the satisfaction quickly disappeared as I made my way down the hall toward my office, where Monica already sat at her desk.
I dared to steal a glance in her direction, but she ignored my presence and continued typing on her computer. She looked different today. More serious. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and she had simple makeup. She wore a smart pantsuit, which I had never seen before. No more red lips or clingy tops or curve-hugging skirts. She was sending me a message.
I swallowed hard as I stepped into my office. My iced Americano was where it always was. The perfect color peeking through the plastic cup. I took a sip. Perfect . If there was one thing about Monica, whether we were together or not, she knew how to do her job.
It was that professionalism that almost hurt more. She wasn’t trying to make things harder for me out of spite, she was simply doing her job. I couldn’t stand it. I had to talk to her.
“Monica, er, can you come in here?” I called through the door.
She hardly glanced up from her computer before walking over.
“Yes, Mr. Gunner?” she asked.
Mr. Gunner. I hated the way that sounded coming from her lips.
“I just wanted to make sure you looked over the calendar for the day.”
She nodded. “Just as I do every morning.”
“Good.” I nodded. “Good. Busy day.”
I offered a weak smile, which she did not return. God, I felt like an idiot.
“Mhmm. Will that be all?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She turned on her heel and closed the door gently behind her. Another way to shut me out because I usually always left my door open.
The following weeks were more of the same. I had stopped giving her daily tasks that would keep her out of the office. She was back to being by my side for most every meeting and business call. Still, she may as well have been across town with how distant she was. It was starting to be more and more painful being close to her, knowing I couldn’t have her.
And I didn’t simply want her because I missed the sex. I missed the way she would look at me. The thrill I would feel run up my spine to find her eyes on me, stealing glances throughout the day when no one was looking. I missed talking to her over lunch, which she now took in the breakroom. I missed her laugh and the small talk we had in the late evenings in my bed, surrounded by the twinkling lights of the city.
It wasn’t until I lost her that I realized how much I needed her. But wasn’t that how it always went?
I wondered if there would be enough time that would make me forget everything we had shared the past few months, even if she served as a constant reminder. It was doubtful.
When I wasn’t with her, the only way I could try to forget her was getting drunk. I spent most nights out at the bars or at the clubs with colleagues I didn’t really like, just so I wouldn’t feel so alone. That included Jeremy, who ran in the same circle. I was desperate enough to put up with him, and that was saying something.
“What brings you out tonight?” asked Jeremy over the loud music of the club. A smirk was on his face as he loosened his tie from across the booth, a girl on each arm. I wondered how they could stomach him.
“Work has been stressful,” I said.
“ Riiight ,” he said sarcastically.
I raised an eyebrow in question.
“What?” he asked innocently. “You’re not exactly known for your work ethic.”
I rolled my eyes and finished the last sip of the cold whiskey that clinked in my glass.
“I’m going to get another drink,” I said, happy for an excuse to get away from Jeremy. The other guys were fine, but I had already forgotten their names and had no desire to learn them again.
I stood from my seat and pushed through the crowd to find a spot at the bar, which was surrounded by other men in suits and women vying for their attention in too-short dresses while slowly batting their lashes to snag a drink and a date for the night. I held my hand up for the bartender who was dressed in a corset and tiny shorts. Despite the busyness of the bar, she came over immediately.
“What can I get you, handsome?” she asked, leaning over the bar casually.
“I’ll take another one of these. Top shelf, please.” I said, holding up my glass.
“Coming right up.”
She turned and reached up to grab a bottle of amber liquid, her shorts riding up to reveal the fleshy cheeks that peeked out. My eyes stayed ahead, ignoring the invitation to look. I was already bored of her. A moment later, she slid over a fresh glass of whiskey filled with a large ice cube.
“Anything else I can get you?” she asked, biting her lip as she ignored the others holding up their hands.
My eyes fell to her lips, but I didn’t see anything but Monica. One of the many things she did that drove me crazy in the best way. I knew I could easily ask for her number, or wait for her to get off work in the early morning hours to invite her to my place. Hell, I could probably pay her to leave right now. Maybe a distraction would be nice.
I thought about it for a moment, breathing in the vanilla perfume the bartender wore. It wasn’t the jasmine scent I had come to love. Having anything else in my bed to linger on my sheets would feel wrong. Anyone else but Monica would feel wrong.
“I’m good. Thanks,” I replied, taking my drink and tossing a fifty on the counter.
I turned my back and started walking to the booth, which was now filled with more women who had taken my empty space. It wasn’t like I wanted to be there anyway. I finished my drink in two large gulps and set it on a nearby high-top table. I avoided the dance floor as I made my way toward the exit. My eyes felt heavy and my mind felt blurry. The perfect combination for a deep, dreamless sleep. Something I tried to achieve each night to avoid flashbacks of Monica’s lips and creamy skin, until I had to see her again and be reminded of the things I could no longer touch.