Chapter Two
“What could that treacherous man want? Another spanking?” Mario Franklin said in his most dramatic, high-pitched tone. There was no love lost between Margo Winnfield’s best friend and Leo Davani, her ex-boyfriend.
Yes, Leo liked to be spanked.
Margo had tried—she’d given it her best. She’d spanked his rock-hard, five-times-a-week-gym ass with fake enthusiasm just to please him. In the end, nothing pleased him. He was still a narcissist, and she’d felt nothing but relief once she’d detached herself from him.
She reread the text message he’d sent her and shrugged. “It doesn’t say what he wants.” The scent of roasting coffee and cinnamon rolls finishing in the oven drifted between them.
“Isn’t the barely-out-of-diapers blonde occupying his attention any longer?
” Mario draped his arm over the back of the worn velvet chair.
He’d never been one who filtered his words and that was exactly why they got along so well.
Mario was outgoing and flamboyant, and Margo was a quiet introvert who enjoyed being home plotting mayhem and deaths.
Leo and his assistant, Catarina, having an affair hadn’t come as quite the shock that it should have. Margo had suspected for some time that the two had been sneaking around. What was most sad about the situation was that Margo no longer cared.
Taking down two mugs, she poured coffee into each. While she added pumpkin spice cream to hers and stirred, she thought over the reasons why Leo could want to see her. No possible reason made her want to see him again, ever.
Licking the spoon then laying it aside, she sighed. “I should just tell him to jump off a cliff. We ended things on a sour note, and I’ve had closure. I don’t need to rehash all the old news.” She sipped her coffee.
Mario raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Exactly.”
Leo had made it seem dire that she met with him.
What could be so serious that he had to speak with her ASAP? Did he miss a facial? Lose his designer loafers?
She didn’t owe him anything, especially any more of her valuable time. She’d spent too long trying to make him happy when he couldn’t even keep his zipper zipped.
“This is the first time he’s reached out in months,” she said aloud, mostly to herself.
“He’s exhausting.” Mario flicked his wrist. “No more talk about Little Leo and tell me about your date last night. How does it feel to be back in the dating saddle?”
Margo didn’t like the nickname Little Leo, but it did ring with some truth.
The oven timer beeped, and she used the oven mitts to take out the pan of rolls. They smelled divine. “His name is Marty. He owns a sports shop, has no kids, and loves to travel,” she said.
“Ooh, sounds delicious,” Mario crooned. “Plans for a second date?”
“Not on your life.”
“Please tell me you’re not being picky.”
“He brought his mother on the date.” She poured sweet icing over the rolls.
Disbelief filled Mario’s expression. “No, he did not!”
“Yes, he did and didn’t even ask me if I minded.
They both showed up, and he introduced her.
It was okay because in the end I had a good time with her although I felt like I was in a job interview and Marty was boring.
He watched the football game on the TV the entire time.
He chose the sports bar for that very reason.
This is why I stay home and watch Netflix.
Life outside of these four walls is brutal. ”
“I’m sorry, honey.” He patted her hand. “You’ve just had a run of bad luck with men. It’ll get better. Think of it as fodder for your novels.”
“Thank you, but I’m okay with being single.” She scooped the rolls out of the pan onto a plate and placed them on the bar.
“Come on,” Mario said, leaning forward. “We can’t give up. The men are out there, somewhere. Hopefully one who can go on a date without consulting his mother.” He winked.
She picked off a piece of roll. “The date with Marty ranks right up there along with the date with Mike.”
“Is that the man who took a selfie right in the middle of a conversation?” She nodded. “Self-involved much?!” Mario rolled his eyes. “My last, he was so boring he made silence seem fun.”
Margo laughed. “We are magnets for them, aren’t we? We must set our standards too low. I think we should aim higher.” She lifted her cup in toast. “To better partners in our future.”
They clinked their cups. “To better partners.”
Her phone dinged and she saw that it was another message from Leo. She read it…
Please, Margo. Meet me at our spot. It’s a matter of life or death.
He’d never been this dramatic. What had come over him?
“Is that Little Leo again?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously? I knew he’d do this. The second he realized the mistake he made by letting you go he’d come crawling back like a slug. Life’s too short for men who need flashcards.”
“I know you hate him. I get it, but something feels off.” Margo couldn’t seem to shake the concern.
“Don’t allow him in your headspace again. He will wreck the place like he’s done before. Men like him are searching for attention.”
“You’re speaking to me as if I still need convinced. I left him. Leo and I are done. I don’t need you, or anyone, to try to talk me into walking away. I am away—happily away.” She took a long drag from her cup.
“Fine. Sorry. I’ll let it rest.”
She laid her invisible sword down. “I understand you want to protect me. You’ve always been a good friend, but I’ve got this.”
“I know you do. I hate to run but I have to catch my flight.
“I’m going to miss you but you’re going to have so much fun visiting your family. Two years is a long time not to see them.”
He slid off the chair. “Not on your life. All they’re going to do is ask me how long I plan on being gay as if it’s a sickness.” He batted his eyelids.
“I’m sorry. Maybe things will be different this visit,” she tried to lift his spirits.
“One can only hope.” He gave her a semi-smile.
“Call me tomorrow and let me know how it goes, okay?”
“Most certainly with all the delicious details. Ta-ta, love.”
Once the door closed behind Mario, Margo reread the text messages from Leo.
This could be a ploy. He had the tendency to lie whenever it suited him.
Yet, there was something frantic in the messages that she couldn’t ignore.
Margo didn’t owe Leo any kindness or consideration. She’d given him ample opportunity to change, to appreciate her, but it always came back to his avoidant behavior—back to loving his “amazing” single lifestyle.”
What if it was truly a matter of life or death?
This would be the last time she met with him.
She grabbed her purse and left the apartment.
With each step that took her closer to the corner coffee shop where she and Leo would meet often, she reminded herself of the strength she’d built over the last few months.
Refusing to be dragged into his web again, she’d make it clear that he couldn’t reach out to her any longer.
If he got lonely, he could find comfort with his assistant.
Margo thought she’d made it clear the last time she saw him that she no longer wanted to see or speak to him.
In the end she blamed herself for forgiving him so many times, allowing him to push the boundaries repeatedly.
He’d never taken her expectations to heart. Never really cared.
She felt a sense of freedom to be away from him after having a front row seat on the Leo-coaster.
They’d never been in love. Not even like.
Truly, they did want different things in life.
He liked his swanky social gatherings and weekends on yachts with friends—a term she used loosely to describe those people who had a love for flashing their riches and snorting cocaine like it was nineteen-eighty.
Leo swore he didn’t share the same habits but trusting him was a gamble.
Her grandmother had always said, “like seeks alike”.
Yet, what had Margo and Leo shared while they’d been a couple?
Nothing, not really, outside of semi-okay sex.
She’d never been one to judge what people liked in the bedroom, but it turned out that Leo had a bit more kink than she could roll with.
Most definitely she’d never miss his social gatherings with guests she could barely tolerate because of their fake kindness, or how they looked at her wondering how she could be so foolish to be with Leo.
Margo never belonged in his world. She considered herself awkward and a bit of a loner, so she enjoyed long walks at sunset, intimate dinners, and goat yoga.
She hadn’t even known that was a thing until Mario had introduced her to the therapeutic work out.
Honestly, she didn’t think she’d gotten any healing out of it. The goats were darn cute though.
She should have known Leo would never want the same things as a mystery, thriller writer.
Under her pen name, Margo Deveraux, she lived vicariously through her characters. The bold, the beautiful, and the sinister. She wrote dark suspenseful stories and liked writing from the villain’s perspective. In real life though, she was more of the quiet, timid, church mouse homebody type.
She’d always wondered how authors went to all the book signings, writer gatherings, met fans and readers and felt comfortable doing writerly things.
She’d once bought tickets for an event and attended as a reader hoping to find motivation to set up a booth at the next event.
Instead, she left the auditorium drained and felt more intimidated than when she first walked in.
Her characters were much more interesting and likeable than Margo Winnfield. If people met her in person, they’d never want to read her books again. They weren’t reading much these days anyway.