CHAPTER TWO
Sutton
Twenty-four Hours Earlier
“Ten o’clock tonight. Club Coquette.”
“Stepping up in the world, are we?” I tease. Club Coquette is the place to be right now, but velvet ropes are only lifted if you know someone or are someone. “How’d you score those tickets or access or whatever it is you need to get in?”
“I may or may not be dating one of the managers there.”
I lift my eyebrows at something that is so Classic Lizzy. She always happens to be with the right people at the right times. She attracts good luck and good times like a magnet.
“So . . . Come with us? It’ll be the first girls’ night out that you can make in forever.”
“I can’t,” I whisper into my phone as I pop my head above my cubicle to make sure no one can hear me from my corner in the back of the office. Or see my grimace in response to my best friend’s question.
I never should have answered the call. Especially not when things have been so strained between us these past few months.
“As expected,” Lizzy murmurs and emits a resigned sigh. It sounds much like how I feel these days.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means when is the last time Clingy Clint let you out of his sight? It’s a girls’ night out for Christ’s sake. Does he own your every waking moment?”
“Lizzy . . . That’s not it.”
“That is it, Sutton. The prick can go out and have all the fun he wants but, not shockingly, you’re not allowed because he might suddenly need you.
He can take promotions and climb the corporate ladder, and yet the minute you think about doing the same, he makes you doubt your own abilities so you turn down similar opportunities.
Hell, he even helps you pick out the dresses to wear to his corporate functions, and then when you’re there, he humiliates you by publicly stating how you made the wrong choice.
” She makes a sound that can only be akin to frustration as tears burn in my eyes.
I knew I was going to regret spilling my guts out to her last month. My call to her was a moment of frustrated weakness that is now, of course, going to be used against me.
The part of me that wants to cling to her for support gives way to my need to protect Clint and my pride.
“I’m at work. I can’t have this conversation right now.”
“There’s always a reason you can’t have the conversation.
Always an excuse for him.” There is a pleading in her voice that I pretend not to hear.
“I mean, look at you. In your work life you kick ass on the daily, and the only thing I can gather is that it’s the one part of your life he can’t touch or influence. ”
“Lizz—”
“I don’t mean to hurt you, but you simply can’t see it.” Her sigh is heavy when I don’t respond. “I know you love him, but this isn’t love. This is control with the obsession to tear you down just to build himself up.”
“That’s not true,” I whisper without an ounce of conviction.
“He has sapped every bit of that spark and personality from my best friend, and I’m not having it anymore.
I’ve sat idly by for the last two years and watched you slip away as he’s pulled the strings that control you tighter and tighter, and I can’t do it anymore.
I’d rather ruin our friendship by telling you the truth than by letting you become a shadow of the person I know you to be. ”
“I said I can’t do this right now.”
And yet I don’t hang up.
I don’t even attempt to.
Because I know she’s right. Nothing that she’s said is news to me.
In fact, they’re things I’ve told myself over and over.
Things I’ve thought about late at night when he’s out, and I’m home alone.
I’ve even gone so far as admitting to myself that our relationship is unhealthy.
That our talks of marriage and a future are just that—talks.
I know I can’t do this forever and yet .
. . I’m not strong enough to walk away just yet.
Or am I?
The thought sucker-punches me. The truth of it knocking the wind from me as Lizzy drones on in my ear.
Has he beaten me down that much? So much so that thoughts of how much he needs me overrides my own well-being? That his constant refrain about how he’d fall apart without me taking care of him has become more important than who is taking care of me?
And yet I repeat the company line. “Lizzy. He needs me—”
“Don’t you dare sit there and think he’d be devastated without you,” she starts. “He’s a grown-ass man, able to take care of himself. He has manipulated you into thinking that if you ever leave him, he’ll crumble. That’s his problem. Not yours.”
“It’s not as easy as you think.” I’m embarrassed to even utter those words because I’m in my mid-twenties and should have my life together. Lizzy’s aware of my mountains of student debt but not my almost non-existent savings. There’s nowhere in New York I can live on my own.
I grimace.
That’s not a good enough reason to be living with Clint.
My God. Is that why I’ve stayed?
“I know it’s not easy. In fact, I know it’s harder than hell because he’s stolen so much from you and conditioned you to believe that you can’t do it.”
“We live together. I can’t just up and leave and—”
“You can, Sutt. You actually can just up and leave. I told you before that you’re welcome to stay with me till you figure shit out. That offer is still there.”
“Thank you.” It’s all but a whisper because her words are screaming in my head and beginning to drown out the oppressive fear that has owned me for longer than I want to admit.
It’s a weird thing to know what the right thing to do is—to want to do it—but to fall victim to the guilt and shame over why you can’t.
“I miss my friend who used to dance on bar tops with me and the one who’d call me to go get ice cream at three in the morning because she was working late and missed me. I miss your laughter and your sense of humor. I will never forgive him for stealing that from you. Sutt, I just miss you.”
I cough over the sob stuck in my throat as I make a hasty exit from my office to the bathroom where I can hide to gather my composure.
“Lizz . . .” My hiccup echoes around the empty tile room as I lock the door behind me. “I’m still here. I’m still me. I’m . . .”
“And I still love you.”
Her words hurt too much to hear. “I have to go.”
With my back against the door, I slide down to the floor, tears flowing and emotion overwhelming me.
She’s right.
She’s right, and I’m terrified because is this moment—right now—the straw that breaks the camel’s proverbial back?
The question is, do I want it to be?
The tears come harder as I sit unladylike on the expensive marble floor and allow myself a moment to feel sorry for myself. And then a few more to come to grips with everything Lizzy just laid out on the table.
My phone alerts a text.
Lizzy: Are you okay?
Me: I will be.
Lizzy: I love you. I only want the best for you.
I sniffle as the screen blurs through my tears. I shove them away with the back of my hand and take a deep breath. I then type the hardest question I’ve asked in forever.
Me: How do I do this?
Lizzy: With baby steps. You’re not alone. Start with doing one thing for yourself today. Just one thing. Promise me you will.
Me: I promise.
I stare at the screen, at my promise, as my tears subside and my resolve fortifies.
One thing.
I can do that.
Baby steps.
And as I collect myself off the bathroom floor and press cold towels to my cheeks to wipe away the tears, I realize there is something potent in the notion of acceptance. That once you accept the truths you’ve been running from, you begin to have power over them.
“You okay?”
I give a quick glance to my cubicle partner, Melissa, and nod. “Fine. My allergies are acting up.”
“You sure?” She takes a closer look, and I offer her a smile. Hiding my puffy eyes will only serve to further her suspicions.
“Yep. Happens every once in a while.” I shrug as if I wasn’t just bawling my eyes out while questioning my life’s decisions. “What’s up?”
“I was just coming to look for you. Roz wants to see you.”
I do a double take. “Me? Why?”
She never wants to see associate consultants unless they are in trouble or getting fired. Did someone hear me in the bathroom? Did she see me take a personal call on company time? Am I—
“No clue, but I wouldn’t keep her waiting.”
Within minutes, I’m sitting in the glass palace that Resort Transition Consultants’ owner, Roz, calls an office.
Its floor-to-ceiling windows claim to look out over Manhattan but actually look at another skyscraper nearby.
I rub my clammy hands up and down my slacks and hope to God she doesn’t notice the evidence of my emotional breakdown and mistake the red eyes for drinking while on the job or something random like that.
She sits across from me in her trademark black sweater, black-framed glasses, and matching black pixie cut and studies me.
“We have a last-minute project that’s come on board.”
“That’s great,” I say. Internally I groan because we’re already spread thin as it is.
“It is, especially since this client is next level for us. The commission on this project alone would be worth it, but the notoriety and reputation that we’d achieve from being a part of it is invaluable.
” She twists her lips, and I swear if I weren’t sitting in front of her, she’d be rubbing her hands together, already counting the money rolling in.
“The only downside is that we’re expected to be up to speed, ready to work, and on-site in five days. ”
“Okay,” I say just to simply participate in the conversation because, as much as we all love working for Roz, there is nothing Roz likes more than hearing herself talk.
But five days? What is this insanity?
“Our client recently purchased a property in the Virgin Islands that is floundering. It’s a great location, scenic and gorgeous, but it has issues.”
“As they all do.”