Chapter 2
VANESSA
Five months ago
“Happy divorce day. Congrats on being Vanessa Meyers once again,” I mutter to myself, picking up my celebratory amaretto sour and slinging back half the contents in one gulp.
I set the glass down, pressing at my lips with a napkin, careful not to mess up my lipstick because I worked too damn hard to look this good.
The last thing I wanted to be doing today was sitting in a bar alone in New York City.
I thought this day—now that it has finally come—would be celebrated with friends and family, but no. It’s just me.
Alone. Again .
I’ve finally accepted reality—Neal won our friends in the divorce.
I guess I should wonder if they were ever really my friends at all if they can pick that cheating, lying sack of shit over me, but it still wouldn’t make it hurt any less that I’m sitting here all alone on such a life-altering night.
Not even my dad and stepmom are here. They’re out with my hockey-playing stepbrother.
I get it—Reed rarely comes to New York these days unless his team, the Seattle Serpents, is playing, but did they really have to ditch me to hang with him?
On today of all days? Sure, they invited me to go along with them, but I wasn’t feeling like being the awkward fifth wheel since my brother’s girlfriend is here too.
I wanted tonight to be about me . Selfish? Perhaps, but it wouldn’t be the first time someone said I was. In fact, people have said a lot of things about me over the last year-plus. They’ve called me cruel. Vindictive. Bitchy. Vengeful .
None of it bothers me. Why should it? They’d be the same way if they found out their husband of less than six months—the man I gave five years of my life to—somehow managed to fall dick first into his secretary. Of fucking course I’m mad at the world. I have every damn right to be.
I just wish all that spite and revenge actually meant something. Sure, Neal lost his fancy high-paying job when I sent the video of him banging his secretary to his boss, but it didn’t feel nearly as good as I hoped it would. Much like this celebratory drink doesn’t feel as good as I wanted it to.
If I’m being honest, nothing about this day feels good. I’ve been looking forward to my divorce being finalized for sixteen long months, thanks to Neal dragging it out far longer than he needed to, but it doesn’t feel as freeing as I thought it would.
It just feels…sad. I feel sad.
“Hey there, sweetheart.”
I turn to find a guy who looks to be about my age slipping onto the stool next to me. Crisp white polo and pressed slacks. Loafers. Dark blond hair slicked back in a way that looks purposeful yet effortless all at once. He looks like a total boy-next-door kind of guy.
I remember when I fell for that once upon a time.
“How do you know?”
“Pardon?” he says into his half-empty beer as he brings it to his lips, a shiny silver watch catching the bar lights and nearly blinding me.
I lean closer, not missing how his eyes drop to my cleavage. I wore my very favorite dress tonight, the silky midnight-blue one that hugs every curve and leaves little to the imagination.
“How do you know? How do you know I’m a sweetheart ?”
He chuckles. “Well, I suppose I don’t. But you sure look sweet, and I’d love to find out if you are.”
He rolls his tongue over his lips, eyes sweeping over me appreciatively, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the attention. But unfortunately, this guy is doing nothing for me. He reminds me too much of everything I lost for that to be the case.
The familiar ache that settled into my chest the night I found out about Neal’s indiscretion makes itself known again.
I’ve never been one to feel bad for myself, at least not until The Video happened.
Since then, I’ve been finding myself alternating between anger and sadness, and I hate it.
I want my old life back. I want to go back to being the girl who always held her head up high and commanded a room.
Not the girl who got cheated on and can barely hold it together half the time.
A hand lands on my arm, and I glance down.
A wedding ring.
Suddenly, I don’t want to be ogled or flirted with. I want to be left alone to sulk.
There go those damn mood swings again.
“Want to go somewhere a little quieter and get to know each other?” he asks, not realizing I’ve caught on to his game.
“While the offer is oh so tempting ,” I say, each word dripping with sarcasm, “I’m fine where I am.”
I shake his hand off me and give him my shoulder. To anyone else, it would be obvious I’m dismissing them. This guy doesn’t take the hint, though. He leans in closer, his breath smelling like a horrible IPA, and I scrunch my nose in disgust. It doesn’t deter him.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, dropping his voice low. “What do you have to lose?”
“My dignity. Now go away.”
“I—”
“Pretty sure she said no, buddy. Twice now, actually.”
We both whip our heads toward a new voice. A man—a very handsome one at that—sits two seats away. He’s not looking our way, but it’s obvious he’s talking to us.
“I suggest you listen to her.” His words might be calm, but there’s no denying the underlying threat in them: I suggest you listen to her, or I’ll make you listen.
Chivalrous, really, but I don’t need someone to fight my battles, especially not some random guy who is probably just as bad as all the rest.
“I can take care of myself,” I snap at him before turning back to Married Guy. “He’s right. I did say no. Now, get lost before I take a picture of you and blast it all over social media with the hashtag cheater . I guarantee you it’d reach your wife before the end of the night, sweetheart .”
His eyes widen with surprise, then just as quickly fall to slits. Everything about him changes in that moment. He goes from smiling and playful to angry, as if it’s my fault he’s trying to cheat on his wife.
“You didn’t need to be such a bitch, you know,” he mutters, climbing off the stool and taking his foul-smelling beer with him.
“Better a bitch than a no-balls-having cheater!” I yell to his back before slamming back the rest of my drink to calm myself.
I set the glass down, unaware I was shaking until now. It’s not that I thought the guy was a real threat, but it still has me on edge, and I’m sure that has everything to do with my increasing distrust of men.
A deep, hearty laugh draws my attention, and I swing my head to the right, ready to tell Sir Eavesdropper he really needs to mind his own business, but the words never come out. I’m too distracted. I was wrong before; he’s not handsome—he’s hot . Really, really hot.
So hot it immediately puts me on alert. What’s his game?
What does he gain by playing the knight in shining armor to a stranger?
What does he want from me? How can he break me?
Just the thought of being broken again has that same anger from before flooding my veins, and I go from being enchanted by his looks to annoyed in a second flat.
“What’s so funny?” I snipe.
Another laugh, and all it does is piss me off more.
I glare at him. “What the hell is your problem, man?”
Finally, he turns to me, and if I thought his profile was hot, it’s nothing compared to getting a good look at him straight-on.
Dark brows sit over a pair of hazel eyes that would make anyone stop and stare.
Green peppered with flakes of gold I can see even from two seats away.
A hint of scruff that’s entirely too enticing and dark hair peppered with a few gray streaks, making me wonder just how old this guy is.
And while he’s wearing a light blue button-up and gray dress pants, he doesn’t look like he’s trying too hard to impress people like Married Guy was. No, he looks comfortable. At ease. And possibly even a little familiar.
I squint, trying to figure out where I might know him from, but nothing comes to mind. I don’t know this man at all, which makes it even more annoying that he’s inserting himself where he doesn’t belong.
“Well?” I prompt when he says nothing.
He raises a single brow, then lifts his drink—some kind of whiskey from the looks of it—and takes a swig before he flicks his chin toward the empty glass sitting in front of me. “Want another drink?”
I glance down at it, then back at him. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say no. To tell this guy off. Tell him to mind his own business and that I don’t need someone to rescue me. That I’m doing just fine on my own.
But instead, I say, “Yes.”
He grins and waves the bartender over. “Another Macallan, please. Neat. And whatever the lady wants.”
The bartender looks at me.
“Amaretto sour. Extra cherries.”
He nods, then takes off to grab our drinks while the handsome stranger gets up and moves two stools closer.
What the…
But once he sits down next to me, unlike with Married Guy, I don’t get the overwhelming urge to move away.
“Hi,” he says, his voice deeper than I realized before.
“Hi,” I murmur back, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
Are those… nerves ? Does this guy make me nervous? Yes, he does, but not in a bad way. More like butterflies-in-my-stomach kind of nervous. It’s just as unsettling. I can’t remember the last time someone made me feel that way. At least not since…
I give myself a mental shake, pushing all thoughts of my ex out of my head. This day isn’t about Neal. It’s about me and my freedom. It’s about starting over. It’s about new .
“You okay?”
I tip my head, unsure why he’s asking that.
“The adulterer,” he explains.
“Ah.” I nod. “Yes, I’m fine. I really did have it handled.”
He smirks. “Oh, I have no doubts about that, love.”
Love.
It’s so cheesy, yet it rolls off his lips so effortlessly. Not smarmy at all, like with Married Guy calling me sweetheart .
“So, what brings you here…” He trails off, looking for my name. Normally, I’d make someone work harder for it, but I find myself wanting to tell him.
“Nessa.”