Chapter Seventeen
Devin’s POV
“How are you doing, babe?” Eddie kissed me on my head, before moving to the kitchen, pouring himself some of the cinnamon coffee I’d made earlier, at some point before the sun made its accent over the horizon.
I was feeling poetic this morning, and I was blaming the extra shot of espresso I gave myself.
It seemed logical.
Eddie smiled down at my make-shift coffee station, knowing the one at my flat was always so well stocked so we could treat ourselves to a little something special on our days off.
This was the best I could do in a hotel room.
I couldn’t wait to get back home to get back to my own coffee station.
That way I could make whatever yummy concoction I’d found online and either cuddle with it or take it into work with me, instead of having the supposedly edible (or was it drinkable?), burnt black bean water they served at the hospital.
There was no way I could go back to that swill. I gave him a shrug. My head resting in my hand.
“Got this first thing this morning. Things are getting interesting,” I laughed humorlessly as I handed him my phone, letting him see the newest offending IG message.
He took my phone from me as he finished pouring his coffee.
He went to take a sip, as he brought the phone up to eye level and began reading.
It took all of ten seconds of reading before spitting his coffee out all over the kitchen.
“I swear I'll clean that up,” Eddie said, looking around for a place to set the coffee cup down and for paper towels, “Are you fucking kidding me?! Not only is she claiming she’s pregnant and it’s his?
! But she actually thinks you might still want him?
” He was still in that first awake, not fully functioning state when you wake from an overnight sleep-coma.
I was about ninety percent sure he didn’t even know what day it was when he got up or if he was late for class.
There was alarm and curiosity in his voice, but the anger hadn’t come yet, as he quickly grabbed paper towels trying to wipe up the coffee he spewed.
“You can’t be her OB. You can’t deliver her baby before you deliver mine,” I said, all accusatory and a little angry, trying to tease him and failing. I was not okay with the idea of my brother helping that crazy-twat-waffle-of-a-bitch give birth before me.
“Devin. You’re my sister. I’d never do that to you,” he said, coming and taking a seat at the square high table I was sitting at.
I turned my gaze out the window again, trying to let the peace pull me back before today got started.
I heard muttering and looked over at Eddie who was now looking through his phone, muttering to himself.
“I need to make some calls. Fuck! I have to get one of the other OBs to take her. One of my residents picked her up as a patient in the clinic.” He groaned as he started scrolling again.
He stood to make the calls, stalking out of the room as Em came around the corner. She saw my phone still open to the IG message, read it, and gasped. Then she went fully nuclear. At eight in the morning on a random Tuesday.
This girl didn’t need coffee to function. She was one of those weird morning people. By nine am most days, she’d had all the paperwork done for the day, double-checked her schedule, had one meeting, and was getting ready to go into her second, if not her third meeting, all on no coffee.
What kind of psycho was I friends with?
I just watched my bestie in amazement as I couldn’t help the smile that crept across my face.
Fucking. Becky. I shook my head because, of course, she would keep building my divorce case.
Of course, she would make this shit too easy.
Emilia hated when it was too easy. She wanted to destroy this girl, but she was almost too stupid to live on her own.
“Got it all handled,” Eddie said with a smile, coming back to the kitchen.
Emilia was still frozen, eyes locked on my phone.
She hadn’t made a peep yet. Eddie and I stared at her, waiting for it to sink in and process.
Her face had the full range of emotions.
Calculating, furious, murderous, back to calculating, then, disturbingly excited while outraged.
“What the fuck is that?!” she whisper-hissed, pointing at my phone.
“That,” I said, nodding to my phone, “is proof that she hates me and did this on purpose. She’s building my divorce and lawsuit, all by herself.” I laughed, harder than I had in days! I wiped a tear from my eye, laughing at myself.
“I don’t know if I should send her a thank you gift or not. But this? This is it for me. This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.”
“That slimy, disgusting, horrible,” she was pacing back and forth, face red in anger, arms being thrown around as she spewed insults about my soon-to-be ex-husband and his little tart, with steam coming from her ears. She looked like one of those cartoon characters in the middle of a meltdown.
“I swear when I see that piece of shit, and believe me. That’s an insult to shit.
That man will rue the day he started all of this with my sister!
No! Before that! The day he even thought about talking to that disgusting, disease ridden wench or liked talking to her!
” She was on a roll and I was ready to let her go.
She stormed away, still angry as hell and screaming.
“No! The day he was born! He will absolutely rue the day he was born!” She was angrily, very loudly, projecting her voice. She was trying to keep it cool, but she was so pissed, and rightfully so. Her chest heaving up and down from the anger seeping out of her.
“Well, he got canned yesterday, and immediately after, he got the divorce papers.” I suggested to her as she smiled.
Clearly, my little bit of evil payback had been pleasing to her.
If only I could have been a fly on the wall when it happened.
I was thankful there was video footage and that it was being sent to me!
Tapping my chin, I decided to text Clint.
Maybe we could premiere it tonight after getting dinner.
Tuesday, 6:46am
Devin Fia: Hey Clint, it’s Devin. I was wondering if we should do a viewing tonight? After work of the video footage of him getting the paperwork? I’d love a copy of it if there is.
Tuesday, 6:49am
Clint: Devin. Good morning. I’ll have it sent over via email. We could all get a good laugh watching it. Dinner out? Or we could order in? How many people?
Tuesday, 6:52am
Devin Fia: Haha! Sounds wonderful. Let’s do dinner in. We can all be comfortable and have wine or cocktails. Or water since it’s Tuesday. I think it’ll be the three of us, plus you and whoever else.
Tuesday, 6:55am
Clint: I’ll bring dinner. I’ll also be inviting Amber. As friends, not an attorney/client, get together.
I smiled, remembering yesterday in the hospital.
After Clint and Eddie came back in from the hallway, Clint couldn’t stop stealing glances at Eddie.
I wasn’t entirely sure, because I’d never assume someone’s sexuality or preferences.
It wasn’t just that he was peeking at him when he thought Eddie didn’t notice.
It was the way Clint was watching Eddie, the way his gaze softened and looked almost reverent at the same time.
Did he want to get to know Eddie? On like a more personal level?
Was he trying to make a pass at my brother?
Or was I misreading the situation entirely?
Tuesday, 6:56am
Devin Fia: My parents, mine and Eddie’s, might possibly be in town by then, and I’m sure they’d love to see it too. I’ll keep you posted on their flight times and arrivals.
Tuesday, 7:00am
Clint: I’ll prep for them also. Thank you for the heads up. Keep me posted.
Clint: Please.
I just smiled at my phone. This was going to be fun.
So. Much. Fun.
*****
Caleb’s POV
Walking into HR bright and fucking early Monday morning was not what I wanted to do at all.
I was so nervous after everything that happened over the weekend, still sick from not being able to reach Devin, and from the lack of sleep trying to figure out who could have, or if we were, seen Saturday night.
I saw Becky was already waiting just outside, like she wanted to walk in together.
I hadn’t seen or talked to her since I was on the phone with my mom.
And I wasn’t even sure if I would consider that talking to her.
I just inquired about something and then ignored her the rest of the time.
I took a deep breath before walking past her, like she was part of the furniture.
I kept my gaze on the head of HR. My boss and CEO, Mr. Westwood, were there as well, along with his aide, and lawyer.
Oh god.
This wasn’t going to be good.
At all.
I stood there feeling myself going cold and clammy, weak in the legs.
My muscles were tense, every bit of me was tense, and I was sure the minute anything happened I was going to pass out.
I mean, for fuck’s sake! I could hear my heart thudding in my chest, slamming from one side to the other like a metronome keeping time. I was sure everyone could hear it.
Lub-dub! Lub-dub! Lub-dub!
“Sit,” Mr. Westwood’s voice spoke. He was cold and authoritative like always. We hurried into the chairs provided for us, and I was just thankful I hadn’t collapsed into the damn thing when I went to sit.
A throat clearing, light, feminine, cleared. I blinked, looking around like I was seeing all of them for the first time. I swallowed thickly before his lawyer smiled a sharp, vicious smile at us.
“Please know, this conversation is being recorded for legal purposes. CEO Mr. Clint Westwood, the head of HR, Jennifer Lowell, Mr. Westwood’s aide Sade Jones, and myself, Legal Council Amber Martin are all here.
The day is Monday,” She continued talking while I could feel myself drifting off.
There was no way this was happening. How?
Why? Who? There were so many questions and I wanted to throw up.
Another louder, deeper, throat clearing pulled me into the now again. I looked around and was pinned instantly by the glare from Mr. Westwood.
I’m fucked. I almost blew chunks as his lawyer thanked him before continuing.
“We are here today to talk about code of conduct violations that were clearly listed in your employment contracts. There was a ‘No Fraternization’ clause in your contracts. Do either of you, Mr. Caleb Dennison or Miss Becky Brumsfeld, need a copy of those contracts to review for yourselves before we hear your side of the story?” The woman was shuffling through files as she talked.
Like this was just another day at the office and heads weren’t on the chopping block.
“Please answer with a verbal yes or no.”
We both responded the same, ‘No’, ‘Yes’.
It was quiet for a few moments after that before a contract slid into my folded hands.
I was already looking at them, praying in my head that they didn’t know.
I’d be fucked if they knew. I absentmindedly opened the contract, staring at the sea of words that blurred together before me.
I think I’m having an existential crisis.
I knew I looked like shit because I hadn’t slept since that night. Since the night I’d fucked up even more than I had when we’d just made out. Since the night I ruined my fucking life.
“The night of the Christmas party,” Mr. Westwood started, and I tried not to flinch at his words, “Did either of you engage in activity that is otherwise against company policy?”
“No,” Becky answered confidently. The lawyer smiled. HR stayed neutral as did Mr. Westwood, “Why?”
Her voice was cocky, overly confident. She sounded like she knew she was in the clear. I hesitated to answer, but they waited for me to answer. Something about the way they were so silent told me they knew, that I was the one behind the eight ball now.
“Yes,” I said, barely above a whisper, practically breathing it out of me.
“Well, we’ve come to receive some evidence that proves one of you right, and one of you wrong.” I looked up at Mr. Westwood glaring between the two of us. The lawyer looked like she was just served up something tasty, something fresh off the menu.
This was bad.