Chapter Twenty-Five
Vivian Golding
Ryan, February 15-March 16, 2012, Dallas, TX
Ryan glanced at hishotel bathroom door, then back at his laptop screen. Writing had never been his thing. If he had something to say, he had no trouble saying it to the person’s face. But her? Hell, no. There would be no talking to her. He couldn’t even think of her without feeling like he was losing his everloving mind.
He clicked open his email. The draft had been automatically saved.
I never thought—
He stared at the screen another moment, then hit the delete button. This is bullshit.
But his fingers found the keyboard again.
I didn’t know—
Christ’s sake.He pressed “delete” and reached for his glass. It was empty. His gaze shifted back to the bathroom door. Screw it.
He stood and kicked the door open. He kept his whiskey in the farthest corner of the sink cabinet to make it less tempting to keep pouring. But that was asinine—the bathroom was only feet away from his desk. He filled his tumbler to the rim. Fifth? Sixth? Who gives a shit.
He returned to his laptop.
I didn’t know you at all. I didn’t know who you really are deep down. And that filthy lie you told him after climbing into his bed. How easily you used that “excuse,” all the while knowing I never cheated on you. I never wanted to.
He drained half a glass.
But we both know that wasn’t an excuse. It was only a pretext to do it again. Yeah, I went to see Arianrhod. Surprised? So was I. She’s a little too good, as you know.
So, you’ve always been that. You’ve always had it in you. My bad for not seeing it. All I saw when I met you were your pretty eyes, sweet smile, and a body to die for. And sex that was so earth-shattering, it blinded me to everything else. If only I’d looked closer. How many times have I been burned by you? I wonder if it was more than twice. I’d bet you’re sent here to torture me over and over just for the fun of the fucker who keeps sending you while pissing himself laughing in hell.
The room swayed.
You should come with a warning. Beware: this girl will steal your heart, then rip it out and stomp it into the ground, bleeding, while you watch. Run, don’t walk.
But the truth is—even if you came with a warning, I wouldn’t have run. Neither then, nor now. Because I still love you, even if I hate you.
He finished his whiskey and let the cursor hover over the “send” button. Then he moved it to “delete” and clicked.
The next day, Ryan was up at dawn and on his way to his insane twenty-four-hour job. Thank heavens for that. He buried himself in it with reckless abandon, guzzling coffee for fifteen hours at a time, then making a sprint to his hotel to shower, and heading back for more. He crashed after two, sometimes, three days of this madness, sleeping without dreams for twelve hours straight after drinking himself senseless. Then, he loaded up on coffee and resumed his masochistic cycle.
But it worked because it left no time to think of her. Except the few times he’d been between just the right amount of shit-faced and on the verge of passing out and tried to text her. He could never remember what he typed into the texting app—he’d managed to delete it before the blackouts—but the general direction was of detestation and brutality. And love. Yeah, love that bordered on idolatry. He’d give everything to rip this thing—this worship, lust, addiction—from his chest. Tear it to bits, burn it to ash. But the harder he tried, the brighter she glittered in his soul, in his mind, in his bones.
He scrubbed his face with the back of his hand. He might spin and plummet in the shadows of his mind, but never in the light of day. That one slipup Viv had witnessed after he got the flash drive was never happening again.
He was nearing the end of his three-day frenzy when his indomitable partner tapped on his office door. He’d been sure she’d keep away after witnessing his hideous collapse, was even worried she’d ask for a new partner. Instead, she’d taken it upon herself to pester him to death.
She entered slowly, peeking in first—probably to make sure he wasn’t in his murderous psychopath mood.
Go away.
“Hey, you okay?” She slumped against his desk, searching his face like his mental state was her life’s purpose.
He frowned. “What’s up?”
“I feel like you need some TLC, Casey.”
An email he’d just opened was marked “Urgent” and contained confidential information on one of Longworth’s right-hand men. He scanned the email. “Real busy, Viv.”
“Hey—” She leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. “Let’s finish early and go to my place.”
There were names, dates, and addresses—everything he needed. He tore his gaze from his laptop. “What for?”
“So I can get you drunk and”—she laughed—“fuck you into sweet oblivion.”
Ryan stretched his shoulders. Will this woman never tire of her endless banter? Yet despite himself, something in her voice made him feel lighter on the inside.
Fine, he could use a little humor.
“There’ll be booze?” He made it sound hopeful.
She pulled hard on her bouncy ponytail, eyes wide and unblinking. “I’ve got whiskey.”
“Enticing.” He chuckled. Good old Viv. She was just the buddy he needed right now.
“So, it’s a ‘yes’?” Her face was so straight, he burst out laughing.
“I’d rather you climb under my desk.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still chuckling. “You’re too much, Viv.”
“I am, aren’t I?” She joined in with him, her laughter thin and strained. Abruptly, she stopped. “I’ll let you work, then.”
Back straight and rigid, she walked out of his office.
Ryan winced after she closed the door. He’d overdone it with the desk comment—why did that keep resurfacing?—or with all of it if he were being honest.
Sighing, he slumped in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He was so damn tired. Too tired to give a shit about Viv. Maybe locker-room humor was her idea of bonding or being one of the boys. Or maybe it was all a wink and a nudge. Who knew? She wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. Either way, she should have worked out by now he wasn’t interested.
***
Despite his growingexhaustion, Ryan stuck to his unwholesome routine for a solid month: work, eat, drink, sleep. Rinse and repeat. The only exception was when he hit the gym to the growls of death metal in his earbuds. Blind and deaf to the world, he beat the shit out of the punching bag and murdered push-ups and bench presses until his muscles were seconds from ripping. He’d perfected his schedule so brilliantly, there was no time in it to think of anyone or anything—only work.
Still, thoughts of her crept up in the dark of the night. Irrational doubts, absurd hopes, unquenchable longings—all these ridiculous feelings stood between him and the divorce paperwork like an impenetrable wall. He’d considered talking to Jason, but the man had fallen headfirst under Emma’s spell. One hundred percent anything Ryan said would get back to her.
In a moment of weakness, he’d almost called his little brother, the one he was closest to. But he remembered the way Liam stared at her when he introduced them—the same way he himself had—like she was the stars, the moon, and the sun, all rolled into one irresistible package. She’d laughed at Liam’s goofy jokes and said later he was lucky to have such a great brother. Yeah, Liam, with his nonthreatening good looks, knew how to work on women no worse than he did. No telling if he’d fly in to “be there” for her. He’d put nothing past her now, and his brother and her would be more than he could handle.
So, his interaction had shrunk to his coworkers, a kindly older woman at the barbecue take-out, a tiny front-desk girl at his gym who greeted him with a shy “hello,” and Viv.
It was after 10:00 PM—an hour before the end of his self-imposed workday—when she walked into his office with a ridiculous St. Patrick’s Day necklace around her neck and a twitchy look on her face.
“Casey!” She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve got an offer you can’t refuse!”
He returned to his report. The nine-day search of Longworth’s corporate headquarters, along with hundreds of employee interviews, had unearthed enough evidence and fresh leads to keep him busy for years. He suppressed a dark scoff. Some luck.
Viv blew out her breath and stepped closer, the green plastic beads jingling with uneven clinks. “So—clearly, you’ve stopped wearing your wedding ring and don’t have the picture of the wifey on your desk anymore—”
Heaven’s sake. “Golding—” His voice was weary with fatigue. Could she not keep to her job for one everloving day.
She pursed her lips. “Hear me out, okay? You’re going to like this. I promise.”
He peered at her, resigned. Here come racy puns, low comedy, and clumsy passes.
She plopped down on his desk. “So, look. We’ve been slaving away here for fucking months on end, right? And you know what? I need a fucking release. I’m gonna guess you do, too?” She pulled hard on her ponytail. “Now, I could go to the restroom, and in extreme discomfort, get myself off—”
He shook his head and laughed. She couldn’t think that would win him over—unless she was kidding, which he hoped to heaven she was. “What am I going to do with you, Viv?”
She slid to the edge of the table and kicked off her pumps. “Well, we could do something for each other.” She crossed her legs with a coy smile. “No strings attached, I promise. Partners with benefits, unless... Like, you want more?”
This was too ludicrous to not be a joke. He leaned back in his chair, chuckling. Crazy-ass Viv, how did she manage to make him laugh when his soul was dying bit by bit every day?
She pursed her lips. “Casey, are you paying attention?”
“Mm-hmm.” He punched her lightly on the shoulder and checked his watch. “It’s getting late, Viv.”
She rubbed her palms against her skirt. “Well, don’t be all fucking mysterious with me. My place or yours?”
He glanced at his laptop. He needed to finish this report today, hell or high water. Worse, hearing this suddenly brought back omigod, Connor...omigod...
“All right, get the hell out, Viv.” He trained his unseeing gaze on his screen. “I’ve got to get this done.”
She stepped into her pumps with a tight smile. “Fine, I’ll just...how about my place?”
He straightened. Sie had reasons to be concerned, after all—
Something cold and filthy crept down his spine. That name belonged to all sorts of past. It didn’t exist for him. She didn’t exist for him.
He swallowed, took a shallow breath. He needed to be alone more than the air that wasn’t coming.
“C’mon.” He pointed his chin at the door.
Viv gulped, unblinking. “Ryan...”
Ryan, listen... Ryan, I thought... Ryan!He shut his eyes, growing numb as he always did when she hijacked his thoughts. Another moment, and he would start spiraling.
He stilled himself and fixed Viv with a long stare. “Give it up, Golding.”
A sudden slap, hot and heavy, burned his cheek and rang in his ear.
He stopped dead, his mind blank as a whiteboard.
“Fuck you, Casey.” She turned on her heel as he gaped. “And fuck your wife, too!”
He shot to his feet as Viv stormed out and slammed the door. In an instant, she returned. “And go fuck yourself! I’m asking for a new partner!”
He stood still as a statue. Miserable, self-centered, heavy-handed fool. Just how far out of his mind had she driven him?
With great effort, he made his voice calm and measured. “Viv, c’mere.”
She shook her head, hugging herself by the door.
The last thing he needed now was work drama. It could very well be the last straw.
“Viv.” He crossed his office to her.
She glanced up, face flushed, eyes glittering, lips a tight line.
He drew closer, nice and slow. “I don’t want a new partner.”
“You’re a real dick, Casey, you know that?” She stared down at the gaudy plastic shamrock between her breasts.
“I don’t want to ruin what we have.” He bit back a wince. How many times had he used a variation of this line—back when he thought himself such a goddamn gift to women?
“Right.” She clasped her hands. “You’re right.”
He found her unblinking gaze. “Viv, c’mon. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes glistened a hopeless gray under the florescent lights and clashed miserably with her bright smile. “I’m sorry I slapped you.” She hid her trembling chin in her fist.
He looked away—Christ—then made a dismissive motion with his hand. “Friends?”
She ducked her head, and the downward movement made the tears spill. “Fuck.” She pretended to laugh, wiping at her eyes and smearing mascara all over. “I’m just like...a total freak on PMS, you know? God, I need like...help or something. Seriously, I should have called in sick...”
If he’d been younger and less experienced, he’d give her a gentle hug and say something soothing. But the road to that particular hell was paved with exactly those types of intentions. So, he said nothing, regarding her with mild impassiveness.
She sniffled and rubbed her nose. “Hey, I’m sorry I’d cussed out your wife.”
He scoffed. No, yeah. Fuck her.
She touched his arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hell, no. He frowned, pushing away a weird flicker of a déjà vu. A large, wooden desk. A girl at his feet. Tears, reproach, apologies. Hopelessness and desolation. He forced this down.
Viv opened the door, then turned, and once more she was his partner he knew and liked—capable and in control. If only she’d stuck to that.
“We’re cool, Casey, all right? Seriously, forget this crazy shit.”
He said nothing. They weren’t cool and never would be again, and they both knew it.
“Casey, look... It won’t happen again—” She compressed her lips. “I need this job.”
“I got you, Viv.” He gave her the most reassuring nod he could muster.
After she left, he balled his fingers into a fist. Then he flexed them and buried them in his hair.