Chapter 18
LOREN
MEG
Meg: I’m drowning here.
Can’t wait to see your face.
Must. Have. Coffee.
Even after going to bed at three am on Saturday night, my body thought it’d be a great idea to wake up at seven on Sunday. After spending all day walking around like a zombie, could I sleep last night? Nope.
Now I feel like roadkill.
Thankfully, Meg met me the moment I stepped into the break room with a big, fat lemon poppyseed muffin. Rebecca swept in a moment later, looking like a total girl boss in a black pantsuit paired with one of those silky tops that ties in a bow at the neck.
I’ve always wanted one like that.
Someday.
“You look fabulous,” I say around a bite of muffin, since I’m apparently a monster who never learned to swallow before starting a conversation.
Rebecca fluffs the end of the ribbon, her cherry-red lips lifted in a friendly smile. “Oh, thanks. I picked it up last week.”
What must it be like to see something you like and just buy it?
I can hardly remember.
She leans a hip against the counter. “How was your New Year, ladies?”
Like the responsible adult I want to be, I swallow my bite before responding. “Great. I came into the city to see the fireworks with some friends.” And I’m still paying the price. Late nights have become my enemy.
“Ugh. I should’ve just stayed here,” Meg mutters, adding another creamer to her cup.
“Why?” Rebecca and I ask at the same time.
“Just some crap with my ex I’d rather not rehash.”
Sounds like fodder for bowling on Wednesday night.
I blow on my coffee so that I don’t burn my tongue. Again. “How about you, Rebecca?”
She pours herself a mug from the pot next to the microwave, her whole face lighting up. “So amazing. My boyfriend and I took a trip out to see my parents in Carlsbad, then we went to the ballet in LA. It was magical.”
New Year’s at the ballet doesn’t sound very magical to me. But if that’s her thing, good for her.
“Oh!” She smacks my arm with an excited squeal. “You’ll never guess who we met at dinner! Branson Mills.”
I have no idea who that is.
“No way!” Meg seems impressed, so now I feel really left out.
I’ll have to Google the guy when I get back to my desk.
“Yes! Look.” Rebecca hands me her phone and starts talking about how this Mills guy bought them a ridiculously expensive bottle of champagne and all these words keep coming out of her mouth, but I can’t stop staring at this picture.
Not at Branson Mills—I’ve seen the guy on some TV show or whatever, but that’s not what steals all my focus.
That goes to the guy with his arm around Rebecca.
Not only do I know his face. I also know he snores when he sleeps and hates when people eat in his car.
Her boyfriend is Josh. My Josh.
Maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe Josh is her brother? Cousin? Some other distant relative? Maybe they both happened to be in the same place at the same time and both wanted to get a picture with the Mills guy.
I tap the screen. “Who is this next to you?”
“That’s my boyfriend, Hinds.” She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I mean, Joshua Hinden,” she says with her nose wrinkled. “Now that he’s been named partner at his father’s law firm he hates the nickname, but it’s a hard habit to break when I’ve been calling him Hinds since we were at Vandy.”
Different last name. Does that mean my Josh gave me a fake freaking last name?
Wait. If they were dating since Vandy, that means they’ve been together since college!
Oh no…
He isn’t my Josh at all. He’s her Josh.
Oh, shit.
That means I’m the other woman.
Rebecca squeezes my arm, her concerned expression only making me feel more guilty. “You okay, Loren?”
“Oh, yeah. Fantastic.” Handing back her phone, I swipe my sweaty palms down my skirt. This is bad. This is so, so, so bad. Rebecca is literal perfection incarnate, and Josh is cheating on her with me.
Do I tell her?
How can I? This isn’t exactly morning-coffee conversation. This is the sort of thing you say in a text after you’ve moved countries and changed your name.
I should really get a passport.
Not that I have the money for an international flight.
Unless I sign up for another credit card.
No, no. Credit cards are the devil, and my credit is already shot.
Keep it together, Loren. You’ll figure this out.
Meg gives me a weird look, like it’s obvious I’m totally not keeping it together at all. “Why are you smiling like a serial killer?” she asks with a chuckle, taking Rebecca’s phone to have a look at the picture herself.
I’m not smiling like a serial killer.
Am I?
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the microwave door. Balls. She’s right.
Meg chokes on her sip of coffee and starts coughing and gasping. I take the mug from her so she doesn’t spill it all over her tan dress slacks and pound on her back, silently pleading with her to get it together so we can figure out what to do.
Meanwhile, Rebecca runs over to the sink to fill a glass with water.
Why does she have to be so amazing?
Not that it would make sleeping with her boyfriend any less wrong if she were a raging bitch, but at least it would make sense why the hell Josh would waste even a second on me when he’s dating someone like Rebecca.
“Are you okay?” Rebecca’s brow furrows as she holds out the glass toward Meg.
“Yeah. Sorry. Sometimes I choke.”
That’s what she’s going with? Sometimes I choke?
Looks like this is a wave we’re riding together. “It’s true,” I say, nodding way too quickly, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Once I get going, there’s no end in sight. “She chokes all the time. One time we were having lunch, and she choked on soup.”
“Yup. Me and soup do not jive.”
This is going from bad to worse. Someone needs to save us from ourselves.
As if he heard my mental cry for help, a man with a silver handlebar mustache steps into the break room. “Ms. James? Can you come into my office, please?”
Saved by the boss’s boss.
If he wasn’t the CEO, I’d hug him.
“Here.” Rebecca hands Meg the water, grabs her phone and coffee, and leaves us to our disaster.
When the coast is clear, I drag Meg by the arm into the bathroom.
“Oh my god! Her boyfriend is your boyfriend,” Meg blurts the moment the door falls shut.
“I know.” I think I’m going to puke.
How could Josh do this to me? To her? What kind of asshole cheats on Rebecca James? And to let me move all the way down here without coming clean? To let me stay without telling me the truth…
What a scumbag.
Meg presses her hands to her red cheeks, her eyes wild. “Her boyfriend is your boyfriend!”
“Please, stop saying that.” The more I hear it, the worse it sounds.
“What’re you going to do?”
That two-timing piece of shit doesn’t deserve to get away with this heinous crime.
I drag my phone from my pocket, finding his name at the top of my favorites. Not for long. My stomach roils when I see the last message he sent, telling me he can’t wait for dinner tomorrow night.
Lying piece of shit…
My hands shake as I type out a message. “What sounds better: Hey Ratbag or Dear Dickwad?”
“Ratbag. Definitely.” Meg steps closer, looking over my shoulder. “What else are you saying?”
“I’m telling him that I know everything, and he has until Friday to come clean to Rebecca or I will.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s smart. Put it back on him.”
Send.
The screen has barely gone dark before the phone goes berserk and Josh’s lying, cheating face flashes like a warning sign. If I didn’t need this phone, I’d flush it and him straight down the toilet.
This explains why Josh never called me after he got to the hotel like he said he would. Why he was MIA the entire weekend.
Because he was out with his actual girlfriend.
So much for eating bad sushi and going to bed early, which was his excuse when he texted this morning.
I take great satisfaction in pressing that red button.
A barrage of texts flood in all at once, growing more and more aggressive.
As if I’m going to respond to him telling me to “answer the fucking phone.”
I press and hold the power button, and the screen goes black.
Good riddance, asshole.