Chapter 8 Remy #2
What if he calls security to escort me off the premises?
What if he hears me out in his office and laughs in my face?
And the worst one: What if he looks at me like I’m a stranger, like he doesn’t even remember the conversation we had about foreplay, or his advance apology for making it hard and fast.
My cheeks burn as I pace the sidewalk, my feet carrying me directly to the Rinse, the route indelibly imprinted on my psyche.
Perhaps if I hadn’t buried myself in vivid memories of a sheepskin rug and Bash’s green eyes, I might have spotted George sooner and darted inside a store before he could hit me with his best Instagram smile.
“Remy, I’m glad I bumped into you.” He blocks my path, making it obvious that I’ll have to sidestep around him to get past.
“Why?” I don’t want to waste time talking to him. I already know that by the time he’s done, my determination to speak to Bash will have melted into the hot sidewalk and disappeared through the cracks. “What is there to say?”
He blinks like he’s running through a mental list of potential scenarios and pulling out the relevant script. “Don’t be like that, Rem, it doesn’t suit you.”
Wow. Nothing has changed since we broke up. He still sees himself at the top of the mountain and me at the bottom struggling to find a foothold.
“How would you know what suits me? I’m not the little girl you met in high school. I’m all grown up now.” I straighten my spine to prove the point.
I could tell him that I’m pregnant, just to see the look on his face. But as frightened as I am of speaking to Bash, it feels wrong to give this asshole the good news before the babies’ father.
“I think I know you better than that.” He steps closer, raises a hand to touch my hair, and I bat it away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His eyes drift down my body, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. “What we had was special, Remy.” I hear the words, but his eyes are still cold.
“What we had was one-sided. You didn’t care about me.” His name sticks in my throat, so I don’t even try to say it.
“How can you say that? You were my first love.”
I shake my head and try to remember the quote by Charles Dickens. I think. Something about a man being lucky if he is a woman’s first love, while a woman is lucky if she is a man’s last love. I decide that it’s too good to waste on him.
“I got lucky then.”
His forehead creases with confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
A pedestrian, a young man in a black suit and black sunglasses, catches George’s elbow as he walks past. I watch the smile fade, replaced by thin lips and eyes like small black beads.
“Watch where you’re fucking going.” George stares at the guy’s back, a challenge for him to come back and fight it out.
Was he always this arrogant and I simply never noticed because I saw him through rose-tinted glasses? Or has his engagement given him a sense of entitlement that he didn’t get from me? If I cared more, I’d stalk her online to find out. But I don’t.
I try to walk past him, and he grabs my arm. Not roughly. Enough to get my attention. “Where are you going? I’ll walk with you.”
I don’t want to walk with him. I don’t want to be seen with him.
Ever. Sure, there are over 8 million people in New York City, and the chances of bumping into anyone else that I know are slim.
But still, this isn’t the first time I’ve bumped into George, and being this close to him makes my flesh crawl.
Also, I have more important things to think about.
Like telling Bastien Murray that I’m carrying his babies.
I realize that I saw George in the Rinse’s casino. He’ll know who Bash is even if it’s just from hearsay. I guess it’s one way to get him off my back.
“I’m going to the Rinse. To see Bastien Murray,” I add for extra impact.
“What’s up? Did he fire you? I’ve not seen you in there for a while.”
Okay, that’s enough weirdness for one day.
“If you must know, he didn’t fire me. I quit.” I hold his gaze. I will not be the first one to look away. I won’t. Even if peering into his eyes triggers all kinds of reactions that I’ve suppressed for far too long. “Please don’t follow me.”
I turn around and walk away from him.
George catches up with me and matches my stride. “Why did you quit? Do you want me to have a word with him? I have connections now, Remy. I would do that for you.”
I keep my sight fixed firmly ahead. I can see the Rinse in the distance, too close, the impending conversation looming over me like a storm cloud.
“I don’t want you to do anything for me. In case you’ve forgotten, we’re not together anymore. I don’t need your help.”
I probably never did. Only I didn’t realize it at the time, because George made sure that I did nothing without running it by him first.
“You’re making a big mistake, Remy.” He’s still there. Still walking. His arm brushing mine with every other step.
I stop dead and face him squarely. “You don’t get it, do you? They’re my mistakes to make, not yours.”
“You don’t know the Murrays like I do. They’re not good people, Remy. If you want my advice—”
“I don’t want your advice.” I suck in a deep breath and release it slowly. “Leave me alone, George. Goodbye.”
My heart is racing as I dodge the traffic and cross the road. He doesn’t follow me, and I don’t look back. Instead, I slide my phone out of my pocket and type a message to Ariel:
You’d have been proud of me. I just told George to leave me alone.
She replies: That’s my baby girl. Now go get your man.
The Rinse already feels different when I enter the foyer, and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m having the boss’s babies, or if it’s simply because I’m no longer employed here. Or perhaps it’s because I finally liberated myself from my ex-boyfriend who was still holding me back from afar.
I approach the concierge who watches me with a benign expression on his face. “I’m here to see Mr. Murray.”
My palms are clammy. The nausea is back, I can still taste Swedish Fish, and I don’t even have a bottle of water with me. I make a mental note to do better going forward. I’m pregnant. I need to prove to myself that I’m a responsible adult so that I believe it when my babies are born.
“Do you have an appointment?” He is already scanning the screen in front of him.
“No.” Shit. I didn’t think this through. “Can you please tell him that it’s Remy Jones?”
The concierge’s mouth twitches at the corners. “Mr. Murray is busy right now. I can ask his PA to check his diary.”
“It can’t wait. Please, can you just tell him that I’m here?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Jones.”
He isn’t going to budge, and I already know how much effort it will take to psych myself up for a second visit.
That’s if Bash even agrees to see me. He might take one look at my name in his busy schedule and tell his PA to cancel on his behalf.
I can hear him now. “If she tries to make another appointment, tell her that I’m out of town. Permanently.”
Ariel says that I attract negativity by jumping straight to the worst-case scenario. But I didn’t do it this time, and it still didn’t work in my favor. I thought I would at least get as far as Bash’s office before it all came crashing down around me.
Then a voice behind me says, “It’s okay, Richard, I’ll escort Ms. Jones upstairs.”
I recognize the long silvery hair tied back into a small ponytail. It’s Terry. Bash’s stepdad and head of security.
He doesn’t smile. I guess it wouldn’t sit well with the black suit and holster around his waist even though I clearly don’t pose a threat.
I follow him to the elevator and step inside when the door swishes open.
“Thank you, I didn’t think to make an appointment. I only want to speak to Ba-Mr. Murray. I won’t take up too much of his time.” I’m rambling to fill the silent void.
“Don’t thank me yet.” He faces the control panel until the elevator halts smoothly.
What’s that supposed to mean? There isn’t time to ask him.
I follow him out of the elevator and into a room with squashy sofas surrounding a low glass coffee table almost the size of my entire dorm room.
“Take a seat, Remy.”
My heart is thumping too loudly for me to figure out if Terry is on my side or not. Does he know about me? Did Bash mention me in passing? Remember the croupier who lost her keys? Yeah, we fucked twice before she quit her job.
I sit down, my face hot, my pulse so fast, I’m struggling to breathe.
Has Bash been waiting for me to come back or does he know about the pregnancy?
That’s impossible, I tell myself. I only had the ultrasound today.
He might have connections in high places, but the nurse didn’t look like the kind of person who would break patient confidentiality for a small bribe. What about a big bribe though?
I talk myself around in circles and stand up.
Terry disappeared through another door, which means that the elevator is currently unmanned.
I could reach it before Bash finds an excuse not to see me.
Go back to the residence halls. Cry on Ariel’s shoulder about what a wimp I am and figure out my next move.
But then he enters the room, his hair shorter than it was the night I lost my keys, and my heart performs the kind of dangerous somersault that would be banned from the Olympics.
Our eyes meet. Everything I wanted to say to him vanishes when he looks at me, and I know that if he pulled me into his arms, I’d be a gooey pliable mess of want.
“Remy.” He seems to have taken root while he figures out why I’m here. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m not here to ask for my job back.”
My mouth is dry. There’s a jug of water and small glass tumblers on the coffee table, but they’re not for me. They’ll probably be for his next meeting, the one that I’m delaying by turning up unannounced.
“Why are you here?”
This is it. This is the part where he tells me that it was only a bit of fun, that he didn’t expect me to take anything he said seriously, that he’s very sorry about the job, but it was out of his remit.
Then the door through which he entered opens a second time, and Bastien Murray comes in. Only, it can’t be Bastien Murray, because he is already here. Or at least I thought he was.
I blink. Hard. Waiting for the illusion to shatter.
It doesn’t. I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. The second guy looks like Bastien Murray, but his hair is a little longer, like it was the night I lost my keys, before he had it cut.
Realization seeps slowly through my pores and settles deep inside my gut.
They’re twins.
And I slept with both of them.