Chapter 13
Cassie
When Luke and I were dating, we usually spent our Thursday nights watching reality shows on the Discovery Channel, but that particular Thursday—the night I found out he cheated on me—he brought aged wine and steaks for the grill. Before he arrived, he called and suggested I dress up a little, forego pajama pants and sweatshirts for fancier attire. You can’t eat a fifty-dollar steak dinner in jammies and slippers, he said.
I thought he was going to ask me to marry him.
He’d hinted about it in his joking way. During one of our Saturday afternoon walks along the beach, he got down on one knee, gazed up at me, and then bent over to pick up a seashell. When we took a three-day trip to Pigeon Forge, he earned a plastic ruby ring with his skeeball tickets and placed it ceremoniously on my finger, eyes serious, saying, “Will you marry me, Cassie Sears?” I gave him a playful punch on his arm and answered, “I know you can do better than this, so the answer is no. I’ll wait.”
I still have that ring. It’s in the wicker basket in my bathroom, under a pile of half-used shampoo bottles and rejected Bath and Body Works shower gels. A week ago, I dug through the dusty, soap-filmed bottles and found the ring tarnished and dull. Instead of throwing it away, I tossed it back into the basket and covered it up with recyclable plastic.
I wore a red wrap dress. It cinched on the left, accentuating my modest, but pleasing hourglass shape. The plunging neckline highlighted my lack of cleavage. Just the beginning swells of my breasts showed. I dressed them up with a jeweled cross necklace and slid on a matching bracelet and anklet, capping off my feet with strappy black sandals.
When I opened the door for Luke, he swooped in and grabbed my waist. I gripped his shoulders as he twirled me around.
“Hey!”
Luke set me down gently.
“What’s up with you?” I laughed.
“I’ve always wanted to do that.” He stepped back and traveled his eyes along the length of my body. “You look magical.”
I tilted my head to the side and tried to think of a comeback. When nothing came to mind, I just smiled and said thanks.
Luke grabbed my waist again. He pulled me close and found my lips. The scent of his aftershave overtook me, and I collapsed in his arms. After a long, deep kiss, he let go, but I still held on to him for support.
“Thanks for dressing up,” he said.
“Can we change into our pajamas now?”
He tapped me on the nose. “Later.”
Luke exited the front door and returned holding a plastic bag.
“You really did have that twirling thing planned.”
He flashed me a satisfied smile before heading to my rundown kitchen. Despite his upper-class lifestyle, he never disparaged my first-floor apartment. My house wasn’t much to look at, with a boxed-in, musty porch, enclosed with gray siding that was supposed to be white. The discolored metal awning over the front door further reduced the house’s appeal. I painted the door red to make the house look more cared for. It didn’t help much.
From my perch in the living room, I watched Luke pull two raw steaks and a bottle of wine from his bag. The open concept living area was created by previous owners who knocked down the kitchen wall. The first time Luke came over, he studied the shoddy work without commenting. The next day a contractor banged on my door. The demolished wall had been load bearing, which meant nothing was supporting the upstairs but God and a lot of luck. Luke paid to have a proper footing poured and a header beam placed. He didn’t ask permission and we never discussed money. It was the one handout I accepted from him, not counting the steaks and aged wine he brought that evening along with countless other fancy nights out. And diamond earrings. And a cashmere sweater.
“Let me get the grill started,” Luke said.
Oh. And the gas grill on my back “patio,” otherwise known as the cracked square of concrete just off the kitchen door. He gave me that too, although I think he mostly bought it for himself so he wouldn’t have to use my ancient 1960s gas stove.
While he was out lighting the grill, I settled onto my secondhand microfiber couch and clicked on the television.
“Nope,” Luke said when he came back inside. He picked the remote out of my hand and pressed the power button. My television went dark. “Not tonight.” He rounded the couch and gave me a peck on the forehead. “I’ll be right back with some wine.”
A grand entrance. Fancy attire. Marbled steaks. It had all the markings of a marriage proposal. I squeezed my palms together and smiled.
He returned carrying two long-stemmed wine glasses filled with a modest amount of Taylor Fladgate 40-year red wine. We sat shoulder to shoulder exchanging toasts and taking mindful sips to savor the mature, fruity flavor of the wine.
“To us,” Luke said. A simple toast but loaded with meaning as I anticipated what was to come: Luke on one knee, for real this time, plastic ruby upgraded to a glittering diamond.
Luke pulled his phone from his pocket and connected it to the Bluetooth speaker mounted on the wall next to the television. John Legend’s The Beginning… piped into the room, delicate piano chords beneath a sexy, synthesized violin.
He offered his hand. “Want to dance?”
I grinned at the suggestive lyrics. “Sure.”
We stood, and he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me tight while I snaked my arms around his neck. Our hips swayed in time, no daylight between our bodies as we leaned into the music.
John Legend sang about “the beginning.” The beginning of forever. I smiled and pressed my cheek to Luke’s chest, listened to his heart pound in time with the percussion. When the song ended, I looked up at him, and he pressed his lips onto mine, the kiss more delicious than anything he could grill up. Nevertheless, I after pulling away, I said, “Go make me a juicy steak.”
“Yes, chef.”
I laughed and returned to the couch. “Mind if I switch songs? I want to listen to Taylor.”
“Sure,” Luke called over his shoulder. I heard the back door slam behind him.
His phone sat on the cushion next to me. I grabbed it and pulled up Spotify. While I was scrolling through the song selection, a text came through.
It wasn’t a regular contact. There was no name, and I didn’t recognize the number.
I understand why you had to fire me after we almost kissed. Things would have gotten too complicated. Now that you’re not my boss, I can say this: I’m up for anything. I mean anything.
As I read, warmth escaped my body. Ice replaced blood, circulation stopped. I was a statue of denial.
There’s no way to prepare for learning that the man you love is cheating on you. Some women have a flood of thoughts, one question atop another. Who is she? How did they meet? Does he love her?
I’m not that woman.
I’m the woman who goes numb, frozen, empty. My thoughts become cold molasses. Turn the jar upside down and wait, wait, wait for thoughts to run. Eventually they move.
When Luke returned, I hadn’t moved a centimeter, phone still in hand, eyes straight ahead.
“What’s wrong?” Luke asked. Concern laced his words.
I sucked in a breath. It would be my last full breath for a long time, over a year. The deep ache from Luke’s betrayal settled in my lungs and resided there for months. Every breath hurt.
He grabbed the phone from my hand, tapped the screen, and then cursed. “Cassie. Let me explain.” He fell to his knees in front of me and grabbed my hands. Not how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to kneel, present a diamond, and change my world.
He changed my world. He turned it upside down, shook it until every cabinet and every drawer opened and my life rained down into a chaotic pile that I’d have to pick through and reorder in the months to come.
“It’s not as bad as it looks. Actually, it’s bad. But it will make more sense after I explain.”
“Get out,” I whispered.
“We didn’t kiss. She took me off guard, because... Because. I made out with Rose. One time, that’s all, and only because I was drunk.”
“Get out of my house,” I said with more force.
Luke rested his forehead on my knees. His tears polka-dotted my dress. “I want to spend my life with you, Cassie. I want—”
“I said, get out!”
He lifted his head, swallowed, looked at me pleadingly. “We can talk about it after you’ve had more time to process.”
“There’s nothing to process. It’s over. Stay away from me, Luke.”
And that was it.
He left.
I cried.
And then, eventually, I moved on.
“How many views did you say?” Bethany says through the speaker phone on my desk.
“One million and counting,” I answer.
I’m behind my desk in my office nook. Sarah scooted her chair over, and she’s sitting across from me with a notepad and pen in hand. We’re both staring at the phone.
“That many views since last night?” Bethany asks.
“Yes. In less than eighteen hours.”
Bethany hmms.
No, I didn’t delete the livestream. The Luke-Sonja incident is still out there and Instagram is loving it. I have twenty thousand comments, many from curious singles who want to know when MatchAI is going to roll out in their city.
“I think we need to jump on this,” Bethany finally adds.
“I think so too.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I think we need to roll out to all of South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida.”
Sarah scrawls the states onto her pad of paper.
“We were going to work out the kinks in Charleston,” Bethany says.
I grab a pen from the holder on the corner of my desk and wag it between my fingers. “And so far, so good.”
“Except for the DoS attack,” Sarah says.
I purse my lips and then nod. “Yeah. Except for that. But it taught us how to do damage control.”
“I’m going to defer to you, Cassie,” Bethany says. “This is your baby. If your instincts tell you to go, then I think we should go.”
“Let me see if I can conference Drew in. Just a sec.”
I put Bethany on hold and dial Drew.
“I’m neck high in spaghetti. This better be important.”
“Um. Is this Drew?”
“I just deleted two thousand lines of cruft. You’re welcome.”
“I...don’t know what that means.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I quirk an eyebrow at Sarah.
She hits the mute button. “Why are you paying this guy?”
“Bethany says he’s good.”
I unmute the call. “If you have a moment, Drew, I’m going to conference you in with Bethany.”
“A moment isn’t a measure of time so I can’t quantify your request.” He over-enunciates everything, as usual.
Sarah covers her mouth and laughs silently. I bug my eyes at her, and she resumes note-taking position.
“Ten minutes,” I offer. “How’s that?”
“I can do ten minutes.”
“Great.” I take Bethany off hold. “Are you there Bethany? Drew?”
They both confirm.
“Great. Drew, I have something to run by you. I know you still need time to monitor the beta testing, but what do you think about rolling out to more cities?”
Silence.
“Are you still there?”
“When you say cities, is it one hundred cities? Or two hundred cities? Or two cities? Or ten—”
“Got it,” I cut in. “You need more quantification.”
“Exactly.”
I rattle off the states I have in mind.
Drew breathes into the phone. Waiting for more quantification?
“How many subscribers do you have currently?” Drew asks.
“Just under a thousand.”
“That’s all?” He sounds unimpressed.
I sink into my chair. “Yeah. So?”
“That’s child’s play. You have a dedicated server at ServeIt. You should be fine. Unless the app suddenly takes off. Which I doubt. I can’t imagine there’s that many idiots out there.”
Sarah gapes at the phone. She punches the mute button. “Again, why are you paying him?”
I shrug. “Not for positive reinforcement.”
“Clearly.” She unmutes the call.
“I developed a roll-out plan with my former software development team,” I say. “We have zip codes batched by state. I assume they transferred the plan to you?”
“I don’t have any plans. I just code.”
“Do you work with someone who plans?” I try.
“I’ll talk to my project manager.”
“Okay. If he doesn’t have it, I can send it over.”
“She.”
“Great. She. Are you good, Bethany?”
“Absolutely,” Bethany says. “It sounds like you two have the technical side under control.”
She has more faith in Drew than I do.
“We can talk more about the marketing side next week,” Bethany says. “I’m out at three o’clock today. My son’s getting married at Hilton Head tomorrow.”
I gasp. “That’s amazing, Bethany. How exciting.”
“Am I no longer needed?” Drew asks.
“Isn’t it great that Bethany’s son is getting married?” I ask, searching for Drew’s human side.
He grunts.
“Yeah, we’re done,” I say. “Keep the lines of communication open. I want to know when you unlock those zip codes.”
“Let me find my magic key,” Drew deadpans.
I huff out a fake laugh. “Great. Just keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
A rare moment of concession. I congratulate Bethany and then end the call before Drew can ruin the moment.
In the silence, Sarah leans back and studies me.
“What?”
“Luke is okay with this?”
“It’s my company. He’s just an investor. Speeding up the roll-out is my choice, not his.”
Sarah crosses her arms. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”
I narrow my eyes at her and tap the end of my pen against the desktop. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“I mean, is he okay with his boob-face moment going viral?”
A pinprick of guilt sears my gut. “Every time we livestream, my subscriber count goes up.”
“But is he okay with you monetizing his humiliation?”
I stand and pace to Sarah’s desk and then back again. She swivels her chair to watch me.
“He asked you to delete it, didn’t he?” she says.
Luke owes me this. After what he did to me. Plus, he has a stake in my company. His money is on the line. I have to perform, otherwise, he could lose everything. I can’t be monetarily indebted to him. It would muddle an already complicated situation.
What is the “situation” really? Sure, I wanted to kiss him last night. Until the memories started flooding back. The awful, heart-wrenching emotions that I’ve spent years tamping down.
Good memories are trickling back too. Warm emotions mixing with the cold. I’m lukewarm. That’s the problem. My temperature could go hot or cold depending on Luke’s next move. I’m not sure I want either extreme.
“Maybe,” I say finally.
“He did ask you to delete it.”
“Yes, he did, but it’s going viral. I need to ride the wave. Since it aired, I’ve gotten two hundred more subscribers.”
Sarah grabs her chin. I feel like the Mona Lisa on display as she contemplates me. To make her job easier, I stop pacing and face her.
“What?” I say when the long moment becomes awkward.
“I feel like you might be using him now.”
Sarah’s more than my coworker. She’s my friend. Still, I feel anger roiling inside, traveling up my neck. I’m a pressure cooker about to let off steam.
“He used me. He hacked my app. He forced his way into my launch. He invested in my company behind my back. He cheated on me!”
Sarah plants her heels on the wood floor and rolls her chair back until it hits my desk. “Whoah.”
The pinprick of guilt returns. I sigh.
“Sorry.” My shoulders collapse. “It’s just... I tied his shoe and he looked at me like he wanted to kiss me, and I wanted to kiss back until the past rained down and I felt like all the progress I’ve made to get over him just washed out to sea.”
I lean heavily against Sarah’s desk and bow my head.
Sarah stands and hovers next to me. The closest she’ll come to hugging.
“You tied his shoe?” she says.
I peek at her through my hair. A tickle in my chest prompts laughter to spill from my mouth. “They always come undone. I showed him how to make two bunny ears.”
“That’s so romantic.”
I break into full-bellied laughter. Sarah joins in.
“I’m sorry,” she says when we settle down. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. You two are complicated. I get that.”
“He and I are nothing. Nothing but business partners.”
She cocks her head and regards me thoughtfully, then she purses her lips.
“What?” I repeat for the third time.
“Instagram thinks you’re an item.”
“I know, I know.” Darn that pinprick of guilt. I rub my side where it jabs me once more. “I haven’t thought this through, have I?”
“No.”
“I appreciate your honesty.”
“Always.”
Sarah reaches out, encircles her arms, and gives me an air hug. I hug the air in response.
I’m doing the right thing. I know I am.
I think I am.
I know I need to grow my business and Luke is my marketing plan. As for the fallout... I’ll worry about that later.