Chapter 1 Sloane #2
Not returning her text is childish, especially since she is going to find out anyway, but her being pulled into the loop eventually doesn’t mean I have to come to grips with reality just yet.
I make a left out of the parking lot and head home.
The headache I’m sure to be dealing with for the foreseeable future is already pounding behind my eyes. I rub at my temple with one hand.
“I’m going to murder James Robinson.”
***
I pull into my driveway about twenty minutes later and roll my eyes when I see Mal’s car parked in my usual spot.
The girl has no chill whatsoever. I’m not surprised she beat me here.
The office for Studio Six, our interior design company, is only about ten minutes away from the suburban neighborhood my two-story Craftsman is nestled in.
She probably left work as soon as I stopped answering her messages, intent on getting her answer one way or another.
When I walk through the door, balancing my purse and the bottle of wine I stopped at Whole Foods to pick up, I find Mal stretched across my sectional talking on the phone.
Her long, black knotless braids are draped over the arm of the couch like a throw blanket, and the sandals she paired with the coral wrap dress she wore to work today are lying haphazardly on the floor.
If it were anyone else, I would be beyond annoyed, but with Mal, this is par for the course.
As soon as it became clear that me and Eric, her twin brother, were going to be a real thing, Mal started giving me what she called “the family treatment.” She made it sound special, but I quickly realized it just meant she could come over to my house and make herself at home whenever and however she liked.
And even though it’s been four years since Eric died, she still acts the same. I’ll never tell her, but I appreciate getting the family treatment. Since I grew up an only child, Mallory’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister, and I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
One glance at her pinched features tells me whoever is on the other end of the line is grating on her last nerve. I move past her and into the kitchen, attempting to give her as much privacy as the open-concept living area will provide.
“Listen, I’ve got to go.” Mal’s voice is cold, sharp even. She isn’t happy to hear from this person. “Don’t call me again.”
There’s no hiding my shock as I watch her toss her phone on the couch and move into the kitchen to take a seat at the island. I push the glass of wine I poured her across the island and arch a brow. “Who was that, and what did they do to you?”
“No one you need to worry about.”
She takes a long sip of her wine and throws me a fake smile. It doesn’t touch her eyes and neither of the dimples in her cheeks pop out of her smooth mahogany skin. Something is clearly wrong, but I decide not to push because I know she’ll tell me when she’s ready to.
I shrug. “Fine. Did you at least order food when you decided to break into my house?”
“It’s not breaking in if you have a key, Sloane.” She rolls her eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “But yes, I got us some sushi, teriyaki chicken, and fried rice from Roku. It should be here soon.”
A moan of appreciation escapes my lips at the mention of my favorite restaurant. “That sounds amazing. It’s about time something good happened to me today.”
I toss back the rest of my wine and pour myself another glass, ignoring Mal’s questioning stare.
Maybe if I stay quiet long enough, she’ll forget she’s here to interrogate me about my meeting with James and the contractor from hell.
It’s a ridiculous thought. The girl is like a dog with a bone when it comes to stuff like this.
Unlike me, she doesn’t understand the concept of letting something go.
She crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. “Fill me in on this meeting with James and the contractor. You never said who it was, and I need to know…for business purposes.”
Her eyes are sparkling with mischief. The little witch is enjoying seeing me all riled up.
Granted, me being upset enough to leave work early is rare.
Most days, you can’t pay me to leave the office early, but today is different.
There are extenuating circumstances, and Mal getting a kick of out my aggravation makes me want to smack her.
“No one you need to worry about,” I repeat her words back to her.
Mal scoffs. “I’m your business partner, girl. I literally need to worry about who we’re working with. I mean, it’s kind of hard to do my job without having their name or contact information.”
She’s right.
I put my wineglass up to my lips and take another long sip to buy myself some time.
Mal waits patiently, her perfectly arched brows raised in anticipation and amusement.
She’s enjoying this a little too much. I set my glass back down on the cold quartz and roll my eyes, making it known how annoyed I am.
“The new contractor is Dominic.”
The words feel like gravel in my mouth. Disbelief and shock swirl in my belly, and the headache that was fading a few minutes ago decides to kick back up in full force. Saying his name in relation to my project makes it all too real. I’m officially working with Satan himself.
Mal tosses her head back and lets out a loud howl. Her obnoxious laughter bounces off of the walls in the kitchen and rings in my ears. I knew she would get a kick out of this.
“It’s not that funny, Mallory.”
She’s doubled over now, clutching her belly and trying to stay upright on the barstool.
“Oh, Sloane. It really, really is.” She sits up and swipes a finger under each eye to wipe away the tears that fell while she was laughing in my face.
“From the way you were acting, I thought James had hired someone awful. Like some kid who just got his license or that one guy who kept looking at your breasts every time y’all went over building plans for the Allisters’ house, but it’s just Nic. ”
She’s oversimplifying the issue, and she knows it. Of course, working with an amateur or the perverted guy from the Allister project would have sucked, but working with Dominic will be worse, so much worse. Because he hates me, and he always has.
It doesn’t matter that we’ve known each other for over a decade or that my husband was his best friend and business partner. He just doesn’t like me, and anytime we’re in the same room, which is a lot given his relationship with the family I married into, he makes it clear.
He gives everyone else the warmth of his sunshine—full-blown smiles that reach his dark eyes and tight hugs that make his biceps bulge when he wraps his arms around the people he cares about—while I get nothing but ice.
Cold indifference that sometimes slides into burning, white-hot anger when other people aren’t around.
I should be disturbed by those moments, but truthfully, I prefer his anger.
It’s better than being treated like I don’t exist, and it gives me something to fight back against. Eric used to find our disdain for each other amusing, and clearly, Mal still does, but it’s easy to be entertained when you aren’t the one being hated for no reason other than you dare to exist.
When Eric and I got engaged, I stayed up all night trying to picture a future with Dominic as a permanent fixture and nearly had a panic attack when the images flashed through my mind.
Dominic standing beside Eric at our wedding, his dark eyes glittering with hatred for me.
Our kids running into his arms and screaming “Uncle Nic,” so happy to see a man who can’t stand their mother.
Christmases where he came over to our home and waited until I was alone just so he could give me the full rundown on everything he thought I’d done wrong that day.
Overwhelmed, I turned over and placed my head on Eric’s chest, nestling into his warmth and firing off questions about how to get his grumpy, moody asshole of a best friend to like me. The only advice he’d given me before falling asleep was to stop calling him by his full name.
“He hates when people call him Dominic, babe.”
It was the worst advice Eric had ever given me.
Just the idea of using one of his nicknames made my stomach lurch.
I couldn’t call him Dom or Nic like everyone else did.
Not when he looked at me like I was gum on the sole of his favorite pair of Nikes.
Nicknames indicated warmth, friendship, intimacy, and we had none of that.
Dominic treated me like an outsider. An unwelcome force that slithered into his inner circle, fell in love with one of his best friends, and enamored herself to the other. I was nothing to him but an inconvenience he had to deal with to spend time with the people he loved.
And nothing—not even losing Eric four years ago at the hands of a drunk driver—has changed the way he views me.
I pin Mal with a hard glare. “Do I have to remind you the man hates me?”
I don’t. She’s well aware of the state of my relationship with Dominic.
“He doesn’t hate you, Sloane.” She gives an exaggerated roll of her round eyes when I arch a questioning brow at her. “So you guys don’t get along. I’ve seen you work with tons of assholes and still manage to get the job done. Hell, it’s not like James is a walk in the park either.”
That’s true. James is young, handsome, rich, and used to getting everything he wants: cars, clothes, properties, businesses, women, and the like.
He can be a jerk, but he’s never one to me.
Sometimes, he can be a little too friendly.
A longing look here, a lingering touch there, posting pictures of us from events we both happened to be at on his Instagram with captions that made it seem like we didn’t just run into each other.
He’s even asked me out on dates before, and every time I turn him down, he just smiles and says, “Next time.” I’ve never mentioned any of this to Mal. Even though me going out on a date is rarer than me leaving work early, she can still be pretty sensitive about it.
“You’re right, he’s not a walk in the park, but he also hasn’t spent the last twelve years alternating between glaring at me from across the room or completely ignoring me at every family function.”
Mal tosses her braids over her shoulder and purses her lips. “But see, that sounds like more of a personal issue. This is a professional matter. You’re both there to do your jobs and get paid. You don’t need to be friends to do that.”
“Yes, but every working relationship requires mutual respect, and the only thing Dominic and I agree on is that we don’t have any for each other.”
“Well, you better find some!” She wiggles her brows at me and smirks. “The opening for La Grande Nuit is in ten weeks, and I’m not listening to James whine about having to bring in another contractor.”
The finality of her statement is punctuated by the ringing of my doorbell. Mal jumps up and sprints toward the door. As soon as it swings open, the smell of sushi and fried rice wafts toward me. My stomach grumbles at the heavenly scent.
While she settles up with the delivery person, I run upstairs to my bedroom to change clothes.
The black heels I wore all day are the first thing to go, and the rest of my outfit follows in quick succession.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I unhook my bra and toss it on the bed.
After the stress of the day, it feels good to relax.
I’m even thankful to have Mal here. She’s messy and always telling me things I don’t want to hear, but being annoyed by her is better than being alone.
After four years of being a widow, I should be used to being by myself, but I’m not.
I still miss Eric’s presence in my life and usually at the oddest times.
Like when my feet are cold at night, or I cook too much food for one person to eat, or days like today when I’m worried about his best friend making it impossible for me to finish the last leg of a project I’ve been working on for months.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror next to my bed, I wrap my arms around my middle, trying to imitate the way my husband would hold me after long days.
I close my eyes and imagine his warmth enveloping me.
The smell of his cologne flooding my senses and making me feel safe, loved, and at home.
“Sloane!” Mal’s voice rings out, breaking me out of my reverie. “Get your ass down here. The food is getting cold.”
My eyes pop open and heat rushes to my face at the sight of the lonely woman staring back at me.
She looks tired and worn down. Like someone who’s had her heart shattered and completely given up ever being whole again because she knows those pieces are lost to her forever—floating around in the universe with the love of her life, never to be seen again.
I reach into the top drawer of my dresser and retrieve the shirt I sleep in every night, slipping it over my head before pulling on a pair of sweatpants.
The cotton is soft as it settles on my skin.
Years of wear have made the material feel like a warm hug.
I rub the frayed hem between my fingers and wish it still smelled like Eric.
Mal calls for me again, threatening to eat my dragon roll if I don’t hurry up.
“I’m coming, girl.”
She’s already settled on the couch, scrolling through my Netflix account with her plate in her lap, when I come back down. She glances at me over her shoulder.
“Grey’s Anatomy reruns?”
I shake my head as I move into the kitchen to grab the plate she fixed for me. “Hell no. I don’t have time for Shonda’s nonsense today.”
Mal pulls a fake pout as I plop down on the couch beside her. “Please, Sloane.”
“Fine.” I toss a piece of sushi in my mouth and sit back. The opening credits for the episode start rolling and then Meredith Grey is asking how I would want to spend my last day on earth. “Mal! Is this the bomb episode? You know this one always makes me cry.”
Particularly on a day like today, when I, much like Meredith, have had my whole life blown up unexpectedly at the hands of irresponsible and eternally selfish men with no care or concern for the damage done by the bombs they’ve dropped at my feet.
Mal can say what she wants, but I know—with an absolute certainty I can feel in my bones—working with Dominic Alexander is going to be the death of me.