Page 10 of Tell Me You Want Me

Her eyes go as wide as saucers and a gasp escapes her lips. For two seconds, she sits there in utter shock as she realizes I’m publicly throwing down the gauntlet in front of her boss and my friends.

Then her fiery spirit flares right back up, ratcheting up a notch. With a sharp, violent motion, she slams her work phone down into its cradle with an aggressiveclunkthat rattles her desk. She doesn’t break eye contact with me as she reaches down, grabs her leather bag out of her desk drawer, and slings it over her shoulder. Then she stands up, her chair rolling backward, and lifts her left hand in a fist, making sure I can see the diamond, and then slowly, deliberately, extends her middle finger straight in the air as a parting shot.

She turns on her high heels, which, by the way, do amazing things for her ass and legs, and marches toward the elevator, keeping her finger in the air and leaving a trail of silence behind her. I stand watching, my hands in my pockets, rocking backon my heels. My wife walks away from me, and this time, I’m letting her go. She can run all she wants. She’ll still be in my bed tonight.

CHAPTER SEVEN

alexandria

My thumbs fly across the screen of my phone, hard and fast, nearly cracking the glass. Not really, but I’m so damn mad it sure feels like I could. I’m practically vibrating with rage as the elevator descends to the lobby. Dante’s arrogant, handsome face is burned into my retinas, but ordering me around, essentially giving me an ultimatum, is making my blood boil

“Tell your friends before I do,” I mock-mimic the infuriating man.

Alex: CODE RED. I REPEAT, CODE RED. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY.

Alex: Get to my apartment as soon as possible. Bring your appetite. I have food and wine. Don’t ask questions until you’re inside.

I tell the group chat with Cory, Romy, Mischa, Gennie, Seraphina, and Jett.

Cory: Holy shit, who do we need to kill?

Romy: I’m on the move, although it’s not that fast.

Mischa: On my way!

Gennie: Grabbing a bottle of wine from the cabinet now, then I’ll be there.

Jett: Guys, I’m in LA until Thursday Someone FaceTime me or record this because whyyyyy.

Seraphina: Shit, I’ll be there as soon as I’m done with this appointment. Don’t start without me and @Jett we’ve got you covered.

I stare at Jett’s response, hating that she won’t be there as I walk through the glass doors of Sterling Capital, and instead of flagging down a cab or calling a call, I decide to walk.

I don’t notice the others as I walk, the blaring of city noises, horns, cars, the vibrating thrum of everyday life as I march nearly twenty minutes in high heels until I make it to my apartment building. I unlock my door and push it open with more force than necessary, causing it to nearly fly into the wall until I catch it at the last possible second. Jesus, that would be interesting to have to explain to the maintenance department. Once I have my door closed, leaving it unlocked for my group of besties, I go about taking off my corporate armor immediately.

I storm into my bedroom, rip off my blazer, unbutton my blouse, then shed off every last article of clothing that resembles work attire. I dig through my dresser, grabbing a pair of oversized, baggy gray sweatpants, and pull them on, rolling the waistband down until they sit low on my hips. Next comes a top, which means taking off my bra; the damn contraption is thebane of my existence but also a necessity. At least the spaghetti-strap tank top has a double-layer and functions like a bra without underwire or structure, just pure comfort.

Now that I’m able to breathe a little easier, I’m a woman on a mission, this time for sustenance since I missed breakfast and dipped out of work earlier than I ever have before.

“Shit, I need to text Vik,” I mutter aloud in the empty kitchen. I haul out a couple of cutting boards, blocks of cheese, prosciutto, cured salami, grapes, crackers, and fig jam. I’m a single woman, or I was, hell, maybe I will be after today, so these ingredients are an absolute staple in my life. I start slicing, dicing, and arranging the goodies on a charcuterie board to channel my nervous energy. Considering I still have a good amount of annoyance running through my veins, I abandon my task for a moment, walk to the living room, pick up the remote to the television, turn it on, and open up my playlist.

I find the app, and instead of going for music that will make me angrier, I pick one that mellows me out. A playlist I have downloaded:New York State of Mind Vintage Jazz.A melody fills the air, the sweet sound of a saxophone, trumpet, and piano. I turn the volume down a few notches, then move back to my task at hand.

The wine.

I reach for a couple of different bottles—a Pinot Noir, a Riesling, and sparkling flavored water in case the others don’t or can’t drink alcohol. What I do bypass is the champagne, that bitch is dead to me. It’s now considered the devil’s juice, responsible for bad decisions, neon chapel lights, and massive rings.

Speaking of rings…

I look down at my left hand as I set the wine glasses out. The damn things have completely derailed me, and yet I’m stillwearing them. Right when I’m contemplating taking them off, I’m interrupted.

The sound of a door opening, shuffling feet, and hushed murmurs are coming from the foyer.My girls.I take a deep breath, wipe my palms down my sides, and walk toward them. They trail in like a glamorous, frenzied whirlwind. Romy’s first. Her sharp eyes scan my face, and before she says hello, her gaze drops directly to my left hand resting at my side.

“I knew I saw Dante making eyes at you the last time we were all together,” she says, stopping dead in her tracks with absolute shock as she stares at my hand. “What I didn’t know is that you reciprocated!”

“Holy mother of god,” Cory gasps, shoving past Romy, albeit carefully because she’s not an asshole. She lifts my hand and gives a long, low whistle. “At least he’s got great taste. That thing costs as much as a home, and not a small one, either.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mischa interrupts, toeing off her heels and striding straight into the living room toward the wine. She pours herself a glass, turns around, and points a finger at me. “Start from the top, Alex. Right now.”