Page 2 of Done Dirty

“Very dramatic. It sounds just like a country music video. But let’s try to stay out of jail.”

Paige cleared her throat. “I don’t want anything that reminds me I was never enough for him. The clothes, the lingerie, my hair color. Do you know how hard it is to maintain this shade of blond? He never wanted the real me.” A tear squeezed out and ran down her cheek.

Becca reached over and squeezed her knee, quick, before grabbing the dashboard again as they hit a pothole.

“You’re too good for him,” Becca said. “You’ve got a good job and you make good money. You don’t need a man for anything. You’re strong and independent. And all you really need is fabulous rebound sex to help you forget he ever existed.”

Paige choked on a laugh. “Sounds like a plan to me. I’m taking his cashmere robe. The one he never let me wear because he told me it washes me out. And I’m taking the KitchenAid. He doesn’t even cook.”

“Petty. I like it.”

“And it feels so good,” Paige said, her smile holding a hint of malice. “I’m going to rearrange his cabinets. You know how OCD he is about everything being in place. I’m going to move every item to a different cabinet or drawer. He’ll lose his mind.”

Becca burst into hysterical giggles. “That’s brilliant. I’ll help you do the pantry. I’ve never seen a man so obsessed with his pantry.”

“That’s because he keeps all his sacred smoothie ingredients in there and his protein powders. Heaven forbid he run out of anything.”

“You’re a diabolical genius,” Becca said.

“I’ve spent two days on your couch and had more alcohol than I’ve had in my whole life. I’ve had time to plan.”

Neither of them said much the rest of the way, and Paige’s stomach tightened as the building came into view.

“You’re absolutely sure he’s at the studio?” Becca asked. “Isn’t that his car?”

They both looked toward the covered parking area attached to The Windsor and saw the little silver Mercedes in its assigned spot.

“He always walks to work,” she said. “It’s only a couple of blocks away. I don’t even know why he has that stupid thing. He hardly drives it. Everything we needed was in walking distance.”

“You know what they say about men and expensive sports cars,” Becca said.

“In Wade’s case it’s not true,” Paige said. “That man was a magician in bed. Even with the weird stuff.”

“Snap out of it,” Becca said, waving her hand in front of Paige’s forlorn face. “You’ve only had two sexual partners in your life. Guys like Wade are a dime a dozen. Don’t let your lack of experience lead you to bad decisions. You are not going to try and seduce him to get him back.”

“I wasn’t thinking that,” she lied.

“Sell it to someone else,” Becca said. “I’ve known you too long. Just like I know you don’t sleep around and need the relationship to mean something. But sometimes you have to change your thinking. Believe me, you just need to have your socks knocked off and Wade will be nothing but a distant memory. You’re funny, you make good money, and you’re hot. You could have a date for the fourth if you put your mind to it. Talk about fireworks.”

“You’re a good friend,” Paige said, feeling better. “Come on. His first class starts at seven and it’s after eight thirty. He’ll be gone for hours.”

“And you’re sure he hasn’t changed the locks.”

“He wouldn’t bother. The bastard.” She found a spot in visitor parking and turned off the engine. “That would require him to think about me, and he’s already moved on to thinking about whoever comes after me. I knew his reputation when we hooked up.” Anger boiled just beneath her skin, hot enough that her eyes stung with it. She blinked the tears away. She was done crying over him.

She pushed open her door and got out. “Well? Are you coming?”

Becca sighed reluctantly and got out of the car. “I’m not letting you do this alone, and I’m not just saying that because I’m drunk. But just so we’re clear, your stuff is retrieval. His stuff is theft.”

“It’s a gray area,” she said. “Technically it was our stuff when we were together. As far as neighbors or a judge would be concerned, I’m just coming home from a trip with my good friend Becca.”

“That’s the vodka talking,” Becca said.

“A little liquid courage never hurt anyone. Let’s go.”

Wade’s building used to be a warehouse, built sometime in the 1890s, and whoever renovated it had kept the good parts—high ceilings, exposed brick, walnut floors, those Edison bulbs everyone got obsessed with a few years back. The lobby always smelled like cedar and vanilla because Wade had once mentioned how much he loved those smells, and the cuckoo building manager did his bidding because unbuttoning her blouse a little farther down didn’t work. Or heck, maybe it had worked and she was just clueless. Like not seeing the breakup coming.

“Ladies,” the concierge said. “Everything okay?”