Page 79 of Scandalous Secrets

“I want you gone. Out of my home. Out of my life.”

“You don’t mean that…”

“I do. I’m tired of your games. I’m tired of you trying to weasel into my life, by using mymotherto do so. Stay away from her. Stay away from me.”

“But—”

“No buts,” I interrupted. “You will stay away from me. If you don’t, I will file a restraining order.”

“You can’t be serious…” she said, her eyes wide.

I gestured to the box. “Take your shit. And get the hell out.”

She opened the box and picked up the Polaroid that sat on top of the pile of clothes and jewelry. She studied it for a few seconds before looking at me. I could have sworn there were tears in her eyes, and this woman never cried. Not when I found out she cheated on me. Not when I filed for divorce. Not even when her own father died.

“Troy…” she started, her voice shaky.

“Take. Your. Shit. And. Get. The. Hell. Out,” I repeated.

She swallowed hard and went to grab the box, but then remembered she was only wearing lingerie. She looked down at herself helplessly before I threw her jeans and sweater at her. Quickly, she slid the sweater over her head and shimmied on the jeans, avoiding looking at me. She picked up the box, struggling to hold it. I didn’t care. I showed no offer of help as she stumbled slightly toward the elevators.

She turned to look at me, blinking back tears. I couldn’t feel anything for her. No remorse. No reprieve. No love. My face remained blank. My lips tightly pressed together. When she saw she was getting nothing from me, she stepped into the elevator and then she was gone. Hopefully, for good.

I walked to the couch and sunk into it, putting my head in my hands as I ran my fingers through my hair. This night had been hell. I had unintentionally hurt Monica, probably irreparably. Any thread of hope of us ever finding our way back to each other had been cut clean by a sharp blade. I doubted I could ever talk my way out of this, even if she did give me a chance to explain. I had lost her. Truly lost her.

Chapter 35

Monica

The oncoming car lights were blurry through my watery eyes, as the cab weaved in and out of the light traffic of late night Manhattan. I clutched my coat tight around me, trying to comfort myself after everything that had unfolded in the last hour. When I had been in line for Chinese food, trying to avoid a bad date, I had thought of how different Troy was. How good I had it. Now, I never wanted to see him again. Floppy-haired Dean was better than what I had just been through with the man I thought I knew.

I watched the city as we passed the sidewalks bustling with friends linked arm in arm, walking to their last bar of the night, or couples bundled up in hats and scarves, their gloved hands interlocked as their foggy breath moved in sync. Seeing their smiling faces made me feel even more alone than I already did in this heated cab, in my pajamas and messy hair and splotchy cheeks.

The large stone and brick buildings with their beautifully paned windows glowed warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, which was more reminiscent of how my heart felt. I took in the upper east side as we passed. More than ever, I realized I didn’t belong here. This world of luxury and sex and heartbreak and games. It was an atrocious place. How did I ever think I could fit in here? That I could fit into Troy’s life, as if it were as simple as finding the last puzzle piece of a jigsaw. It was laughable now.

Veronica had been right about me. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t want to. Not when the people who believed they were above everyone else pushed others down to make their own beliefs true. I just couldn’t believe that Troy was one of those people. In the time I had spent with him, he seemed different from the yups of Manhattan.

Yes, he was a well-known billionaire with more money than I could even begin to imagine. But he was funny in a way I didn’t think many ever saw, and when he really laughed, it filled a room. I used to take pride in being the cause of that laughter. He was also kind, not just to me, but to strangers. I had seen him engage in conversation with servers and never treat them any less than, leaving them a generous tip behind. And it wasn’t for the praise or the thank-you. He always slipped out before they came by for the signed check.

These little things, among others, were what made me think that somehow we could work. That our worlds could mesh together if we ever figured out what we were. A part of me held out hope for that, until the gala. Even after that. But now, I saw things with razor-sharp clarity, even though my eyes blurred with tears that fell warm against my cheeks.

When the cab dropped me off at my apartment, I trudged up the stairs and began my usual lengthy process of unlocking the row of locks that lined the edge of the door. As I did so, I wondered if I would ever be able to put the same safety on my heart if I continued working for Troy.

Once inside, I slid off my coat and let it fall to a heap at my feet before kicking off my boots. I walked to my bedroom and collapsed into my bed, the sheets cold to the touch as I slid under them. I shivered slightly as I closed my heavy eyes, desperate for sleep to come. But it didn’t. I turned over from my back to my stomach, rolling to my side, never finding comfort. It wasn’t the bed. It was my head keeping me up. I sighed and rolled over to flip on the switch of my lamp on my nightstand.

The clock read 3 a.m. I groaned quietly. At least I didn’t have work tomorrow. Or the next day. It meant I didn’t have to see Troy, which was the real silver lining. But two days would hardly be enough time for me to heal from the damage of the night. It was hardly enough time for me to forget what Veronica looked like on his couch, at home and drop-dead gorgeous, his for the taking. I closed my eyes and shook my head slowly, trying to scrub the image from my mind, along with all the others I had been imagining as I tossed and turned.

I pushed the sheets off me and walked to my desk where my laptop sat, untouched for many months with a layer of dust as proof. I wiped it off and watched the dust bunnies float before picking it up and carrying it to bed. It was something I had done so many times in the past, writing from bed, but right now it felt so unfamiliar. Except I wasn’t writing a novel, unless my readers wanted to know what raw heartbreak felt like. I was sure that would go over just as well as my last book.

No, I had something else to write, and it was something I probably should have done weeks ago. Hell, I should have done it as soon as I walked into Troy’s office and saw that he was my new boss. I had to write a resignation letter. It was the only way for me to get the distance I knew I needed, but wasn’t strong enough to ask for. It was the only way to move on from the heartbreak that ensured all of the memories I used to promise myself I would never forget.

I opened up my laptop and turned it on, the familiar welcome sound ringing in my ears as the glare of the screen came to life. I opened up a Word document and watched as the cursor blinked on the screen, begging for me to press a key. Any key.

There was so much I wanted to say. I wished that I could write a letter that somehow eloquently screamed the feelings that were raging inside of me like a sea under gray skies. But I remembered this wasn’t that kind of letter, and this wasn’t that kind of story. Instead, I added the date and the proper header and proceeded to Google for how to write a professional resignation letter. Yes, a writer Googling how to write. Pathetic.

I spent the next hour typing, deleting, and re-typing a letter that explained why I was leaving the position, without really explaining anything at all. At least not the truth. I tied a few professional sounding words together in neatly packaged sentences, and hit the print button. I fell asleep to the sound of the whir of the printer as it spat out my final goodbye to the man I swore I could have loved one day. Or maybe already did.

I avoided the letter that sat in the printer tray until Monday morning came around because I didn’t want to rip it up, backing out of what I knew I had to do. Just as I was about to leave for work, I slipped it out of the tray, folding it in clean lines and slipping it in an envelope. It seemed like such a big thing to fit so neatly in a folded piece of white paper.

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