Page 9 of The Spring in My Heart

He doesn’t move. “I won’t leave.”

“Fine.” I reach for my phone in my pocket, but it’s not there. Right, I threw it on the couch. “Lauren, call Chase and let’s post the meeting on social media. I want to see what the press will say when the New York Emperors lose today because their cleanup hitter is in the hospital because he got beat for trespassing.”

“That’s ridiculous, Luxxy. I’m staying with you while I’m in town.”

“You’re no longer welcome. Get out of my house.”

His face goes black with anger. And here goes one of his tantrums. Rage flares in his eyes, and then it’s gone. He smiles. “Fine. Let me go get my stuff in the bedroom.”

“No. You will never set foot in my bedroom or this house again. Go downstairs, and I’ll bring it to you.”

Mateo’s fists clench. “Whatever. I’ll wait till your friend is gone and you can think for yourself.” He storms down the steps.

I go to the bedroom and grab his suitcase, dress jacket, and the watch on the nightstand. I come back to the living room and start moving toward the stairs.

Lauren grabs my arm. “Where the hell are you going?”

I look at her like she’s stupid. “To give him his shit. I want him out of my life.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a fucking valet to bring his luggage down.”

I’m so mad I’m seeing red. “Well, how the hell am I going to get it to him? Do I fling it out the window?”

I meant it sarcastically, but she looks at the window and then back at me and smiles, her lips stretching like the Cheshire cat.

It dawns on me what she’s insinuating, and I shake my head. “I can’t do that.”

“Why? Are you planning on taking him back?”

The question makes my face burn because I’m ashamed that this has become my life routine. I take him back every time. It has to stop, because the embarrassment keeps escalating. God knows what he’ll do next to humiliate me.

The surge of anger hits me so hard it blurs everything. At that moment, I don’t care what the neighbors say or the destruction it could cause. I don’t even care if it ends up on social media. He put my name in everyone’s mouth, anyway.

“I’m done for good,” I spit out.

She turns around, unlocks the window, and flings it open. “Okay, then.” She tilts her head.

That’s my cue. I stroll to the window, lift the suitcase, and fling it.

Lauren screams, “Watch out.”

Mateo’s eyes bulge out, and he scrambles out of the way like a cartoon character.

“What the fu—” The loud thud comes before the end of his sentence. “Are you crazy?”

Lauren is smiling. “That was fun. But you know what would be more satisfying?”

“What?” I’m seriously afraid to ask.

She points at what I’m still holding in my hand. “That watch hitting the ground. Do you think he would dive after it like a baseball in the outfield?”

I stare down at my hands wrapped around the rose-gold case with the black sapphire dial, the soft alligator straps draped over my palms. It’s a beautiful piece. “Lauren, this is a Patek Phillipe.”

Her smile is wicked. “I know.”

And the urge hits me. I want to see him dive for his expensive watch. He’s always shown his possessions more reverence than he’s shown me. He doesn’t let his watch face get smudged, but he cheats on me every chance he gets.

I look back down. Mateo and his driver are picking up clothes from the ground. His Versace silk shirt is soaked from falling on the curb. The yellow tinge tells me it’s not dirty water.

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