Page 55 of Worth the Rush
“I told you we’d be staying through the new year,” he says.
“Yes, and it’s January the 6th. Well after the new year,” I deadpan. “What can I do for you this morning?”
“It’s more about what I can do for you,” he starts as I sit in my chair behind my desk.
“I’m listening,” I say, motioning with my hand for him to continue. The sooner he says whatever he wants, the sooner I can tell him to get the hell out of here.
“I don’t want to marry Margot,” he confesses, and I have to will my eyes not to pop out of my head. “I never wanted to marry her.”
“That’s interesting because you fucked her well before the ink on our marriage certificate had dried, then continued to the whole time we were married, so I got the impression you were pretty happy with her,” I say flatly.
“I didn’t know you cared.” His reply is dripping with sarcasm.
“I didn’t then, and I still don’t. Which is why I’m very confused about why you’re telling me this.”
“I know I didn’t always treat you how I should have, Red,”—I snort at his understatement—“but it wouldn’t be like that this time.” That’s where he completely loses me.
“This time? I’m sorry I’m not following you. We’re divorced, Noah,” I say slowly, making sure to enunciate every last syllable. He ignores me.
“I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I think it would be best for both of us to reconcile.” The words coming out of his mouth sound like another language to me. He’s fully delusional if he thinks there is any possible reality where I go back to the hell that I’ve barely managed to crawl out of as it is.
“You’re missing a very large piece of the puzzle there, Noah.” And possibly a few screws.
“I assure you; I’ve thought of everything. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take care of it all. Your father has assured me?—”
“My father?” I ask, incredulous.
“Yes, Sullivan and I have talked this through. When you come back to California after your time here, which he and I agree has been extremely beneficial for you. You’ve proven that the position at Rutherford Industries deserves to be yours. Well done,” he rambles. The level of excitement in his voice is unexpected. Like he truly expects me to be happy about this.
“Noah. Let me be clear. I will never marry you again.” My voice is unwavering. Keeping my emotions out of it. Inside, I’m raging. He scoffs.
“I suppose your new plaything has something to do with this.” He throws at me.
“Alder has nothing to do with this. I will never subject myself to a life with you anywhere near it ever again.”
“I think you’re forgetting that we’re still connected through our business ventures.” He smiles, but it’s cold. Calculated. “I was hoping we could do this amicably.” He sighs and sits in the chair across from me, leaning onto the edge of my desk. I want to scream, but I breathe in through my nose to calm myself.
“What do you mean by that, Noah?”
“It would cause a pretty large scene if word got out about where you actually went when we told them you were at a spa retreat, Ivy. They may even question if you’re capable of taking over any position or capable of taking care of yourself at all,” he threatens, and I physically flinch as though I’ve been slapped.
“How would that possibly get out?” I say through clenched teeth. Shame slices at me.
“You know how reporters are these days, and with you disappearing again these past few months—people are asking questions. Questions I have the answers to.” My vision blurs. I’m not sure if it’s solely from the rage that's brewing inside me or if there are actual tears there.
“Why?” I croak. “Why would you do that to me?” I don’t remember much of my time in the psychiatric ward I was sent to, but the flashes I do are not pretty. To this day, I’m not sure if it was actually a licensed mental health facility.
“I don’t want to, Ivy, and I won’t so long as you see reason,” he says gently, like he’s speaking to a child.
“I’m not nineteen anymore, Noah. You can’t manipulate me anymore,” I warn. He sits back in his seat and stares at me.
“Cut the dramatics, Ivy. It’s not going to work this time. I think I’m finally past the point of caring if everyone knows about my skeletons. Anyone who truly knows me wouldn’t judge, and if they did, then fuck them. I laugh, only it comes out a little hysterical sounding.
“If you think telling whatever struggling journalist you can find that I had to spend time in a mental hospital as a result of the way you treated me, a nineteen-year-old who just lost her baby, then go right ahead, Noah,”—I swallow, unsure if I’ll be able to follow through on what I threaten next—“but be ready for the backlash, and be ready for me to tell my side of the story.” He sets his jaw and then sucks his teeth.
“Fine. If that’s how you want to do this, then I hope you’re prepared.” His voice lacks all the fake niceties he conjured earlier.
“Prepared for what?” a voice that I wouldn’t have expected to hear calls from the hall. “What exactly does Ivy need to be prepared for?”
