Page 7 of Rush
3
Jade
In the space of a day, my entire life had changed.
I currently sat in the middle of the bed in my hotel room, surrounded by a mess of sheets, a room service tray in front of me, andPretty Womanplaying on the television hanging on the wall.
I rolled my eyes as Julia Roberts’s character pawed Richard Gere’s poor lonely, sexy businessman character’s crotch while he stared at her like she was a lump of clay.
“Oh, just let her suck your cock, Richard Gere!” I shouted at the television. “Let her suck it. You obviously need it.”
Sinking back into the pillows, I wiped my damp eyes with the back of my hand. No one was coming to sweep me off my feet and climb a fire escape with a bunch of red roses to proclaim their love. Especially not a rich fucker like Richard Gere.
Real life wasn’t a fairy tale. No one handed you shit. You had to work for every scrap you could unless you came preloaded with a trust fund, and wasn’t that just the luck of the lottery. No one could control which vagina they erupted out of after nine months of swimming in gunk, could they?
No, I had to fight my way to the top, and I still came off second best. A man didn’t want a strong woman who could provide for herself. Well, at least, guys like Hunter didn’t. While he’d been handed everything, I’d had to apply for every scholarship I could find and work at fast-food joints four nights a week after school. I had to wait tables and serve drunken fuckers through three years of Uni, scan groceries at the local supermarket for the Sunday penalty rates…everything but sit on my ass and wait for the proverbial silver spoon to come along and spank me.
At the thought of my now ex-fiancé, a new wave of ugly crying overcame me, and I sobbed into the linen napkin that had come with my room service. After all that sacrifice, I’d had everything I’d ever wanted, but it all turned out to be a sham.Worthless piece of shit…
Picking up my phone, I stared at the blank screen. I used to think zero notifications was a good thing. It meant my inbox was free of work, and I could have a few precious moments to myself. Now it just amplified my broken heart. I had a whole weekend ahead of me jam-packed with ugly crying and French fries. At the thought, I wished for a work crisis to dive into so I didn’t have to keep envisioning Hunter fucking another woman.
Asshole.
Then my phone buzzed, and a text message appeared, making my heart leap into my throat. Not because the sound had startled me but more because of who’d sent it.
Margaret:Brunch at the Langham tomorrow. Don’t be late. x
It was if she knew my life had burst into flames sent from hell and was waiting to rub it in.Ugh. Instead ofPretty Woman,I should’ve watchedMean Girlsin preparation.
Tossing my phone aside, I put the room service tray outside my door, glad no one was in the hall to witness my disheveled state. Putting up the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle, I locked myself in, flopped into bed, and buried under the covers.
There were so many things wrong with this picture I wasn’t sure where to start. I was wallowing in a fancy hotel room on a Friday night?. I was dreading facing my uppity friends. I was afraid of their judgment when they found out my engagement was off. ?????
Fiddling with the ring on my finger, I tried to pick out the moment where I’d gone wrong. I was fixated on the ‘how long’ and ‘how many’ before I’d caught him in the act. The list went on.
I tossed and turned, my legs tangling in the mess of sheets. The pillow wasn’t familiar, and the mattress was softer than I liked. No matter how I lay, I couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Things didn’t smell right. The quilt didn’t smell like Hunter’s cologne, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
Picturing his slimy cock from that afternoon, I felt like throwing up the hamburger and fries I’d inhaled while watchingPretty Woman. A hooker and a rich businessman. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best movie to watch because I wasn’t Julia Roberts. Not by a long shot. The bitch in Hunter’s bed was.
Staring at the dark ceiling, I pictured my chance meeting with Ryan. Of all days to bump into him, it had to be today. The worst day of my life, but that was just like him. Ready to rush to my rescue at a moment’s notice. He’d punched his best friend in the face once for touching me up at a party back in high school.
Oh God, he’d seen me wandering around Victoria Street like a psychopath. I covered my face with my hands as if it would erase the entire encounter.
My mum always said everything looked better after a good night’s sleep, but right now, it was only making things worse. Except, one thing played on my mind more than the one that should have.
Ryan Harper.
All grown up. Responsible. Elite sportsman. Handsome.
Ryan Harper…
Istaredup at the facade of the Langham hotel and made a face. There were worse things I could be doing on my first day as a bitter, man-hating spinster.Scratch that.Thiswasthe worst.
I was almost out of concealer, the bags under my eyes I’d woken with betraying the sleepless and tear-filled night I’d endured. No one ever turned up to brunch with the women I was about to meet looking anything less than put together, so I’d slapped on every cream and potion I had to disguise my broken heart.
Dressed in the finest outfit I’d stuffed into my bag the day before, I opened the door to the restaurant. Spotting them across the room, I bypassed the hostess and went to join my ‘friends.’
Margaret Anastas was the perfect, blonde kingpin of our little group and relished any and all attention lavished on her. She was a marketing and PR guru, who worked with a slew of fashion bloggers and authors. To a degree, we were in competition with one another but only on our own personal playing field. Genre fiction and coffee table books were two different realms in the publishing world, but it didn’t stop us from competing on the number of sales and retailer rankings.
