Page 12 of Claiming Her Cougar
I squeeze her hand and wait until she meets my gaze.
“No.This is not your fault.Heis the cheater here, not you.He knows he made a commitment to someone and chose to break it.That’snoton you.”
Her gray eyes swim with tears, and it breaks my heart to see my strong, wonderful, big sister hurting like this.
“What did he say when you confronted him?I’m assuming you confronted him and told him what a sleaze he is?”
“When I saw him in the office on Monday, he acted like he normally did and tried to arrange for us to meet after work like we usually do.The other times we’ve hooked up, we’ve both been traveling, or he’s been in New York.This is the first time we were in Chicago.He was ready to meet up, fuck me, and then go home to his wife and child.”
She’s shaking with rage now, and I worry about the champagne flute she’s holding.
“Here, let me take this.”I slip the flute she just drained from her grasp and set it next to my partially full one.I’m sure our soak has gone on longer than normal, but I think the staff recognizes we’re having a moment and is giving us our privacy.I make a mental note to add extra to the tip in gratitude for their discretion.
“I didn’t confront him,” she confesses.“Just said I couldn’t meet him and walked away.I was afraid I’d cry or shift or scream at him.That’s what I’m most ashamed of—that I said nothing.I just walked away.Logically, I know it’s not my fault he’s a lying, cheating scumbag.He’s the one being unfaithful, but I didn’t say anything.I slunk away like an omega with her tail between her legs.”
That is so unlike Valerie.She’s always been fearless and outspoken, not one to let an injustice—real or perceived—go without remarking on it.
“Do you love him?”I ask gently.
“No, but I think I could have, and that scares me.That my judgment could be so off to not recognize a lying scumbag at fifty paces.How can I trust myself to find a good one when the one I thought I found is a deceitful sack of shit?”
I signal for a refill of our mimosas and that we’re ready for the rest of our pedicure.I know Valerie, and she’s told me all she’s going to about this subject for now.Maybe it’s the curse of the Carter siblings to not have lasting success in romance.So far, it hasn’t happened for any of us, no matter how hard we try.
* * *
I’m so glad to be home.I’m excited to hear about Daphne’s trip to France to spend time with her boyfriend, Logan.Fingers crossed it was everything she hoped it would be.
Waving my badge to enter our downstairs office area, I’m eager to start packing so we can move upstairs once the desks arrive and are assembled.Hopefully, Daphne likes the furniture I picked out for our new office.
“Hey, Mallory!”Daphne calls out from her desk, where she’s packing a box.
“Hi, Daphne.Welcome back!”I walk over and hug her.I’m not usually a hugger, but Daphne Foster is my girl.We just click.
“So, how was France?Did you have a great time?”I put my purse down and grab my red plaid mug to get my morning hot cocoa.Daphne follows me into the kitchenette area.
“It was wonderful,” she replies with a happy sigh.“Oh!We got you a present, but I’ll give it to you after we move upstairs.”She finally stops to take a breath.
“You know about the move?”I ask, surprised.
“Uh-huh, Will and Mike told me at Thanksgiving dinner.Oh, yeah, we ended up coming home Tuesday so we could spend Thanksgiving with Logan’s family.The furniture arrived, and the guys put it together yesterday, so we only need to pack up our desks and set up.”
“Wow, everyone’s been busy.”
“Well, I know I don’t want to stay down here with critters.You had a mouse run up your pant leg?That’s insane!”
I shudder.“How about we don’t discuss it and get the heck out of here?The sooner we’re upstairs, the happier I’ll be.”
Daphne hands me a box.“Get packing, then.The sooner our stuff is packed, the sooner we’re out of here.”
“Are we boxing the files we’re taking upstairs or putting them on carts or what?”
“Ooh, good question,” Daphne responds.“I don’t know.Wanna run upstairs with me, check out the space, and ask?”
“Yeah, okay.”I sip my cocoa.“Let me finish this”—I heft my mug—“and pack up.When I left Wednesday, we were caught up, so unless Miller went crazy dictating stuff over the weekend, we’re good.”
I put my clip-on fan, blue stapler, and rose gold unicorn tape dispenser—a prize from a favorite romance author—in my box.Wow, I hardly have any personal items here.When I worked with Steve, my late boss, the bulletin boards around my desk were full of leftover pages from old calendars that had pictures I liked and printouts of motivational quotes.I had knickknacks, framed pictures of my family, and a candy dish full of the peppermints Steve and some of my favorite real estate agents liked.My desk here at Morgan looks like I’m ready to leave at a moment’s notice.I don’t even fill half a paper box.If it wasn’t for the fan, I could put everything in my purse and call it a day.
I didn’t realize I was treating this as temporary before now.Is it possible that after Steve’s sudden death and losing the job I loved and thought I’d be at for years, I’ve been afraid to get attached and settled in?I hate having deep thoughts on Monday mornings.Mondays are hard enough, especially after a holiday, without the added layer of introspection.
