Page 47 of Savage Hate
“Hi, Earl,” I say smoothly, smiling as we hug. “These are some friends from high school.” I swallow, ready to tell him the entire story. It had been the other guy–the one who was always on his phone–the night I stormed out of here. I wonder what Wright has told him, if anything? “Unfortunately, I’m just here to pick up some things.” I pause, and I can sense the guys behind me waiting patiently. “Truth be told, Earl… Wright cheated on me, and I won’t be back. I had to move back home to Massachusetts.”
He whistles, shaking his head. “Is it that red-headed woman–”
I wince, squeezing my eyes shut. It still hurts too damn much to think about her stupid face.
“Yep. That’s her. She’s his assistant.”
Earl smirks. “You were always too good for him, Len.”
I hear one of the guys shift his weight behind me, and my cheeks heat at Earl’s kind words.
“Well, thank you.” I walk to the elevator. “We won’t be long.”
Earl shrugs as he resumes his position behind the desk. “Doesn’t matter to me. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” He winks as he raises his feet up onto the desk again, flipping the newspaper out in his lap. “If you leave a few holes in the walls, I promise not to tattle.”
I grin and look behind me. Silas, Damon, and Jude are all looking around the lobby. I suppose to an outsider, this place feels luxurious. Classic Upper East Side, with lots of new money accents, marble, and gold. I liked it when I lived here, but I’d never lived anywhere but a place like this, so it felt like home from the very first day. Wright was quite choosy, and this place fit his long list of requirements, which said a lot.
I motion for the guys to follow me as I walk into the elevator. Then I give Earl one last wave before we all climb in, and once the doors shut, Damon clears his throat.
“Spit it out,” I growl, turning to face him.
He wiggles his eyebrows, his tongue rolling around the inside of his cheek, and the double entendre slams through me.
Spit it out…
I huff a laugh and shake my head. Just as I’m about to call him a pervert, Jude reaches out and gestures to the floors.
“I’m assuming we’re going up to ‘P’?” he asks, his voice smooth and teasing.
“Yep. I have a key card.” I reach into my purse and pull out the black card I was always so accustomed to carrying around. I tap it against the black box, and it beeps. Right now, in here with them, this whole process just feels pretentious and unnecessary.
“How long did you live here?” Silas asks, crossing his arms and leaning against the mirrored wall as we head up to the top floor. Damon and Silas are wearing white shirts, like me, and their ink mirrored all around the elevator shaft is exquisite. Jude is in a black Henley, and I didn’t realize before, but he’s wearing a small cross around his neck.
Another taunt for Liam, I’m sure.
“About three years,” I say wistfully. “After college, Wright and I moved to the city. As you can probably guess, we lived in this area and knew we wanted to buy an apartment in one of these buildings. One of Wright’s clients–Wright is an attorney, by the way–told him about this place before it went on the market, so we made a cash offer, and…” I trail off, my chest flushing. I sound like such a snob.
The elevator dings, and the doors open to the place I considered my first real home. My eyes sting as I walk in, setting my purse down on the marble entryway table and kicking my shoes off, out of habit.God, I used to just wait for Martha to clean up after me,I think, referring to our housekeeper. Silas, Damon, and Jude follow suit, taking their shoes off before they each wander around, eyebrows raised.
“Damn,” Jude murmurs, running a finger over the pristine, white marble of the kitchen. “Your current place is a hovel compared to this.”
He’s not wrong.
Tall, domed ceilings encompass the space, with hardwood floors throughout. And plush Persian rugs along with gorgeous, matching furniture decorate each room. I walk through the foyer and into the formal sitting room, my eyes looking over everything with a fresh set of eyes. The art we hung on the walls, the fabric I picked out for the throw pillows, the candles I bought at the boutique in the Village… I loved it here once, but now that I’ve had some time away–some time to think–I realize just howmuchit all is.
The whole first floor is open concept, so my eyes wander over to the large chef’s kitchen with modern stainless-steel appliances. The white marble on the counters is the most exclusive type of marble, and we waited nearly three months for it to come in from Italy. I run my hands over a thick, black vein in the marble, and a lump forms in my throat. Pretentious or not, this was my home. My name may not have been on the deed, but I lived here, loved here, made love here, cooked and baked here, grew up here…
“Hey,” Silas says gently, his hand coming to the small of my back. “Let’s get your things and go.”
I nod. “Yeah. I know. It’s just… now that I’m here, I don’t really want anything, you know?”
He quirks his lips to the side, and his blue eyes pin me to the spot. “You sure?” He tilts his chin to the other side of the kitchen, and I follow his gaze. “Not even that?”
My stomach lurches when I see my copper stand mixer. “Oh my God,” I whisper, turning back to Silas. “You’re right. That is a special edition, professional-grade stand mixer.” I walk over to it, smiling. “I’ll go get a box.”
* * *
I end up taking most of my things. I’m quite petty about it, too. If I bought it with my own money, or it was gifted to me–such as my jewelry–I take it. We end up using seven large boxes that barely fit in the trunk of Jude’s SUV. Silas helps me go through my things, and Damon does the heavy lifting. I have no idea what Jude does for an entire hour, but I catch him wandering around and touching things randomly. I make one more trip up alone, wandering around the penthouse and saying a proper goodbye. I cry for a few minutes, sitting on the couch I spent days picking out online, and then I stand up, brush my shirt off, and walk out.
