Page 80 of The Right Garza
I didn’t experience this hollow, desolate feeling inside when I left Torin. I’d left him in a whirl of rage, spite, and triumph. I’d felt the stab of his betrayal, but never hurt. No permeating burn in my chest. Trent has done nothing but good to and for me, yet the hurt I feel right now is so unbearable it transmutes to anger.
“Lexi.”
I turn from where I’m standing by the front doors of the guesthouse giving instructions with a bad attitude, and find Maggie standing three feet from me as if she’s afraid to come too close.
She offers her phone. “It’s Trent.”
When I shoot her a glare, she just shrugs, not leaving me alone like I want her to. Maggie might have been giving me a wide berth of late, but she isn’t someone who can be bullied, so my glare doesn’t phase her.
As I grab the phone from her, I yank and squeeze her fingers on purpose.
“Ow!”
I smile sweetly at her.
She scowls and mouths “bitch” at me before stomping off.
With a fortifying breath, I lift the phone to my ear. “Yes?”
“Are we fighting?” His deep, smooth voice spills over me like warm oil and my heart starts dancing giddily like a puppy whose owner finally came home.
Andthisis why I’ve been ignoring his calls.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The last time you took one of my calls or answered a text was three days ago.”
“Sorry about that,” I say, while sounding anything but. “I’ve been a little caught up, packing and all.”
I’ve ignored his texts because none of them were personal. They’re all related to the house, or just a general, “You good?” His calls were of the same nature, asking me to clarify something regarding a payment or a company I’d hired. Every time I picked up the phone expecting to hear or read something sexy or teasing and it wasn’t, it stroked my ire, so I just stopped picking up altogether.
To top it all off, I’ve had to make my own lunch all week because he sent menothing. Just like that, special delivery lunches were no more. No longer am I being wined and dined and flirted with. I’m chopped liver now. I feel so freakingplayed.
He probably has a date scheduled this weekend, someone else to pick up right where I left off.
“Well, sorry for being such a bother, Busy Bee,” he says, a touch of amusement in his voice. “I’m headed to the bank and just wanted to know if you’re good on cash for Washington.”
Cash for Washington. How eager is he for me to leave? Throwing me cash is a surefire way to make certain I get on that plane.Asshole.
My throat tightens. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You sure? I can get you—”
“I said I’m good,” I snap at him. “I don’t need anything else from you, alright? This is it. We’re here, at the end. I owe you nothing now, and neither do you. We’re square.”
A long pause, then, “Okay.”
I hang up and resist the urge to throw the phone, seeing as it isn’t mine. When my eyes start to burn, I curse myself, feeling like an idiot. What the hell am I even crying about? It was a fling that barely lasted three months. This is all so pathetic.
Irritated with myself, I go in search of Maggie and hand her back her phone. “Can you take over with the caterers for me?” I ask her. “I need to go get the booze before the traffic starts.”
“Sure, that’s fine.”
We head out to the front, and I eye the SUV Trent loaned me with malice. “Can I borrow your car?” I ask Maggie. “It’s faster.”
“Of course.” She tosses her keys to me. “But it’s low on gas, so you might have to make a stop at the station.”
“Maybe if you started filling more than a quarter tank of gas you wouldn’t be ‘low on gas’ all the damn time, you stingy wretch.”
