Page 4 of The Boss and the Wedding Mess
"How do you know all that?" I ask, amazed.
"It’s on her blog and Instagram." She shows me the page, where a beaming blonde smiles back. "177,000 followers." She looks again. "177,892… Everyone loves her."
"So that’s why he had time for you on weekends and in the evenings. She was occupied with her business. How cruel..."
"Yes," she whispers. "I wanted to marry him. I wanted kids with him. I was so sure." She wipes away a few tears. "We walked through the city, hand in hand. He took me out to dinner, bought me flowers. He never once hinted we might get caught."
"Where’s her shop?" I ask.
"Richmond." Southwest London.
"And you live in Romford. That’s on the other side of the city. What’s the drive? Over an hour?"
"Almost ninety minutes through downtown, about ten less if you take the main roads north."
"So hardly anyone who knew you would’ve seen you there. Or he just didn’t care. He must have felt pretty confident." I take another sip.
"I even went to his place," she sighs. "An apartment just a few streets from mine. It all felttooperfect."
"He probably just rented it. That takes a serious amount of scheming." She nods.
"What do you want to do now?"
"Forget him. I’ve already blocked him everywhere." She looks at me. "Can you drive me home?"
"First, we’re getting burgers and ice cream. We both deserve it."
"With extra cheese?"
"Absolutely."
What a miserable Saturday evening. We stuffed ourselves with burgers, fries, and cola. Then we demolished almost three liters of walnut ice cream with whipped cream and washed it downwith two bottles of red wine. We eventually passed out on Vanessa’s couch, and I didn’t make it home until the next day.
Unfortunately, I couldn't find out where that jerk’s fake apartment is. I simply have to respect Vanessa’s wish not to track him down. I promised, so I’ll stick to it, even though it’s killing me.
Back in my own apartment, I dig painkillers out of the drawer and swallow them down.
Way too much alcohol last night, but I live for these girls’ nights, even when the reason behind them is awful. It’s already 4:00 PM. We partied until sunrise, crashing sometime around six or seven. What a crazy night.
“I’m home,” I text Vanessa. A heart emoji pops up on my screen. Smiling, I plug in my phone and set it aside. Battery’s down to 12%.
I try to be productive, at least a little. Laundry, tidying, chores. That’s all I’ve got in me today. Tomorrow it’s back to work, and there’s a lot to do. With the company’s summer festival coming up, I’ll be actively helping out my boss, Arthur Blackthorn. Although he usually handles most things himself, as organizing festive events brings him joy, I'm happy to lend him a hand here and there. He’s seventy-six, and while he’s still fit for his age and looks younger than he is, occasionally he does need some support. After his surgery and long hospital stay earlier this year he tires more easily. Rumor in the office is he’ll soon name a successor, and the vultures are already circling, rubbing hands and sharpening their knives. I’m dreading the day one of themtakes over. It’s unfortunately only going to make my life in this wonderful company complicated and certainly not easier.
In the evening, I'm only capable of curling up on the couch, enjoying strawberry-vanilla tea, and watching a true crime show. Lately, I've been craving this almost daily.
Unfortunately, I fall asleep on the couch without setting my alarm. When I wake up the next morning, it's already bright out, and I'm lying in probably the most uncomfortable position of my entire life. One leg is half-hanging on the side table, one arm across the cushion, and the other leg bent and dangling over the armrest. My poor back. Maybe you can fall asleep like this at seventeen when you come home from a wild night of partying. At twenty-eight it means I’ll need at least a good dose of pain relief cream and a few new bruises that I'll surely wonder where they came from.
Something hard is digging into me.
There's nothing hard here.
Okay, I have found the remote control. It will certainly leave a nice pattern on my back for a while. Fantastic.
Still half-asleep, I reach for my phone and nearly choke. 7:51 AM. I’m supposed to be in the office by 8:30 at the latest.
"Damn it!" I curse and roll onto the floor. Thud!
How am I supposed to shower, get dressed, and drive to work without being late?
