CHAPTER 40
Kenzie
I dragged my feet as I walked through my apartment, wishing I’d gotten the number of the truck that had run me over during the night.
I had no idea how I would function at work, feeling the way I did. I hoped everybody would leave me alone and let me be. I couldn’t take too much energy.
Chloe looked up from her laptop, where she read the morning news. She frowned at the sight of me. “Rough night?” she asked, sympathetic. She looked well-rested, pink-cheeked, bright-eyed. I hated her in that moment.
“They’ll have to come up with a new word for the night I had. Rough doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She watched as I poured coffee down my throat, then went for another cup. All the caffeine in the world couldn’t make up for a night without sleep.
All I could do was think about Aaron, worry about Aaron. How did he feel? What was he thinking? Was he all alone?
I knew Patrick would work hard to get him out of jail, but how long would that take? He had to feel as though he didn’t have a friend in the world.
I wished I could be with him, to support him.
On the other hand, he had used me. Reed reminded me of that. He’d made a fool of me. I wanted to see him hanged and then dance on his grave.
I couldn’t get the two sides of me—my heart and my pride—to sync up. They tugged this way and that as my mind kept flip flopping on how I felt. Hence the night spent tossing and turning.
“I wish I didn’t care,” I admitted, sitting beside my roommate. “It would be so much easier.”
“And I wish there was something I could say to make it all better,” Chloe murmured, patting my hand. “We’re here for you. All of us. It will be okay in the end. Everything always is, right?”
I smirked. How many times had I fed her that line over the years? My life might not have been perfect, I might have hated my job, but I’d had steady employment and a level head. I was always the advice guru. It was a rare occurrence for me to be the one in the hot seat.
Now I knew how she must have felt all those times when I gave her the same tired line about being positive.
“Have you seen anything about him there?” I asked, nodding toward the laptop.
“Nothing new, other than the arrest and the usual rehashed nonsense. I swear, when they have nothing new to say, they say something anyway. That must be such a boring job, being a journalist for gossip magazines.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, and I should know, since so much of my job used to be low-level writing.”
“You never sank to that level,” she pointed out. “You might have written a lot of fluffy puff pieces, but you didn’t speculate on people’s private lives and tear them apart. That’s a special level of slimy.”
“Fair enough.” I sighed. Slimy. That was how I used to describe Reed—along with a lot of other, more colorful terms. Now I was back working for him. Was the job title worth it? The salary certainly was.
“Just think, no matter what happens to Aaron, you got something good out of it. And you’re looking out for you, girl. That’s what you should have done all along.” She agreed with me that a man wouldn’t care about loyalty. He wouldn’t care that he might hurt another person’s feelings. He would make choices based on the facts.
And the facts were plain: Reed offered more money and better opportunity. No question about it; I had made the right decision.
“So why do I feel so shitty?” I asked, resting my head on my folded arms. Chloe rubbed my back, sighing.
“Because you have a heart. You felt things for him. I know you did. But it will all wear off in time. You’ll forget him.”
Would I?
I didn’t share her optimism, especially when I opened a closet full of clothes he’d given me. I couldn’t put them on without thinking of him. He was everywhere around me.
Sure, his conniving had resulted in me getting a fabulous new job. I would think about him when I went to work, knowing that if it weren’t for him, I’d still be sitting in a tiny, windowless closet with hardly anything to show for my long hours.
I would think about him any time I flew on a plane, probably, remembering what he’d done to me on the jet. My body would respond when I thought about it, and I would ache for him. For the pleasure only he could seem to give me.
I felt sorry for any man who thought they could measure up. I’d spend the rest of my life searching for that feeling, the complete abandon, the rapture of giving myself over fully. The bliss of knowing that my body was his release, that he used me to soothe and calm himself. The power in that. Would I ever meet a man who sparked the same intensity, the same fire?
I highly doubted it.
I knew I was being self-defeatist, that my morbid musings were the result of a broken heart. I couldn’t predict my future. I might meet a fabulous man who made me feel good about myself and was honest with me. Who sparked passion in me without dominating me.
I couldn’t close myself off from the possibility of happiness just because I thought I’d found it with the wrong person.
Stepping into a killer pair of shoes didn’t hurt my spirits. All I had to do was forget who gave them to me and I’d be all right.