Smashed
(Liam)
My throat is crushingly tight, and my heart hammers against my ribs as I stand frozen, staring at the door Darcy just walked out.
At least she took Chase.
Thank God, she took Chase.
“Fuck!” I scream, and grab the nearest thing I can reach.
It’s a porcelain lamp and I hurl it against the closed door. It shatters into a thousand little pieces. The same way my soul just shattered against the door when Darcy walked out it.
I pick up the matching lamp and wail it even harder against the door. I throw it with every ounce of my strength and it dents the heavy wooden door.
The lamps gone, I look around for something else to throw. I pick up the heavy occasional chair, upholstered in gray velvet, and smash it against the marble floor until the leg snaps off.
None of this makes me feel any better.
I hear footsteps coming, it will be one of my staff, and I retreat from the room. I head deeper into my apartment, to the wine room.
After scanning the shelves, I decide wine isn’t what I need right now. I go into the adjacent sitting room and open the bar cabinet.
Selecting the first bottle of Scotch within my reach, I take a heavy crystal glass and sit down on the sofa.
Our sofa.
The sofa where I first told Darcy who I am. I close my eyes and can almost feel the sensation of my dick being buried deep inside her.
I pour four fingers and gulp down half the glass.
Yes, I should’ve told her. It’s just there were always good reasons not to.
At the start, I didn’t want to scare her off. Would she have agreed to go to the wedding if she’d known I owned her biggest competition?
Afterwards, I enjoyed discussing the industry and strategies with her so much, that I didn’t want those talks to end. It’s not like I have anything to do with running the company anyway. I have a hundred companies, I don’t have time for that.
That’s what my employees are for.
As the owner of the parent’s parent company, I only deal with the big picture stuff, like what companies to buy or sell and when I need to use my influence on the government.
I honestly didn’t think it would be as big a deal to her as it is.
The decision to buy the chocolate and interior design events were nothing to do with me. Hell, if I’d known, I would’ve stopped Elite Exhibitions from buying them, just for her.
I would do anything for her.
Before I know it, the day is half gone. The Scotch has numbed me enough that I don’t give a flying fuck about the time or all the meetings and decisions I should be making, but it hasn’t numbed me enough to stop hurting over Darcy.
Grabbing my phone, I type out a text to her. It takes me several attempts to get the spelling right before I hit send.
You’re right, it was wrong of me to keep things secret from you
Setting the phone on my knee so I can keep an eye on the screen, I finish off the amber liquid in my glass. No response comes. I don’t know what I was expecting. Perhaps I had too much hope.
I pour more Scotch into the glass, filling it almost to the brim. Some spills as I lift the glass to my lips, droplets land on the phone’s screen. I don’t bother to wipe them away.
The vibration on my leg startles me, and I realized I’d passed out for a bit. The crystal glass is still in my hand, perched on the armrest of the sofa, but sideways and most of the liquid has spilled out.
It takes me a few seconds to realize the phone, still on my leg, received a text message.
Things with an s? You mean there are more secrets you’re keeping from me?
Darcy responded. It’s so good to hear from her. Relief floods me, I thought she’d ignore me forever. I read the message over again, only then does my drunken brain start to process what her text means.
I hit call. The phone rings and goes to voicemail. I slur a little into the phone, “Sweetheart. I’m not keeping anything from you. I love you, Darcy. I just want you to be happy. I want us to be happy. Come on back here. I’ll give you all my passwords. You can see anything you want about me.” I realize I’m rambling and probably incoherent, so I hit end call.
Using all my concentration to get the right words on the screen, I send her another text.
I’m not hiding anything from you
First your identity, then your ownership of Elite Exhibitions. What’s next?
Nothing’s next
I curse my drunken brain for not being able to come up with anything better.
I don’t know who you are. Not really. You’re so secretive, how can I ever know whether to trust you or not?
You’re the only one who knows who I actually am
How could I ever forgive you for what you did?
Before I can stop my drunken self, I text back.
Come kick me really hard in the balls
Holding the phone close to my face, I stare at the screen, waiting. But no matter how long I wait, no reply comes.