Darien
LISA WALKS IN with an iPad in her hand and stands in front of the desk. I run my hands through my hair.
“I need you to schedule a conference call with Gunner Underwood, order a Transformers toy to be delivered to Jade’s house for her son’s birthday, and send a dozen roses and a note to Alana Underwood.” I tap my middle finger on the glass table, and I tell her what to write on the message.
She looks at me with her mouth wide open and says, “Oookay. Is Alana your girlfriend?” Her face turns the shade of her red silk blouse.
Lisa and I never discuss my personal business, and I plan to keep it that way. Ignoring her question, I say, “Push back the meeting with Burk Thompson until tomorrow, and clear out my schedule for today.”
Her freshly manicured fingernail taps the glass screen, and she tucks her iPad under her armpit and says, “Cody Williams is waiting for you.”
“Bring him in,” I say.
Warm heat blows from the air conditioner, making it stuffy as hell, so I unbutton my thousand-dollar dark jacket and place it on my chair. She leaves my office and Cody Williams, the private investigator, walks in. His right arm is in a loose sling, and the guy has a pot belly that hangs over his jeans. His torn and worn-out shoes squeak across the polished wooden floor. His hair is greasy and stringy. For fuck’s sake, it doesn’t cost much to wash your hair. Maybe he can’t afford it. I’ll throw in an extra few hundred when I pay him. He looks around my office and extends his left hand, and I shake it firmly.
“Nice office you have here,” he says, taking a seat across from me.
“Thanks,” I say, and he slides a thumb drive across the table.
“All you need is on there,” he says.
I stick the thumb drive in the monitor of my Mac computer. Several seconds later, pictures pop up of Mia leaving the building that I bought shortly after we got hitched. A picture of her kissing another man pops up. She is sitting on his lap, and they look like they are about to fuck. Doesn’t surprise me. When she is high on coke, she fucks anything that has two legs. Mia has her black hair cut into a bob, and she is thin as a rail. She looks like shit. Don’t care what she does—she can fuck Santa Claus for all I care. Just want her out of my life for good.
“She lives in the condo in the Upper East Side and hangs out with a drug lord named Luke Harper. He got arrested for having three million dollars’ worth of cocaine ten years ago, and he is out on parole.”
“Do you know where he is staying?” I ask.
Cody gives me a folded piece of paper. “It wouldn’t be wise to go on his territory. It’s dangerous.”
I tell him thanks, dismiss him, grab the divorce papers from the drawer, and call a driver to pick me up. Don’t feel like driving today and I’m tired as shit.
Outside, the weather is bipolar. One day I’m freezing my dick off and the next I’m sweating my dick off. Today, it’s warm and humid, the sidewalk is wet from the rain earlier, and the sun gleams in the sky. Tristan tilts his hat to me and opens the door of my black Maybach.
“Take me to Madison.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, shutting the door.
On the ride to New York, the rain thumps against the window and the lunch rush hour is pissing me off. We are stuck on I-78.
I couldn’t sleep last night because I had my mind on a little redhead who wants me to chase her. Saying she will think about the proposition? That is the best she’s gonna get out of me. Normally, I don’t ask women for this. Just fuck them and send them on their way. I can have almost anyone I want and the one I do want is making me jump through hoops like I work for the damn circus. When we finally fuck, I’m going to take my anger out on her sweet little pussy. I don’t cook for any woman since my ex-wife.
My phone dings with an e-mail. I click on the envelope. Gunner sent a message reminding me of the gala this Saturday. Closing out the app, I send a text to Alana.
Me: We got a date night on Saturday. We r going to the gala. Wear something formal, sexy, and no panties.
Red: LOL. Can’t. Someone already asked me.
Me: Who? So I can kill him.
Red: You don’t know him. He works for Gunner.
Me : Cancel the date.
Red: No.
Me: I’m not playing games. Dump his sorry ass. I’ll see you Saturday.
This is complete bullshit. If Alana thinks I will give up that easily then she is in for a rude awakening.
Alana doesn’t respond to my message, so I tuck my phone into my breast pocket. An hour and some change later, we pull up to the tall beige brick building that I own. Cars litter the side of the street. I step out of the car with the papers tucked under my arm and tell Tristan to wait for me. Raindrops hit the collar of my white dress shirt. The doorman tilts his hat to me as I go straight to the elevator and hit the thirty button. As I type in the code, I push the door open. The place is so neat and clean that you can lick the floor. The housekeeper must have cleaned the place, because Mia is messy. I search every inch of this condo, and she is not here. Everything is how I left it. The furniture is all white, with white rugs—even the kitchen is white with marble floors and white granite countertops.
Three years ago, we moved out of here and moved into a mansion because I wanted kids and she didn’t. Not gonna lie, I was a bit pushy on the subject. She wanted to continue to pursue modeling, and I wanted to start a family. Thank fuck I didn’t knock her up, otherwise I would have followed in my dad’s footsteps.
I lock the door, take the elevator to the bottom floor and speak to the maintenance man about changing the code. Might speak to a realtor about selling this condo. Also, I drop off the divorce papers to Leroy, the manager, and tell him to make sure Mia Casey gets the paperwork.
When I get home, I change from my expensive suit into sweatpants. I open my liquor cabinet, pour brandy into a glass, and drink the brown liquor. After the day I had I need a drink or three. I was gonna go to the gym but decided to catch up on Breaking Bad. Had too much of a shitty day and I need to relax. I check my phone and have a message from my dad saying he doesn’t need a ride to the gala and a text from Alana.
Red: Stop being jealous, D. Thanks for the roses. You’re nasty! The thought of you putting chocolate on my clit and licking it does sound tempting.
Me: No problem, sweetheart. Come over so I can do it. Did you dump your date?
Red: I’m at work. You have nothing to worry about. My date is gay, he will probably be checking you out when he sees you. Humor me, I’m bored. Who is ur favorite superhero and why?
Me: In that case, he will be our third wheel. The Flash, because he is super-fast. Wbu?
Red: Harley Quinn, because she understands how to love someone, no matter how crazy that person is. And she understands that love is painful. She’s smart until she meets the Joker. So yeah, she’s my favorite.
Me: She’s not a superhero. Sweetheart, she’s a villain.
I drink my brandy, and the next episode comes on the screen.
Red: In my eyes, she’s a hero because she knows how to love unconditionally. It takes a strong person to be with someone who is mentally ill. And the Joker is sick.
I set the glass on the coffee table and run my fingers through my hair. Maybe I am an asshole for leaving Mia. But I fell out of love with her two years ago. Does that make me a monster because I don’t want to have anything to do with her? I tried to get her the help she needed. Paid for fucking rehab but she never showed. Paid off paparazzi to keep their traps shut so they wouldn’t go to the media about her drug possession. I tried to be the best husband I could, sticking with her, waiting for her to love me and believing her empty lies that she would stop using cocaine. Crying myself to sleep because I knew I failed her. Now I’m ready to leave Mia behind and start fresh. I’m not saying I don’t care about Mia—believe it or not, I’m not that much of an asshole—but to continue to put up with her shit . . . that’s a no from me.
What about Alana? Sometimes when I look at her, she looks heartbroken.
Me: You don’t have an option on this, Red. We are fuck buddies. Tired of you holding out that sweet ass of yours. Who hurt you?
Red: Ask me nicely, Darien.
Me: Fine. Be my friend with benefits? Please.
Can’t believe Red’s making me beg. For fuck’s sake, I never beg.
Red: Sure.
Me: Who. Hurt. U?
She doesn’t respond, so I toss my phone on the table. I drink until I pass out.