Chapter Six
Mia
My assistant dropped off my schedule for the day and casually told me there was a rather personal message on my voice mail. That was odd. Anyone who knew me had my cell number. I picked up the phone, and the blood drained from my face as I listened to the message.
“No way,” I breathed out. “No way!”
I pushed the button to save the message and then immediately replayed it.
“Seriously?”
I replayed the message for the third time. My brain had rejected it the first two times.
Brad Jones? That was a blast from the past. He actually thought I was going to follow through with his marriage pact idea? The man had lost his damn mind. We had been foolish kids back then. Well, not technically kids, but twenty-four felt like a lifetime ago. I felt as if a hundred years had passed since then. The man was out of his fucking mind if he thought he could call me out of the blue and expect me to drop everything and take him up on his stupid offer.
No way. Not happening.
I laughed into air of my empty office. The guy had to be out of his damn mind if he thought he could pick up the phone and call me after eleven years and I would just jump into bed with him. Not just jump into bed—he actually thought we would get married. It was good to see his sense of humor was still intact.
I sighed and leaned back in my fancy chair. I hated him. The man had broken my heart. He didn’t know he did, but that didn’t change the fact. I had been in love with him for years, and when he left without saying good-bye or calling, it had hurt. It pissed me off that it had hurt so badly, and I spent a good five years getting over him.
Plus, I felt like I should point out that I wasn’t yet thirty-five. I still had another six months before I turned thirty-five. There was a chance I would find a man and fall head over heels in love. It could happen.
“Mia?” I looked up to see my assistant standing there.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
She didn’t look convinced. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
“Nope. Just the phone.”
“Okay,” she said, closing the door behind her.
She obviously thought I was losing my mind. I was. Brad certainly was. I wasn’t going to let him get away with lobbing this curveball at me out of the blue and then going back to his regularly scheduled life. He had done that once and I’d let it happen. He had thrown me for a loop. I’d waited and waited for him to call. He never did. No text or anything. He had fucked me and left me. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am, as they said.
I blocked all thoughts of Brad from my mind. My day was packed; Brad could wait. The asshole had waited eleven years. Eight more hours wouldn’t kill him. There was no way I was going to call from my office. Gossip and fashion went hand in hand. If anyone happened to overhear me talking to a man about having a baby, good God, the gossip would run rampant.
By the time I got home after a long day of interviews and researching, I finally decided I would call him back. I had changed my mind at least twelve times throughout the day, but I was not going to let him get the last word.
First, though, I needed a glass of wine to give me that last bit of courage I needed to make the call. I downed the first glass and poured the second.
My stomach was flipping, rolling, and jumping all over as I dialed the number.
“Hello?” His smooth voice drifted through the phone.
Fuck. His voice was like sex in a bottle. It was smooth, a deep baritone with just the perfect amount of annunciation. I could practically feel warm honey pouring over my body.
“Mia?”
I blinked. He knew it was me. I couldn’t form words.
“Mia? Is that you?” he asked.
In an instant, it was as if the veil lifted from my eyes. Everything cleared. I remembered what I had repeated over and over in my head all day.
“Brad, did you honestly call me about that stupid pact?” I seethed.
He laughed. The man actually laughed. “Well, I am thirty-five.”
“You are. I’m not,” I reminded him.
“You will be.”
I took a deep breath. “Brad, how long has it been since you called me?”
“I’m sorry. Really sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t really make up for it, now does it? I can’t believe you think I would honor your pact when you couldn’t even honor one simple promise,” I said.
He was quiet for a moment. I could hear him breathing and waited for him to say something—anything.
“Mia, I know I fucked up. I did. It was stupid. I was young and dumb and wasn’t thinking straight. I know what I said, and after what happened between us, I—”
“Don’t say it. You said it wouldn’t get weird and it did. That wasn’t cool, Brad.”
Another long sigh. “I know. I meant to call, and then I got out here and it was all unpacking and going to work. The days just ran together.”
I scoffed. “Gee, I can see I was a big priority. You got in my pants and vanished. Typical. Very typical. It was my fault for believing you were different. I should have known better.”
“I am different. I mean, I was different. It wasn’t like that at all. You know that.”
The old me wanted to believe him. His honeyed voice was making it hard for me to stay mad. “I don’t know that.”
“Mia, I was an ass, a complete and total dick. I shouldn’t have done that. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to call you. I didn’t know what to say. Then every day I waited, it just got worse.”
I could hear his sincerity. I wanted to believe him. I did believe him, but that didn’t make it better.
“Fine. How’ve you been?” I asked, hoping to act like a friend.
“I’ve been good. I’ve got my own show—syndicated. Things are going well.”
“Good, good. I’m happy for you.”
“What about you? How’ve you been?”
I smiled. “I’ve been really good. I’m a columnist for a fashion magazine, which you obviously know since you called me there.”
He chuckled. “Yes. I’ll admit I did a little stalking. I was curious about you. You haven’t Googled me?”
“No,” I lied. Technically, it wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t Googled him recently.
“Liar.”
“Once, a long time ago,” I admitted.
“I knew it. You missed me.”
“Brad,” I warned.
“I’m really happy for you, Mia. I knew you would end up being really successful. Do you live in the city?”
I had planned to keep the conversation short and sweet, but hearing his voice made me want to talk. I missed the conversations we used to have late at night. We had talked about everything: our hopes, our dreams, and our fears. He had always been an excellent listener. All the qualities I loved about him had made him into one of the top radio hosts in the country. Everyone else was benefiting from his easy charm and soothing personality. I was a little jealous.
“I have a condo in the Garment District. Manhattan,” I clarified, hoping it didn’t sound like I was bragging. I assumed he was wealthy considering his success in radio, but I really had no idea how much that kind of job paid.
He let out a long whistle. “Damn, you have made it big. Is it a studio?”
I chuckled. “No. It’s two bedrooms, kind of,” I said, looking around my sparsely furnished home.
“Kind of?”
I was only slightly embarrassed by the amount of clothing I had. “I had the second room turned into a closet. So I mean there is still a room, but it’s about half the size it was.”
He laughed in that cool, easy way he had. “That doesn’t surprise me. So, do you have a bed in your spare room?”
“No, I don’t. Why?”
“Because I want to crash at your place.”
“Brad, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Shh,” he whispered, and I could practically feel his breath washing over my neck. “I want to come and see you.”
“No. Stop playing around. You haven’t seen me in eleven years.”
“I know, which is why I’m coming to New York. I need to see you. It’s going to be hard to marry you if you’re not there,” he teased.
“Ha! As if I would marry you.”
“You will. You know you want me.”
I shook my head even though he couldn’t see me. “Brad, it isn’t a good idea. A lot of time has passed. We’ve changed.”
“We’ve only gotten a little older. We’re still the same people.”
“No, we’re not. I hope we’re not. I think I’ve changed.”
“Aw, come on. You’re still my same buddy, Mia. I saw your pictures. You’re still sexy as hell. Send me a selfie. Do you have your hair all piled up on your head right now?”
“No,” I said, putting my hand to the wild mass of hair on top of my head.
“Liar,” he said in a sexy voice.
“I need to go.” I suddenly felt vulnerable. The man had hurt me terribly. I didn’t want to feel that pain again.
“I’m coming out there, Mia. I want to see you.”
“No. We aren’t going to see each other. We’re definitely not getting married. There’s really no reason for you to come here unless you plan on seeing friends or something,” I told him.
“I do plan on seeing friends. You.”
“Take care, Brad,” I said, wanting to get off the phone before he convinced me to let him back into my life.
“Mia.” He said my name in a way that made me feel as if he were right there beside me.
“Happy birthday,” I whispered and hung up.
I held the phone in my hand, staring at the number. In the past, his number had included a picture of his handsome face. Now he was a stranger. His number wasn’t even in my contacts list. He was just a guy I used to know.
So why did my heart feel like it would explode if I didn’t care about him anymore?
“Don’t do this, Mia,” I told myself. “He’ll break your heart again.”
I took a deep breath before setting the phone down and picking up my glass of wine. I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d be opening myself up to more heartache—heartache only Brad could cause. I couldn’t admit the feelings were still there. Hearing his voice had brought it all to the surface. But while talking to him had filled my heart, it had also hurt. I remembered the pain, and that was far more powerful than any of the good stuff.
I couldn’t do it. I had barely survived being dumped by him the first time. I had fallen into such a serious funk I’d nearly blown my shot at landing my first job. It had been by the skin of my teeth and a lot of luck that I’d managed to pull my shit together and get to work every day.
“No way, Brad. You’re not going to do that to me again. I can’t.”
I finished my wine and headed off to bed. It was late, and I didn’t want to think about Brad. I didn’t want to imagine him in my house, sitting on my couch, or touching me. It was too dangerous.