One day you're happy, and the next, a freak accident exposes your boyfriend's dirty little secrets in the worst possible way.
I lost the man I loved, my trust in people, and my home in less than one afternoon.
At least I know that I've pushed past...
I shifted in my dayglow rainboots, trying not to look like I wanted to drop my food and sprint in the opposite direction (or vomit on the spot).
"Wow, Isla, you look great," he exclaimed, shielding his brow to fix his light green gaze on me. "What are you doing downtown?"
He was dressed in a dark calf-length wool coat that offset his ghostly eyes with a dusky scarf loosely flung over his broad shoulders.
I could tell Rebecca was immediately smitten with him. I'm pretty sure I heard her whimper when she caught sight of the tattoos peeking out of his sleeves, too.
"We work a few blocks away," I replied as vaguely as possible while Rebecca batted at my hand (presumably, for an introduction).
Gray didn't even seem to care about the rain dripping down the closely shorn sides of his hair onto his angular jaw. He was clearly too busy being a man-tastic example of smoldering intensity.
In other words, he was the worst, and I was going to find any excuse to get the hell out of there.
"Sorry, Rebecca, this is, uh, my ex's best friend, Gray Meyer," I gestured at Elijah's cantankerous bestie. "Gray, this is my coworker and super smart, but incredibly humble friend, Rebecca."
"I'm also Isla's roommate," Rebecca blurted out with a flirty giggle aimed at Gray. My heart sagged into my already churning stomach. As far as I was concerned, the less he knew about my life after Elijah, the better. "Do you work downtown, too?"
"It's nice to meet you, Rebecca," Gray was being polite out of pity for me, I could tell, and it was grating on my last nerve. For once, I would have liked him to just be his obstinately unpleasant self. That would make it a whole lot easier to walk away in a huff. "I was just in the neighborhood dropping off my portfolio."
"What do you do, Gray?" Rebecca purred.
"I'm a photographer," he answered, curling his lips surreptitiously and throwing me a weird look that spiked my adrenaline. "My work is mostly commercial, but I do some creative stuff when I have time."
"Really?" Rebecca's eyes widened as I inwardly cringed (because I knew what was about to come next). "We work for an ad agency! You should totally drop your portfolio off with us! Isla just got picked to be the Co-Creative Director of a national campaign for Microsoft!"
No, he really shouldn't, I whined inside my head and peeked around Gray's designer jacket to peer down the sidewalk.
Maybe I didn't actually need an excuse to leave. Maybe I could just wander off like I'd lost interest in whatever self-important bullshit he was about to say. Or, maybe I could throw myself in front of a passing cyclist to escape our painful exchange.
"You did?" Gray's syrupy salutations were making me feel worse. "Isla, that's amazing!"
I didn't need him to pander to me.
He used to tease me endlessly about my writing career, calling me a corporate sellout and telling me that I was willing to belittle my own talent for a paycheck (his sanctimonious words, not mine). Plus, we both knew that Gray made way more money as a commercial photographer than most people earned in a decade, so, he wasn't one to talk or judge.
"It was all her idea," Rebecca continued. "It's pretty fantastic actually."
"I believe it," Gray smiled. "That is really, really great. Congratulations Isla."
"Thanks. Well, I've got to get back," I chimed, hoping to slip away and leave Rebecca to flirt with the tattooed menace. "Gray, so awesome to see you."
I forced my legs to move and walked right past him without a second look.
Rebecca was a big girl. She could make her own bad decisions. And even if I tried to warn her about Gray, I don't think I could stop her because she looked like she wanted to devour him whole.
Who knows? Maybe they'd end up really liking one another. Either way, I didn't want to see it.
The more distance I managed to put between us, the more my head cleared. Something about Gray's disconcerting gaze had broken the tentative peace I made with myself since the breakup.
Back at work, I got whisked into an impromptu brainstorming session with Braxton and our junior writers.
After hours of listening to a range of ideas that went from OK to super-duper-dumb, the team took a break.
So, I gathered up my stuff and hustled out of the conference room to finish the last few bites of the cold soup I left in my office.
Unfortunately, Braxton called out before I reached the doorframe.
"Hey, I've got some portfolios I wanted you to look over," he rasped, striding up to my side to stand a little too close. His fancy-pants cologne was as overbearing as his inappropriate leering and it was all I could do to keep from gagging. "You know, for the campaign."
His angled straw fedora made him look like a member of a once-popular boy band who wasn't aging gracefully.
"You already selected artists?" I frowned. "I haven't even finished the scripts."
"Yeah, but I already know how I want this thing to look and feel," Braxton chuckled as if he were consoling some worried little schoolgirl. "Aesthetically, I know where this campaign needs to go."
"OK, that's fine," I quietly fumed, wishing I could reach out and yank Braxton's unctuous goatee. "I'll take a look at the portfolios and if we're aligned, and I'll keep working on the scripts. Do we have a client review date scheduled to pitch the storyboards?"
"Ask our illustrious project manager," he scoffed. "We should have it on the calendar, but Amy's kind of forgetful."
"Amy's work is just fine," my eyes narrowed at his cavalier remark. "I've worked with her a lot and she's never forgotten a major milestone.
Not that my argument mattered. Stepping up to Braxton was a one-way ticket to getting kicked off a project altogether, so I needed to back off and let him rant.
"Hey," Braxton moved even closer to drape an arm around me. I forced myself not to shudder at the powerful musk of his aftershave burning my nose hairs. "Between you and me, how are you doing? You've been looking a little down lately."
"Everything's fine," I shrugged out of his grasp and backed away a few steps, just in case. "I'm good."
Braxton laughed at my skittish reaction like he found it cute, which irked me even more.
"I'm always here if you need to talk, kiddo," he reminded me, retreating through the door with a sleazy wink.
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