The New Rule: (The Casual Rule 2) (10 page)

Isn’t he Mr. Cheerful?

“Are you drunk?”

“A little buzzed. Well, a little more than buzzed. The interviews finished early. The photos were completed by the end of the second inning. It's a comfortable night, so we watched the game and knocked down a few beers.”

“You were drinking with the photographer?”

“Yes. We had a good time. Oh, by the way, there was…” He stops his train of thought. I hear barely audible noises in the background. It sounds like he’s talking to someone. Son-of-a-bitch… he’s covering the phone.

“Is someone with you?” I ask, my voice cracking, closing my eyes tightly. I have a sinking feeling I’m going to hear the one answer I don’t want to hear.

Please say no. Please say no.

“Yeah. We decided to continue the party up here and plan out the last leg of our trip; we have an early flight tomorrow and an afternoon ballgame.” He covers the phone again. I can make out muffled laughter.

She’s there, in his hotel room. Actually IN his hotel room. They’re drunk, alone, and there’s a bed. My heart is pounding hard and fast. I can barely breathe. I think I’m going to be sick.

All the blood in my face drains, I know I’m pale as a ghost. My palms sting from the pain of my nails digging into them, fisting my hand into a ball.

The hole once in the pit of my stomach fills with acid. My hurt and sorrow replaced with raging anger. I will never be played the fool again.

“For someone who insists on blind trust, you sure give me good reason not to. Why Ben? Why is she there? IN your room. Does she still have her clothes on?” My bottom lip is quivering as I desperately try to hold back the tears.

Breathe, Julia. Breathe.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asks, his voice raised.

“Did it occur to you how inappropriate this is? You and her,
alone
and
drunk
in your hotel room? How I would feel about this?” I wipe the tears streaming down my face with the back of my hand. I’m on a roll. “Did you consider me for even a second before you invited that drunken whore to your room? Old habits die hard, don’t they, Mr. Casual Fuck?”

“Are you accusing me of cheating on you?”

“The night is still young, isn’t it? I’m sure once you’re both liquored up a little more; it’ll be the same sorry excuses.”
It’s happening again. My God, it’s happening again.
“I’ve heard it all before, Ben. You’ll swear it was the alcohol. Promise me it’ll never happen again. It was a mistake. It only happened once. I’m not stupid.”

Tiny pieces of my heart are breaking off. I barely lived through this nightmare once. I can’t do it again. I thought he was different. I was wrong. He’s just like the rest of them.

“I can’t believe you think so little of me,” he says quietly.

“I can’t believe you would put yourself in a situation where this scenario is even a possibility. But there you are… drunk… in your room, probably both sitting on your king-sized bed. Is that skank already waiting for you under the covers?”

“Is that what you think?”

I hear more muffled sounds. He has his hand over the phone again. I think I hear someone saying they want to talk to me. This night just keeps getting better, now the bitch who’s looking to bed my boyfriend wants to chat.

It sounds like a tug of war over the phone on Ben’s side. From the sound of the struggle, I can tell that Ben’s phone changed hands.

Bring it on, honey. Bring it on.

“I’m going to steal your boyfriend.”

I wince and my hand flies over my mouth. I think I’m going to throw-up. Marcello? He’s the photographer with Ben? When did this happen? Oh God, what have I done?

“Cut the crap, Marcello. Put Ben back on the phone.”

“Laura had a family emergency. I flew in earlier this evening and got to the ballpark right at the start of the game. Took a few shots around the stadium and kicked it back with Ben. He’s fighting his obvious attraction to me, but I think he’ll cave soon. He had me slip on a black wig and called me Julia a few times. But I won’t complain; he’s a hell of a kisser.”

I know what Marcello is doing. He’s trying to defuse this with humor. I’m sure he heard enough on Ben’s end to know I’ve made a huge mistake.

Closing my eyes tight, I place my palm on my forehead. I just accused Ben of cheating on me. How do I undo this?

“Can you put Ben back on the phone? Please,” I ask, looking down at my trembling hands.

“We need a celebrity couple name. What do you like better? I was leaning toward Bencello… or maybe Marben. What do you think?”

He’s buying time for me. He’s probably trying to let Ben cool down. It must be worse than I thought.

“Does he look angry?” I ask.

“That would be affirmative,” he whispers.

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“A billion.”

“Shit.”

“HmmMmm,” he hums. “And Julia?”

“Yes?”

“He’s a good guy. Grovel. Promise to suck his dick for a year. Do whatever you have to do,” he whispers.

“Marcello, I royally fucked this up.”

“HmmMmm. Fix. It.”

“I’ll try.”

Marcello clears his throat. “Look at the time; I’m late for phone sex with Peter. Julia, I’m going to give you back to our boyfriend. Ben, I’ll come back at six for breakfast. Here you go. Bye, Julia.”

“Thanks, Marcello.” I swallow hard. Fuck.

I hear them speaking to each other and a door close. Then… silence.

And more silence.

“Are you still there?” I ask weakly, embarrassed by my bad behavior.

After a long pause that feels like it lasted a year, he finally answers.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m nauseous, my stomach twisting in knots.

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“Ben, can we talk about it? You never told me Marcello was there. If I knew, I never would have…” Even I know my excuse is weak.

“I have work to do. I’ll talk to you when I’m home.”

“They say you shouldn’t go to bed angry. Talk to me.”

“
They
were never accused of cheating on their girlfriend. You don’t want to hear what I have to say right now.”

I look down at my lap, trying to keep the contents in my stomach from coming up. He hates me. And I deserve it.

“Please Ben,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. “I love you.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

“I do trust you. It’s just…” I don’t know what to say. I have no defense for my bad behavior.

“Is this the way it’s going to be? Anytime I go away, you’re going to accuse me of sleeping around?”

“That’s not how it was. If I didn’t know her reputation…”

“This has nothing to do with her reputation and everything to do with you and me. Do you think so little of me? You think I have no self-control because some girl shook her tits and ass at me? Let me tell you something, Julia. I’m not blind to it. I see it all the fucking time. Instead of doubting me, look in the fucking mirror and ask yourself what brought you to these conclusions. It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you. I’m angry now. I don’t want to say anything I may regret. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

“You’re not going to call me in the morning?” I ask quietly.

He exhales a long breath. “No. I have a lot to do in a little time. I don’t have the energy to deal with…” He sighs, never finishing his thought. He doesn’t have to. I know it’s me he doesn’t want to deal with. And what’s worse is I don’t blame him.

“Okay,” I say, swallowing the giant lump in my throat. I’m in no position to argue. “Goodnight, Ben. I love you.”

“Goodnight,” he says brusquely as the line goes dead.

I stare at the cell phone in my hand, stunned. I don’t know how I’m going to fix this. Angry at myself, I burst into full blown ugly tears. I take my phone and slam it down hard on my nightstand. I stare at my hand, now stinging from the slam, just as I hear BOB vibrating alone in the closed drawer.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, BOB.”

Chapter 6

True to his word, I haven’t heard a word from Ben. Not a peep. I was hoping, praying really, that once he had a little time to cool off he’d be a little less angry and at least open the lines of communication.

No such luck. Apparently, he’s still pissed off.

I’m tempted to call, text or messenger him a singing telegram, anything to get him to talk to me. But I know what he needs right now is distance. Distance from me.

And I have to give that to him, even though I want to plead my case, plead insanity and beg for mercy. But I wait… because it’s all I can do.

I peek at the time in the corner of my computer screen and know they’ve already landed in Detroit. Hoping Marcello didn’t misplace his cell phone like he usually does; I send him a quick text.

*How is he today?*

*Quiet.*

*Still mad?*

*Think so. Want me to talk to him?*

*No. Thanks.*

*You sure?*

*Yes. Don’t want to make things worse. I’ll deal with the fallout.*

*Ok. The cab just dropped us off at Comerica Park. Gotta run.*

*Ok. Thanks again.*

*Remember to practice your jaw exercises. You’ll be on your knees a lot to make up for this.*

I roll my eyes and place my phone back down on my desk.

At least I have work to keep me occupied. My heart isn’t into the projects I’m working on. I walk over to the slush pile… the mound of unsolicited manuscripts we rarely look at. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times out of a thousand, it’s dribble. But every once in a blue moon, you come across a diamond in the rough. Something special that no one else saw. Not an agent, not another publisher… but you see it—a hidden gem waiting to be discovered.

I pick up a manuscript sitting on top of the floor to waist-high pile and sit down at my desk.

Leaning back in my chair, I open it up.

Desperate Redemption

Okay, this could be about anything. Sounds flowery. It’s probably a romance. Now on to the blurb:

Kendall Ashford had everything: A dream job as senior editor at Charisma Magazine. The best of friends. And the perfect boss/boyfriend. Powerful, wealthy, and magnetic Alexander Worthington had as much skill in the bedroom as he did in the boardroom.

They are living the perfect life of glamour and glitz until she uncovers the devastating truth. Her perfect boyfriend not only had a knack for the magazine business, he also had a knack for bedding its sexy new photographer.

Oh, fuck this shit. In the shredder it goes.

I rest my head down in my crossed arms on my desk. I want to cry, but I can’t. Not here anyway. I close my eyes and sit in silence, lost in my thoughts when I’m startled by a voice.

“I was talking with Danielle Rogue about a new book idea. She’s thinking about switching genres under a different pen name, writing contemporary romance.”

I snap my head up. Vivian is half-sitting on the edge of my desk. I straighten up my posture immediately. My face heats up, embarrassed that she found me slacking on the job. I frown and remain quiet as she continues.

“She gave me a brief synopsis. Young couple, madly in love. They hit a bump, the way most couples do. Naturally, the devastated heroine thinks it’s the end of her world… and them. Eventually, she goes to her,” she coughs, “older sister for some sage advice.”

“And what did the
older sister
say?”

She smiles warmly, patting my hand gently. “She told her not to worry so much. Listen to her instincts and follow her heart. Things have a way of working out exactly the way they’re supposed to.”

“Maybe she listened to her instincts and they screwed everything up leaving her heart in pieces. Did this older sister know where to start?”

“Funny you should ask. That was answered in the synopsis as well.”

“That must have been a long synopsis,” I play along. I know what Vivian is really doing, but she’s professional, always professional… and won’t cross that line—At least not out in the open.

She nods. “The wise older sister told her to toss all the pieces in the air and follow the trail wherever they fall. At times it’ll be straightforward, occasionally it’s curved and winding—but it will always lead her exactly where she’s meant to be.”

“What if she already knows exactly where she’s meant to be?”

“I’m sure the hero knows it too. They’ll find each other. Every story has a little conflict. This particular tale happened to have the conflict early in the book. Just because things get difficult, doesn’t mean they’re bad. Life has a funny way of tossing you around until you’re pointed in the right direction again.” She slides off my desk. “Can you email the Livingston files to me?” she asks nonchalantly.

 “Yes. Of course,” I look down to my lap and then back up to her again. “Vivian, did she mention how the story ends?”

She turns around and stands in the doorway to her office. Lifting her glasses above her eyes, she smirks. “She didn’t say for certain, but I’m willing to bet it ends well.”

I lean back in my chair and manage a small smile. “Thank you, Vivian.”

“For what? We’re talking about work, aren’t we? It’s what we do,” she says as she closes her office door.

I saw that secret smile.

~o0o~

Ben had told me before he left for his trip that he was only staying for the first inning or two in Detroit so he could catch an earlier flight home. Checking his flight status, I know his plane landed at 5:05 pm. I didn’t hear from him when he landed, which means I’m still on the shit list. A taxi should get him to his apartment by 5:50ish. Hopefully, I’ll hear from him by then.

“Working late tonight?” Vivian asks, walking out of her office with her tote bag in hand.

“Trying to catch up on things,” I lie.

“Okay. Take care of yourself,” she says as she walks out the door.

I’m purposely stretching out my work. His apartment is a few blocks away. I want to run there when he finally calls. I stare at the clock and sigh. It’s 6:25 pm and not a peep.