Part 22 (1/2)

I was so sure I'd never be that big of an idiot again, but like the saying goes: 'Never say never.' Or 'always.' Or 'One more episode on Netflix, and then I'll go to sleep.' Because, as that other saying goes: 'The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.'

I deserved this.

”Do you know why I wanted to take you out tonight?” Emilia asked. ”I heard something about Hayden Bennett from a reliable source.”

My stomach clenched so hard, words and tears started spilling out of me. I couldn't stop them. ”OhmyG.o.dIshouldn'thaveandI'msosorry.Ittotallywasn'thisfault.Itwascompletelymine,and-”

”Andi, he's getting a divorce.”

29.

Hayden I'm not sure how long I was in the women's bathroom, staring at the tiny dots of the granite countertop, trying to see a pattern where none existed. I didn't understand how I could've gotten so far off-course, imaging things that weren't there. Shocked and confused how I'd made it through this much of life being so incredibly clueless.

”Hayden?” Clare called from the other side of the door.

Time to go back to reality. I pushed off the wall and went to rejoin the land of the living.

”Where've you been?” She did a double-take when she saw the picture on the door I'd just walked through. ”You getting in touch with your feminine side, Hay?”

I slowly followed her back into the dining room. One quick glance told me what I already knew-the table Sira had been sitting at was empty, the staff clearing off unused utensils and untouched water gla.s.ses. I took one last pity-me breath and refocused on the woman who wanted to be with me. Kind of.

”Remind me to never use the bathroom here,” Clare said as I pulled her chair out for her. ”Seems like a depressing place. You going to tell me what happened?”

”I'd rather not. Nothing personal. It's just-”

”Nothing personal. Got it.” She emptied the bottle of champagne into my gla.s.s, filling it all the way to the top. Evidently I'd been gone long enough for our food to have arrived, so I used that as a method of conversation escape.

She watched me eat for a little while. ”Hayden, I'm going to tell my family we're getting divorced at dinner tomorrow night.”

Unless I was traveling, every Sunday evening I put on a suit and took her to her father's house. Oh, the fun.

”Not a bad idea, as long as you time it right after everyone's second gla.s.s of wine and your stepmom's sixth,” I teased. ”But are you really sure you want to? There's no rush.”

”I've wasted enough of your life. We need to tell them, but I'm kind of chicken, so it'd be great if you were there, too.”

”You mean so they'll have someone to aim at?” I wasn't sure if it was a good idea, but it was Clare's life, too. And she cared what her family thought of her. Luckily, I didn't have that burden with my own family. Not anymore.

I'd stopped caring what anyone thought of me the second time my father had tried to kill me. Or maybe it was a few minutes later when I'd let him die. I'd been pretty closed off before then, but that's when I stopped caring about everything, stopped feeling anything, and became nothing more than the person everyone expected me to be.

As soon as we got home, I tried calling Sira, but she didn't answer. Then I tried explaining myself over a few text messages. That failed to get a response, too. So I left a few more via the computer. I gave up after the second email, knowing anything more than that would only prove how pathetic I was.

Sunday morning, when I turned my laptop on, I saw a message. It was short, much too short to warrant the amount of relief I felt. But anything was better than being ignored.

'A friend told me she'd heard a rumor that you're getting divorced.'

Wow, I'd underestimated the speed at which Clare's so-called friends' mouths worked. And had never been more thankful for it.

'But, even so, I still work for you. I hope you understand why I can't do anything to risk my livelihood.'

That was it? That was all?

I typed, 'Then you're fired. Problem solved,' but then deleted it. That was hardly a good solution. By wanting to spend more time with her, I'd screw myself. I'd taken up so much of her workday, she'd become dependent on that income and had probably let other opportunities go. Since I relied on the quality and speed of her work too, dropping it all wouldn't help either of us.

Until now, I'd put off hiring an in-house a.s.sistant. That would change on Monday morning. I'd hire someone competent and keep Sira on until my new a.s.sistant could handle the workload and Sira had found other clients.

After that happened, she'd be out of excuses.

That night, on the long, anxiety-riddled drive over to Bart's house, Claire and I discussed scenarios, phrasing, etc. ”Nothing should be this stressful, Clare. Why don't you just let me tell them?”

”No, I should. They're my dysfunctional family, not yours.” Her pants were going to be stretched out in the shape of her fists if I didn't drive faster.

”It's not an execution. I'd be happy-well, not happy, but I'll tell them. As long as you're absolutely sure you want to do it now.”

”As soon as I kick you to the curb, and some hooker takes pity on your pathetic-ness and brings you back to her place to live, someone will notice.” Her smile was tight, like her brow.

”When we get home, I'm throwing away your e-reader and ordering you another, filled with nothing but the cla.s.sics.”

”Just make sure Moll Flanders is on it. Talk about a tragic life. That kind of stuff happens all the time, Hayden. They even made it into a movie.”

”And I'm canceling cable.”

”I appreciate the bad jokes, but I'm serious. I may have accidentally mentioned our pending divorce to a couple of friends, and you know how my friends are, especially when they promise not to tell anyone.”

Yes, I knew.

”I'd rather my dad hear about it from me rather than a tabloid,” she said.

”We could claim it's a trial separation.”

”What will that get us?”

”A chance to test out your father's reaction.”

She laughed. ”Are you that afraid of him?”

”I like to think of it as wary, not afraid.” Sure, Bart held no real power in the company, but the board of directors didn't know that. Six years of mind-bending, soul-stealing work. I'd proven myself valuable, but Bart was fickle, unpredictable, and moody. If he went to the board, my career could be in jeopardy, and I would really prefer not to go job-hunting anytime soon.

But that wasn't why I was concerned. Clare's father already seemed to think that whatever his daughter did was exactly the wrong thing. He would take the news of a divorce better if I told him. It's a sad thing when a father trusts an employee more than his own child. Especially since his child had never actually done anything wrong. Other than not being who she really was for his sake.

Sunday dinner with the Chalmers was the same as every other time I couldn't get out of it. The only difference was Clare's hand on my thigh throughout. There was nothing seductive about her grip, though. Her fingers dug into my leg from fear and nervousness. If only it was another woman's hand for another reason, in any another place but this one.

When Clare's stepsister, her stepmother, and Bart's plates were taken away, Clare squeezed so hard I'd have bruises tomorrow. It was ridiculous for her to feel like this, and the sooner I got it over with, the better for her psyche, and the less blood I'd lose through the puncture wounds she'd make any second now.

”There's something I need to tell you-all of you.” Once I had everyone's attention, I cleared my throat. ”Clare and I-”

”I'm gay,” she said.