For once, he came first. Burying his head in the crook of her neck, he continued thrusting until his balls emptied. Monica came then, shuddering beneath him. Her legs twisted against his, her trousers bunched at the ankles.
Afterward, he didn’t move, but kept his full weight on top of her. When his heart resumed its normal pace, Cal rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Neither spoke for several minutes.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Cal,” she finally said. “But I’m not going to turn myself inside out for you. You’re not worth it.”
“No, I’m not. But you are.” He turned his head to look at her. Her hair, so perfect a few minutes ago, had become mussed again. He shifted to the side, propped his weight on one elbow, and stared down at her. “I’ve seen a lot of terrible shit in this world, Monica. Truly heartbreaking stuff that I can’t banish from my head, no matter how many beaches I see or how many ruins I visit. Beauty and ugliness go hand in hand. Pleasure and pain coexist, and it all seems so fucking random. But you…you’ve buried the best part of yourself in this life that you hate, and it’s unnecessary. It guts me.”
“Okay.” She sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed before standing. “We’ve dissected me. Now it’s your turn.” She tugged up her pants, jerked at the zipper, and pulled together the tattered edges of her blouse. “You think if you keep moving, never settling in one place, nothing can hurt you. So you wander around without any purpose, without putting any thought into your life at all. And you throw money at people in order to feel better about it. Except it doesn’t work, Cal. Because you can’t outrun all the shit you feel inside, all the isolation and pain. And by the way, I’m not one of your cars. I don’t need fixing or restoring or whatever the hell you do. I’m not broken. Now get out.”
Chapter 18
How dare he? Monica stood in front of the bathroom mirror, attempting to untangle the knots from her hair. How dare he accuse her of living a lie? She was living like a responsible, rational human being. She had an important job. She had a home, a family. What did Cal have?
He wandered around, looking at the world but never being a part of it. He never talked about friends, he didn’t like to discuss his mom, he hadn’t seen Trevor in years. Cal was a loner. Monica dragged the brush through a snarl near her scalp and flinched.
Why did he care how she lived? Their relationship was all about the sex. In six months, he probably wouldn’t even remember her.
All right, she didn’t believe that, not exactly. After all, Cal remembered everything about their first meeting, down to the color of her dress.
But if she thought for a second he cared about her… Of course he cared about her, in his own way, and she cared about him—they were friends with bennies. It didn’t go any deeper. Nor did it give him the right to come in here and start insulting her, questioning her.
Giving herself one last glance in the mirror, Monica took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. No sign of Cal. She should be relieved he wasn’t there, forcing her to talk, but the empty room made Monica feel more alone than she had in weeks. With Cal, the piercing isolation left her. But now it flooded back in spades.
Their argument felt final, somehow. Maybe that was for the best. She and Cal wanted different things out of life. Eyes wide open, remember? Yeah, Monica remembered.
She changed clothes before trotting down the steps and grabbing her bags. The house seemed so quiet, the silence hurt her ears. She dug out her keys and hurried to the garage. Monica didn’t have time to examine her life right now, even if she wanted to. She was running almost three hours late.
On the drive, she hit rush hour, and as she sat in traffic, automatically reached for her coffee cup. Shit. She’d left it on the nightstand when she and Cal were in the middle of their knock-down drag-out.
Right before they’d had sex. Angry sex. Monica closed her eyes and remembered the look on his face when he’d told her to say his name. There had been a harsh, cold gleam in his green eyes. His mouth thinned into a firm line, his jaw clamped down tight. He’d been pissed off and commanding. It had turned her on. Cal barking orders with that grumbly voice had made her wet. Of course, when he was playful and gave her a crooked smile—that revved her up too.
It dawned on Monica that she’d just made a car analogy. Terrific.
Forty minutes later, she arrived. Pulling into the parking lot, Monica found a spot in the back row. She hustled into the building and when she stepped into the main office, every head turned in her direction.
“So I’m late one morning.”
They continued to stare.
“Was it my turn for doughnuts or something?” Monica set her computer bag down on Carmen’s desk. “Seriously, what’s going on?” she whispered.
“Where have you been?” Carmen hissed.
Stella burst out of the hallway and rushed toward her. She cast her steely gaze over everyone. “Move on with your lives, people.” As one, the staff turned away, even Carmen.
“The shit’s hit the fan, kid,” Stella said.
“What’s happened?”
Rubbing her forehead, Stella sighed long and deep. “Allie’s waiting in your office. The ballroom flooded last night. We have no venue for the gala.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Monica hauled ass down the hall and nearly ran into Jules coming out of the break room.
“Run for your life,” she said. “Allie’s in a rage. On the drive over, she wore this hideous, frightening smile. I nearly shit a brick just sitting next to her.”
“I’ll handle it. Thanks, Jules.”
Stella stayed on her heels. “I’ll interrupt in ten minutes with a cup of coffee. Good luck.”
Monica hadn’t seen Allie in weeks. This was the worst possible circumstance for a reunion. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she opened the door to find Allie standing in front of the window. “Hey, Al. I just heard the news.” She walked across the room and tossed her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk.
“I tried to call you six times last night. Were you too busy with Cal to answer your phone?” Allie didn’t turn around.
“My phone died, sorry. And my personal life is still off limits. Now give me the details.”
“There’s not much to tell. The ballroom flooded, there’s extensive damage. They don’t have anything else available, and we’re going to have to cancel the gala.” Allie spun around, her eyes accusatory. “If you don’t want to talk about Cal, let’s discuss the foundation, shall we?” She tossed a folder on top of Monica’s desk.
The file she had been compiling on international grants and cost projections for medical equipment. The same file she’d shown Trevor. “Were you rifling through my desk?”
“It belongs to the foundation,” Allie said. So snotty. So superior. Always playing the big sister. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia.
All Monica’s self-recriminations over the past few weeks blew away. This was why she’d been so angry. This right here—Allie’s sanctimonious, I’m-so-fucking-perfect attitude.
Fury, hot and sharp, lanced through her. She ripped open the middle drawer, shoved her hands inside, and started pulling out lip gloss, pencils, paperclips, and dropped them on top of the folder. “Here. Take these too. All of this crap belongs to the foundation.” She found a stray peppermint. “And don’t forget this.” Then Monica grabbed her purse and upended it, dumping everything until the bag was empty. “I have a few tampons, some loose change.” She threw her wallet at Allie, who caught it deftly in her right hand. “Receipts, my credit cards. Hey, how about I cc you on my bank statements?”
Allie tossed the wallet on the desk. “While you’re doing pointless research, we have a gala to cancel. But I’m so happy you were having a great time with Cal last night.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have a life. I should be on call 24-7 in case the ballroom floods. I should have anticipated that.”