I watch as Simone leads Asher to the dance floor. There are very few people dancing so it’s hard to not watch. She leans up and wraps her arms around him. Her short fuchsia ensemble climbs higher up her thighs as she dances. Asher places his palms on her hips as he did with me yesterday, and a pit drops in my stomach.
Their bodies are so familiar to one another. They’re graceful and fit together perfectly. The pair is also so perfect together. Her dark skin against his bronzed statuesque figure, they look like a Rodin statue in a heated embrace at the gates of hell.
The gates of hell, the exact place my thoughts have gone time and time again with this man. The place my thoughts are right now.
“If you continue to stare like that, your eyes will fall out of your head,” Ellie says with a mischievous laugh. Thompson chuckles along.
Snapping out of my daze, I turn back to my company. My cheeks redden and I fluster.
“It’s okay, girl. It’s hard not to be taken by Asher. He has so many… assets.” Thompson sneers.
My mood turns quickly from feeling foolish to furious.
“I am a married woman, Mr. Thompson. The fact that you think I would be interested in Mr. Asher for his… assets is the most intolerable thing I have ever heard.” I declare and then regret raising my tone to the man I came here to beg for money.
I’m relieved to see Thompson chuckling again. Okay, so he’s not insulted by my outburst. He looks at me knowingly.
“Asher was wrong about you, Ms. Grayson, or shall I say Monroe?” The little man continues to smile.
“Excuse me?”
Thompson rests on his heels, his finger pointing at me in an accusatory manor. “He said you didn’t lie.”
I’m so confused. I don’t know what to do with myself. I excuse myself and stalk toward the exit, glancing at the dance floor, but notice Asher is gone. I stop and scan the room, looking for his white dinner jacket, but I don’t see him… or Simone.
My stomach drops and I quickly make my move toward the lobby. Where did they go? I can’t believe he left me like that, again.
I shouldn’t be surprised he would leave my side the second a sexy brunette approaches. He is a cad and a snake. He uses women like I use Kleenex.
I spot a waiter walking into the party with a tray of champagne glasses and a bottle in his hand. I grab a glass of champagne and quickly pound it before grabbing another. I drink that one before cutting to the chase and grabbing the entire bottle of Veuve Clicquot from his hand.
Briefly considering entering the party again, I think of what a fool I’ve made of myself and turn in the opposite direction. Heading out a glass door, my bottle and I follow the path to the beach. My steps start by walking and speed up quickly. Faster my feet move toward the shore until I’m running. Faster and faster. The champagne spills out of the bottle as I leap across the sand. In the darkness of night, the only sounds I can hear are the waves crashing. There is nothing. Just me in the darkness where no one can hear me.
I scream.
I scream from the pit of my stomach, out of my chest, out of my feet, and out of my hair. I scream out of my lungs and let out my soul.
I scream so loud it hurts. The past forty-eight hours have been the most miserable of my life. First my husband leaves me and I find out he’s having an affair. Then I almost have one of my own and completely humiliate myself to learn the man isn’t interested in me. Plus, my infatuation has been caught by one of the wealthiest men in America and he’s probably telling my story to everyone in the party.
But what I really can’t take, the piece of me that hurts so much I don’t know what to do with, is the fact that despite everything, despite the last forty-eight hours, the truth, the plain truth is I think I’m falling for Asher.
I can’t breathe.
I try to fight it. I’ve been trying to fight it. As much as I want to deny it, I can’t help but find myself so incredibly drawn to him. He is an awful person. I know it. He leads me on and then leaves me hanging. He plays me for a fool time and time again, and I fall for it time and time again.
He is a walking contradiction. He’s arrogant, but he cares so much for those less fortunate. He is rude and dismissive, yet he gives me time to share my stories. He is insightful and funny. He always knows how to make me laugh, and he gets me.
I hate that I’m so attracted to him. He’s so physically attractive my body doesn’t know how to be in a room with him without wanting to jump on him.
“There, fine, I admit it. I want him!” I shout into the ocean. “You happy, karma? You’re a bitch and I know it!”
I am so upset I can’t even cry. I physically don’t have the energy to cry. I’m so hurt and sad and disappointed I just want to scream. I can’t believe I thought for a moment that Asher wanted me. Why would he want me when my husband doesn’t even want me?
Collapsing in the sand, I raise the bottle to my mouth and start to drink. The sand beneath my feet feels cool. It’s refreshing against the warm night air. I feel the bubbles of the champagne cast down my throat as I continue to listen to the waves. I drink in the moment. I know, in years to come, I’ll remember this moment as the beginning of the rest of my life. From here on in, it’s just me and Jackson.
I raise the mostly full bottle of champagne and stare at it for a moment. What am I doing? This isn’t who I am. I don’t leave an important work event and get drunk on a beach. I don’t fly off the handle and make irrational decisions.
Where have I let myself go?
Breathe.
I gather my shoes from the sand and start walking back toward the hotel, my beautiful dress has gathered sand on the bottom of the hem. Such a shame. It was a beautiful dress. I can’t go back to the party looking the way I do. It’s time I head back to the room and get the old Kathryn back.
I’ll book myself on the first flight out of here. I need to see Jackson.
I divert from the party and enter the hotel through a separate entrance. I have champagne on my dress and sand on my feet. I’ve made enough of a fool of myself tonight.
I get on the elevator with a young couple in the throes of passion and an elderly woman who looks at me in concern. I slide into the corner of the car and hang my head low. After stopping on the third and fourth floors, I’m relieved to be alone. The doors swing open and I head down the hallway toward my room.
My feet stop in their place. Outside my door is a man in a white dinner jacket with his head bowed, one hand resting against the door and a cell phone in the other, up against his ear. He looks concerned. He lifts his head as I approach and turns off his phone.
“Gray.” Asher looks at me in concern. His body turns toward me with his arms stretch out. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, Asher? Shall I say somewhere else with someone else?”
“What are you talk—” His brow furrows before rising, his head slowly nodding in understanding. “Simone? Are you upset about Simone?”
I move my arm to motion him out of my way as I make my way past him and to my door. “Enough. I’m tired and I want to go home.” I open the door to my room and am surprised as Asher catches it before it closes and pushes it back open with his right hand.
“You’re going home?” His left arm wraps around his head and rubs the back of his neck, making the shirt wrinkle out of his jacket.
My voice rises in a harsh tone. “Please leave. I can’t look at you anymore.”
Asher releases the door and in one stride makes his way toward me. With both hands, he takes my face. “Please. Talk to me.”
My heart wants to melt, but I can’t be roped back into the vicious cycle. I remove his hands from my cheeks. I can’t take his touch anymore.
“This has to stop,” I cry.