“Mostly in your office?” Elle gritted her teeth as she asked the question. She had no intention of being snarky, but she herself knew of two occasions when they’d been inappropriate in Whitney’s office.
Whitney polished off her martini, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. “I’m sure it must seem that way, but there was more to it.”
Elle gestured for the waiter, pointing at Whitney’s empty glass. He nodded and stepped behind the bar to prepare another martini. Elle leaned in. “When did things start up again?”
“A month ago, I think . . . it was right after Mac the bartender.”
“Gotcha. So did he take you out?”
“Not really. We met up at his place and mine, usually. I thought nothing of it—I thought we were just being careful. Gina’s already a pain in the ass, we didn’t want to poke the bear. The last thing I wanted was for her to take things out on you.”
“I appreciate that, but I’m a big girl. I can handle her.”
The waiter arrived with two fresh drinks. Elle quickly downed the rest of her martini and placed it on his empty tray. “Keep ’em coming.”
“Not that it matters, anyway. He’s just another cheating asshole.” Whitney’s fingers pressed against the rim of the glass. She stared down at the white tablecloth, so forlorn that Elle, for the first time, was worried about Whitney’s heart. The heart she’d always admired—the one that was impervious to men and their antics. But watching her stare down at the cloth, her eyes red and puffy, her lips trembling, Elle realized she and her best friend had more in common than she’d once thought.
“How long do you think he was seeing her?”
“Who the hell knows? He’s never getting into my pants again, that’s for freaking sure.” Whitney cleared her throat, took a large sip of her martini, and dug her elbow into the table, perching her chin on her palm. “Please change the subject. I need a distraction like immediately.”
“Okay,” Elle said with a laugh, searching her brain for something, other than men, to discuss. “The table read went well, despite Gina not being there.”
Whitney rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I don’t want to talk about her. Tell me about Luke . . . or Vegas. Distract me, I’m begging you.”
Elle put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m at a loss when it comes to them. Luke is renting a place in the Palisades and—”
“Oh wow, that’s exciting for him.”
Elle nodded, looking down at her drink. “It is.”
“You’re still worried about him, huh? Afraid his head’ll get too big or something?”
“Can you blame me? God, look at Nolan. Can you honestly say stardom hasn’t gone to his head? When we first met him, he was an unknown, now he’s leaving for movie roles, he’s cheating on you, he’s a freaking mess.”
“Luke and Nolan are totally different people and you know it.”
“For now.” Elle shook her head. “Who’s to say Luke won’t change the longer he’s in the limelight?”
“True, there’s no way of knowing.”
“Besides, it’s not all about that. Troy has a lot to do with my current state of mind.”
“I’m sure.” Whitney nodded. “You two have so much baggage, it’s intimidating.”
“I know, and it seems like every time we try to leave it all in the past, it comes creeping forward and we get into some stupid fight.”
“Do you think you can get past it?”
“I thought so . . . until he told me that Amanda Bauer is Payton’s mother. Now that’s all I can think about.”
“Who’s Amanda?”
“A girl he dated in college. I couldn’t stand her. Every time I screwed up, he went back to her. And I think he did it to hurt me.”
Whitney recoiled. “Well, that’s odd.”
“It’s a pattern. His pattern, and it’s awful.” Elle sighed. “If there was ever something that would hurt me, it was this. He went back to her after Vegas. He went back to her again.”
“And you don’t think you can get past it?”
“In time, maybe. But I’m not sure about him. That’s the problem.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but . . . who’s to say he won’t walk away again?”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t fight for you—you tried, you tried to get him back. You practically begged, and he shut you out. Who’s to say he won’t do that all over again?”
“Whit, I asked for an annulment. I devastated him, wrecked him completely.”
“I know, but the fact he wouldn’t see you, wouldn’t talk to you . . . nothing. It pisses me off. If you truly love someone, you have to forgive them, not run off and have sex and a child with your ex.”
Elle shook her head, gritting her teeth. “He said it was just a rebound. She’s married now and they’re just friends. What I did was unforgivable, Whit.”
“To him, yes. But the right guy would fight for you, forgive you for your mistakes, and try to move past everything. Not disappear for ten years. And I think you know it.”
A distinct pain developed in Elle’s gut. “I miss him. God, I’ve missed having him in my life. Before we were together, we were friends—the best of friends. And then, nothing. It was like he wiped away his existence from my life. This may sound silly, but I had to mourn him . . . almost as if he died.”
“That’s not silly at all. It’s the truth.”
“And now, I have this opportunity to fix things, to start again. It’s exhilarating . . . and terrifying.”
“Because you’re afraid he’ll disappear again, that he’ll shut you out.”
Elle chugged the rest of her martini. “Yeah, I guess. I can’t lose him again, Whit. A part of me died the day I lost him. If another part of me goes, I don’t know where I’ll be. I really don’t.”
“You can’t be with him just because you’re afraid.”
“That’s not all, there’s still something there. When I’m near him, my heart skips a beat, my stomach flutters.”
“Forgive my honesty, Ellie, but I’m not sure he deserves you. I’ll support whatever you choose, you know that. But your happiness . . . and I mean actual, honest-to-goodness happiness: the loving-life, batshit-crazy-in-love kinda happiness—that’s what I want for you. And I’m not sure that exists with him . . . or if it ever did.”
“Stop. Please, just . . . I can’t.” Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes and she felt herself building a wall between herself and Whitney. She didn’t want to hear it—any of it. “You don’t know him. You only know my pain.”
“That’s true. I’m sorry, I’ll stop.”
“Thank you,” Elle whispered, wiping her eyes with her cloth napkin. “Listen, I’ll take care of the check, but I should get home. Big day tomorrow.”
“Ellie, honey, don’t go.”
Elle stood, placed her purse on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I have to. Should I call you a cab?”
“No.” Whitney leaned back in the booth. “I’ll be fine.”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yep.” Whitney wouldn’t make eye contact, but Elle was fine with that. She couldn’t handle Whitney’s skepticism regarding Troy and she needed the solitude of her home to calm her down. Maybe the morning would bring clarity, but until then, she needed to be alone and far away from Whitney’s judgment.
I can’t believe you know how to do this,” Elle remarked, leaning against the granite countertop of Luke’s new kitchen. She sipped from her glass of white wine as the Rolling Stones played quietly from Luke’s iPod.
“You’ve never made your own sushi before?”