Dangerous Exes (Page 52)

Colin shuddered.

“What did she ever do to you?”

“Well, she ruined pancakes, so there’s that. I still hear the screaming when I close my eyes at night, but other than that? Can’t think of a thing.” He waved at Goo-Poh, who finally acknowledged him with a curse.

Followed by a hiss.

Colin stumbled back a step and shook his head. “I was missing one ingredient.”

“She takes her ingredients very seriously.”

Goo-Poh finally made her way back to us only to walk right by and sit on the sofa. She grabbed the remote, wrapped it in plastic, and then smiled to herself.

“What the fu—”

“Shhh.” I hit Colin on the chest. “It’s a thing. I’ve learned not to ask questions.”

“You do realize your new partner in crime is basically setting up camp in your home, right? She brought you food, man!”

I shrugged. “I’d build a house for Goo-Poh and let her fucking watch me sleep at night if that meant I got Isla back.”

“You’re either crazy or really in love.” Colin slapped me on the back in commiseration, like he got it.

“Both.” I sighed as Goo-Poh switched channels. “I think I’m both.”

She started yelling at the TV.

Colin and I both jolted.

“Maybe give her a wide berth when she’s here, though,” Colin whispered.

“Yup.”

Chapter Sixty

ISLA

The countdown was on.

I measured everything by time.

It had been seven days since his last text.

A day since another dozen roses had been delivered by Blaire, a clever way around the whole not-knowing-where-I-was part.

He stopped at the office and gave them to Blaire at the door, while I peered around my desk for just a glimpse of his lying ass.

Her heels clicked against the floor and she dropped yet another dozen roses onto Abby’s desk. I refused to touch them.

I figured if I did, they’d just prick me like the prick who broke me and make me cry.

I looked back at my screen.

It was a waiting game.

Waiting for the ball to drop.

Waiting for something to get leaked to the press.

But everything was exactly the same.

And to make matters worse, the media was obsessed with the fact that Jessie brought me flowers every day.

We once again had people camped outside our offices.

Which meant if I saw him I’d have to play nice.

I glanced at my planner through tear-filled eyes. The wedding was highlighted in red, several times. I’d drawn balloons.

I was an idiot.

A stupid idiot.

“He’s still here.” Blaire handed me the same binoculars that I’d been using a few weeks ago to spy back.

I stared at them.

She wouldn’t relent. It was like she switched sides when Colin came home a few days ago spouting nonsense about plastic-covered remote controls and hissing.

“I bet he is.” I found my voice. “Nothing he says is going to change the fact that he betrayed me, that he was still betraying me while sleeping with me.”

Blaire made a face. “Look, I know it looks bad, but what sort of guy just waits for you like that? Clearly he feels something.”

“He feels for his dick, and his reputation. And if he thinks I’m still going to marry him in order to save his sorry ass—”

“You will,” Abby piped up.

“Excuse me?” I was ready for a fight, angry, so angry that I still felt for him, still wanted him every night when I cried myself to sleep.

She looked away from her computer and grinned. “You’re miserable because you love him. Marriage takes work, Isla. Relationships take work.”

“Okay, thanks, Miss Perfect Marriage,” I grumbled under my breath.

“He cheated,” she confessed, head held high. “And if you think for one second that didn’t kill a part of me, you’re wrong. I noticed the signs, I ignored them because I thought I was the reason, I was to blame . . . and then I just . . . disconnected from him, resented his refusal to communicate, every time he left my house he broke my heart. I wondered, Is he going out on me? Is he meeting her? Will he smell like her perfume?”

“Wait.” Blaire held up her hand. “Is that why you wanted to work for us?”

“It’s like my own brand of therapy.” Abby grinned. “Want to know the worst part?”

I nodded and leaned forward.

“One time.” She made a face. “He cheated once. Granted, that’s enough to break someone . . . but because of my own assumptions and fears, because of my resentment, I didn’t know. I assumed for a whole year it was still going on. I berated him, I was passive-aggressive, angry, I was a horrible wife. Yes, he made a mistake, but my inability to communicate nearly became an even bigger mistake. We have children . . . they should never be part of that sort of emotional environment.” She hung her head. “I finally snapped and found out that he’d been seeing a counselor. I also found out that he not only went to HR and owned up to his mistake, he was willing to lose his job because the woman he’d cheated with was his subordinate.”

I covered my mouth with my hands.

“We all make mistakes . . . but when you own up to them like an adult, that’s the difference maker. Our marriage is so much better now, probably because we both realize what we could have lost.” She eyed the window. “Seems to me he’s trying. While you sit there and toss more and more blame on him until he’s buried. But let me ask you this—is it making you feel better at all? Or worse?”

“Worse.” It burned to get the word out. “So much worse.”

“The thing about forgiveness, Isla, that nobody remembers in the midst of pain and betrayal, is that we do it for ourselves—not them. You’re only punishing yourself. He knows you’re angry, believe me, but right now it’s hurting you more than it’s hurting him.”

I leaned back in my chair.

Blaire’s mouth dropped open. “And to think I thought you were just a receptionist. She Dr. Philled your ass.”

“Receptionist, bartender, hairstylist—all therapists.”

“True that.” Blaire gripped my hand. “Thanks, Abby.”

“Anytime.” She spun her chair back to her computer and started humming. The phone rang, she did her normal spiel, and I just stared at her.

Could it be that easy?

I grabbed the binoculars with shaky hands and stood, then found myself at the window looking out at Jessie.

While he looked up at me.

He waved.

I flipped him off.

Then smiled.

Smug, annoying bastard.

“Hold these.” I shoved the binoculars at Blaire and marched toward the door.

Chapter Sixty-One

JESSIE

There’s something both gorgeous and terrifying about a woman in spike heels with tears in her eyes.

Tears you’re well aware you put there.

My hands tightened into fists as I watched her make her way across the street.

The click of her heels matched the slow, even rhythm of my breathing as I waited for her to say something.

Do something.

Even if it meant I was going to get slapped.

Kicked.

Maimed.

I held my breath when she finally stood in front of me. She was glorious. Her dark hair tumbled past one shoulder. She was wearing a slinky pink tank top and a leather skirt. When she crossed her arms, the jangling of the bangles on her wrist was the only noise that filled the air.