“You tried to burn down my house. You’re the toxic person in our relationship. Jenna made up the story about sleeping with your wife!” Nathan yells at the OmniSoft CEO, who is practically shoving his cheating wife and two teenage girls, who seem to be enjoying the drama a little too much, into the car.
“You need to get off of the premises before I call the police.” The HopeWorks chairwoman raises her head up.
“The premises?I mean, fuck McCarthy, but why do you all need this fancy venue? It’s not even historic, so it’s not like you’re helping to preserve a piece of history. Where is all this money going? Oh, it’s going to the sex dungeons. Right, excuse me.”
“Young lady—”
“And I told you!” I scream at Rex. “I told you to get rid of it. I told you it was a bad idea. I freaking covered it up when that girl was posting videos about the sex dungeon. Iwent to bat for you, and I told you to keep your nose clean and then this? Embezzling money?”
“Lies!” Rex shouts to anyone who will listen.
“Why can’t anyone just listen to me? I make terrible choices in my romantic life, but for fuck’s sake, I am good at my job.”
“…Security!”
And that ishow I find myself—no, not sitting in the back of a police car because apparently, I can’t even be chauffeured somewhere—sitting in the back of a bus as it rolls slowly through Seattle to Glacier Lake, toward the tower with McCarthy’s name emblazoned at the top.
I wish Hannah was there, but she’s going to the office to do damage control for her client because she still has her job, because she didn’t sleep with her client.
I’m exhausted, my feet hurt, I’m hungry, and I want a hot bath. But I’ll sit outside in the freezing cold, waiting for the morning ferry, before I ask McCarthy for help.
He used me, has been using me since the moment he saw me. He knew what I was all along—a chump, a dumb little girl, a walking target with a sign that said “Kick me! I have daddy issues!” on her back.
It doesn’t matter how good-looking he is or how much money he has, McCarthy isn’t capable of being anyone’s one true love.
He doesn’t even love himself.
How can he ever love me?
“I haveto pick up my laptop and Truman,” I say, rationalizing to myself when the bus lets me off at McCarthy’s tower.
There’s leftover pizza upstairs and a bath. Bet he just lets you in without too much gloating.
“We are decentering men,” I whisper to myself. “For real this time.”
Anton beams at me when he opens the door. “I know someone who’s going to try his hardest to pretend that he’s not happy to see you.” Anton grins. “Mac fired everyone. It was very dramatic. On the plus side, their food delivery came, and they aren’t here to take it.”
There are several steaming, mouthwatering bags of food sitting on the counter.
“You want to take a couple up for you and McCarthy?”
“Oh, I—”
Yes. Yes, I do. I want to sit in his bed and listen to him complain casually about the YouTube video I’m watching. Somehow, his commentary is better than what’s on the screen—acerbic, biting, hilarious.
I want to let him feed me bites of whatever deliciousness is in the containers then make love to me and tell me he loves me while I pet his hair.
It’s the psychological issues talking.
This is a fantasy version of McCarthy, a construct that my brain made up. It’s not reality. He doesn’t actually love me.
“I’m… I actually have to go… I’m going home.”
“To Salish Island? I don’t think the ferry’s running, but I can have a private boat ready for you,” Anton offers.
“Oh no, that… that’s okay. I’ll just go stay at a friend’s house,” I lie. “That’s actually why I’m here. I need to pick up my things.”
Anton’s heading to swipe me up the elevator.
