“Thanks for understanding!” I grin and wave, closing my laptop before she has a chance to say any more.
I’ll have to watch out for Kelly; she knows me better than anyone. Probably better than I know myself, and for the first time, that terrifies me.
Chapter Nineteen
“Watch out!” A teenager on a scooter dodges me at the last moment later that night. The momentum behind him generates a breeze that whispers stray locks of hair across my perfectly glossed lips. I huff, pulling the hair from the gooey mess on my mouth as I rush to Jesika’s apartment.
I’ve already looked up the recent rental listings in their building so I know this apartment is way out of Dean’s price range—he must be riding on Jesika’s coattails on this one. I’m not surprised that he managed to get his business off the ground so quickly in Chicago. Though, his company is invested in a few commercial properties downtown, and I heard him speak often about wanting to expand in that market.
I guess Jesika was his chance to pivot like he was mine not so long ago.
Their private entry is only around the block from my hotel, but at the last minute, I detoured into a wine store and picked up their most expensive bottle of faux rosé. Jesika hasn’t explicitly told me she’s pregnant, but I know because I follow her on social media. I think of all the cute little things I could buy fortheir child. Jesika and I could meet up at playdates, and I could be Auntie Maya to the little tyke. So close to everything Dean holds dear, and yet he’d never be the wiser.
But I can’t stay in Chicago forever, as appealing as that fantasy sounds. My life is based in LA, and even though I don’t have any close friends or family I’m going back to, I have Mia. Mia Starr’s life is rooted in California—sunshine and surfboards and red-carpet events. Wind and gray skies and snow just don’t resonate with the brand I’ve built.
Once I regain my composure from nearly being taken out by a teenager on a rogue scooter, I grasp the faux rosé a little tighter and cross the street. I’m stepping onto the curb, eyes landing on the garage door entry that Jesika has told me to use, when the devil himself comes into my line of sight. The garage door is going up, and there he is. Dean is tossing a stuffed leather duffel bag into the back seat of a gray Audi. I think quickly and dash behind the broad side of a delivery truck. With my heart hammering, I turn the other way, moving along the side of the vehicle slowly until I hear the crunch of stones under tire tread.
Just as Dean is backing out of his driveway, I’m coming around the nose of the delivery truck. I pause, bending to pretend to tie my shoe until I hear the acceleration of Dean’s car. Thankfully, he’s headed in the opposite direction, and as I stand and come around the front of the vehicle and onto the sidewalk, I finally breathe a sigh of relief. That’s two close calls today. I can’t keep playing with fire like this; I will get burned. But right now, I just can’t resist. I feel like a lion playing with its prey before devouring it. I feel in control for the first time since Dean walked out on me, and the exhilarating part is that this bastard has no idea I’m so near.
He thinks he’s moved on, but I’m not so easy to move on from. I’ll make sure of it.
A moment later, I find the keypad on the outsideof the building and punch in the code Jesika gave me. The garage door whirs up, and I duck in, eyes scanning the area. They must have paid a fortune to have their own private parking in this building. I spot the door that opens into the building and step inside. A long corridor leads to a small lobby with a box for tenants to buzz people into the main building. I press the button for the apartment Jesika texted earlier, and a moment later, her cheery voice crackles to life.
“Who is it?”
“Maya,” I answer, the name sounding foreign on my lips.
“Yay! Come up!”
I hear the buzzer sound, indicating the door to the interior of the building has unlocked. I step through, angling for the elevators to take me up to the tenth floor. The building is well-cared-for but old, the elevator a beautiful and very slow relic of the past. It takes at least a minute to climb ten floors, and it screeches to a jarring halt when it reaches its destination. The doors open slowly, and when they do, Jesika is standing there waiting for me.
She looks like shit. Her pajamas are worn thin, and her long blond hair is in a messy bun. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are a little bloodshot, but she’s still beautiful.
“Welcome! I swear I’m not contagious!” She giggles, throwing her arms around me and hugging fiercely. As she hugs me, my gaze hovers on a snapshot of the two of them smiling brightly from the refrigerator door. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she enthuses, and I cringe.
“You look amazing, sick or not.” I pat her on the back and then pull away. “I brought faux rosé! We can toast to your health!”
“Oh, this is perfect. How did you know?” Jesika takes the bottle from me and, with the other hand, rubs her flat belly. “That’s why Dean left late—you just missed him. I hadanother bout of morning sickness. He had to bring me to the hospital earlier this week just to get fluids in me. I couldn’t keep anything down.”
“Oh no.” I feign concern.
“It was his idea that I ask a friend to stay with me. He’s afraid I’m going to dehydrate and die while he’s gone if I’m sick again.”
“Oh.” I have no words. I know I should be comforting her or something, but frankly, I’m just floored every time my husband’s name leaves her lips. She says it with such familiarity, like they’re soul mates or some pathetic bullshit.
“I almost had Dean call you to cancel, but I convinced him to go on his trip and told him you would take care of me. You’re so sweet. I know we’ve only just met, but it feels like we’ve known each other forever, right?”
“Yeah. Totally,” is all I can muster. She almost had Dean call me? “I-I don’t answer phone numbers I don’t recognize, though—after my ex-husband started stalking me?—”
“I thought you were never married?” She tips her head to the side with renewed interest.
“Ex—I just meant ex. We almost got married, dodged a bullet with that one.”
“I know what you mean—Dean’s ex-wife is practically unhinged—I know men always say their exes are mentally ill, but she really is. He says she abused him—can you imagine? I have my mood swings, but hitting a man?” She shakes her head. “I swear some women are just out there ruining it for the rest of us.”
My stomach churns with bile at her words. Dean thinksIabusedhim?
I’m practically vibrating with anger now. I bite down on my lip until the taste of copper coats my taste buds in an effort to stop the string of insults that are on the tip of my tongue.
