Chapter Eight
Istopped atthe grocery store on the way home and picked up a bottle of wine and a box of cookies. And a family-size bag of potato chips. I could have bought more but reminded myself that my pants were getting a tad tight and that I didn’t enjoy working out all that much. But I needed them for the spectacular mope I was planning for tonight and possibly Saturday. And I hoped that a couple of glasses of wine, cookies, and chips would provide some inspiration on how to respond to Landen’s texts.
Texts. As in multiple messages.
Now that he’d seen me with another man, he wouldn’t leave me the heck alone. If he hadn’t hurt my feelings with his behavior, I would have found the situation hilarious. Well, you know, if it was happening to one of my friends. Yes, I know, that’s kinda bitchy, but they all knew this about me and loved me anyway. God help them.
I arrived home and immediately stripped off my dress and heels. The bra came next and I slipped into an ultra soft and comfy tank top and a pair of cotton pajama pants.
My phone buzzed again and I sighed. It seemed Landen was determined to have a conversation tonight.
Call me or I’m coming over.
I scoffed at his high-handed attitude. He’d never been to my apartment. Then I hesitated. I’d also never given him my cell phone number but he had that. Did I want to risk him showing up at my door?
The door in the lobby required a key for entrance but it was nine on a Friday night. People would be coming and going for the next few hours. I wouldn’t put it past him to sweet talk one of my neighbors into letting him in. I’d witnessed his ability to schmooze firsthand and it shocked me. Considering his intensity and sometimes abrasive personality, I hadn’t expected him to be able to rein it in long enough to charm people.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I stared at that message and ran through the possible scenarios. Calling him seemed like the lesser evil of them all. With a sigh, I tapped the screen of my mobile a few times and lifted it to my ear.
“I was just about to get into my car,” he said by way of greeting.
I rolled my eyes and wandered into the kitchen where my purchases were still sitting on the counter. “What is your problem?” I asked as I began to put away the chips and cookies, leaving the wine on the counter. Once that was done, I untwisted the screw top on the wine, because I was classy like that, and poured myself a glass.
Landen was silent for a tense moment. “I told you I didn’t like to share,” he all but growled.
I gulped back half the wine before I answered. “True, but you have to be in a relationship before it’s considered sharing.”
There was more silence and I could all but feel his frustration across the phone line. “I thought we came to an understanding when we went to dinner,” he finally said.
I laughed but the sound was utterly devoid of amusement. “I did too, Landen. But then I didn’t hear from you for ten days, so I assumed that you’d had a change of heart and didn’t bother to tell me.”
He growled again and I drained the last of the wine in my glass before refilling it. I didn’t say anything, just waited for him to speak. I intended to use the trick Phillip used tonight to my advantage. And, sure enough, it worked.
“I’m…” he paused. “Sorry.” The word sounded as though it didn’t want to leave his mouth. As though apologizing was akin to flaying the skin from his body, something painful that he’d rather avoid.
I huffed. As far as apologies went, his sucked. “So what happened? Did you trip and fall into a parallel universe?”
Landen laughed. “That would be better than the real reason. And a hell of a lot less frustrating.” He hesitated. “There was an issue with one of my companies in another state. My business partner couldn’t handle it, so I hopped a plane Tuesday morning. I just got back at three a.m. today.”
My eyes narrowed and I drank more wine before I said anything. “Okay, that explains why I didn’t see you, but there are these handy dandy inventions. One is called a cell phone. You can carry it around with you and make phone calls or send messages. You can even email. If you aren’t sure what email means, it’s a shortened version of electronic—”
“I know what both of those things are, but thank you for breaking it down for me,” he answered dryly. “Is there any way we can talk about this without you giving me shit?”
I hummed beneath my breath as I pretended to think about it. “Nope. No way. You ghosted me and now you’re pissed because I went out for drinks with someone today? Do you not see the issue with that?”
“I do,” he answered. His voice was strained. “The problem with my company, it’s big. Apparently, there have been some harassment complaints and I was not made aware of them until two weeks ago. There is also some suspicious financial activity. My business partner has a hunch about the identity of the culprit, but we had to find proof. And get the police involved.”
The strain in his voice softened my anger a little. Just a bit. “I’m sorry you’re dealing with that.” I knew how much work those sorts of situations could be because Chris handled them regularly. But still, why the fuck couldn’t he be bothered to send me an email?
“I’m glad you understand,” he stated.
“Uh, I said I was sorry you were dealing with it, not that everything was hunky dory. You could have at least sent me an email and told me that you might not be able to call me for a few days. Or even a week.”
He groaned. “Jesus, why are you such a hard ass?” he asked.
Though he couldn’t see me, I shrugged. “Just the way I’m built, I guess. I want to make sure that you understand why and how you screwed up so you don’t ever do it again.”
“I am sorry, Chelsea,” he said again. And this time it actually sounded like he meant it. “Give me another chance.”
