“If you’re sure,” she says skeptically.
“Positive, now go eat,” I say, shooing her away. I really love Deb. She’s such a sweet lady and very loyal to Harrison.
I’m lost in my book when someone clears their throat. I look up, and the same woman I saw coming out of Harrison’s office not long ago is standing in front of me. “Well, look who it is. Harrison’s little plaything.”
“I beg your pardon?” I ask, affronted.
“You heard me. Just because he’s kept you longer than the rest doesn’t mean anything.”
“The rest?”
She throws her head back on a cackle. “What, did you think you were the only one he’s found through Rita? I read your little letters. So pathetic.”
The look on my face must say it all because she laughs again. A sadistic joy in her eyes as she tears down my whole world.
“Honestly,” she says, shaking her head. “How could you ever think that he would settle down with someone like you? A pathetic little author who can’t even get published for real.”
I’m caught off guard by her comment and don’t even know how to respond. Several responses flow through my mind, ones that defend my relationship with Harrison. He would never do such a thing to me. Harrison loves me—but does he? I don’t know how he feels, truth be told.
How does she know that I’m a client of Rita Matches? Also, why would Harrison have my letters? I can’t help but wonder what the heck she’s talking about.
Then there’s her comment about my job. Why I’m focusing on that bit of information, I don’t know. Maybe because I can’t wrap my mind around the other stuff just yet.
I want to tell her that independent publishing is a real career and that I’ve probably grossed more in the last year than she has in the previous two. I have no idea how much an accountant makes, but I know how much I’ve made, and it’s nothing to sneer at. I might’ve started as a little fish in an ocean of other independent authors, but I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I’m not traditionally published by choice.
I have ravenous and loyal readers who have helped me become what I am today. Yeah, my last couple of books struggled, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m good at what I do. Everyone has a bad book or two. It’s all part of the process.
Part of me wants to brag about how successful I’ve been; the other part doesn’t want to give her the time of day. If I were thinking more clearly, I would be asking myself the most pertinent question here… how does she know so much about me… but I’m too invested in the words she’s saying to even consider she knows things she shouldn’t know. And claims she read them in my letters, which is impossible.
“Harrison is just using you. Sowing his wild oats and all that until it’s time to settle down,” she thrusts her left hand out in front of my face, and I can’t miss the enormous diamond on her ring finger. “We have an arrangement. He gets to fuck around until it’s time to say ‘I do,’ then his playboy days are over.”
She clucks her tongue, giving me a pitying look. “Enjoy him while you can. He really is a great fuck.”
The woman saunters off like she didn’t just wreck my whole world. It’s then I realize just how much of my heart I’ve given to Harrison. It’s hard to ignore when it’s lying in a million pieces at my feet, leaving a gaping hole in my chest.
I look at his closed office doors and do the only thing I can do… I run. I leave the offices and quickly call for a cab. There’s no way I can see him right now. Not while I’m so fragile.
Somehow, I manage to make it all the way back to my apartment before the waterfall starts. The tears fall in big body-wracking sobs. I barely make it past the door before I collapse to the floor. I wrap my arms around my legs and weep.
I’m barely aware of my phone ringing. I ignore it, knowing that it’s Harrison. I can’t… won’t talk to him. Not like this. Not knowing how he led me on. How he lied. I know he never made me any promises. In fact, in the start, he basically told me he doesn’t do relationships… what he failed to tell me is that he’s already got a commitment.
Hiccupping sobs break through my lips as I think about every interaction I’ve had with Harrison, trying to find even onemoment where he hinted at another woman. All it does is make my heart hurt worse. Thinking about all the sweet moments.
God, I’m a fool.
There’s a loud knock on my door, and I hold my breath, trying to silence my sobbing.
“Olive!” Harrison shouts through the door, knocking again.
I swallow back my tears and stand, not sure what to do. All I know is that I don’t want to see him right now. “Go away,” I reply, hating that my voice cracks.
I hear a key in the lock and have a moment of panic. I completely forgot that I gave Harrison my spare for all the nights he’s come in after I’ve already gone to bed. I quickly wipe my eyes and straighten my dress, trying to pull myself together enough to face him.
“Olive, what’s wrong?” he says the second he sees me. I know he knows I was crying. I’m an ugly crier. There’s no way around the pink nose and glassy eyes. He strides across the room to where I’m standing and tries to pull me against his chest.
I hold my hand out to ward him off. If he touches me, I will crumble. I can’t handle it. I straighten my spine and push back all my hurt feelings, finding some anger at the situation to hold on to.
“You need to leave,” I say, surprised that I sound stronger than I feel right now.
