I ran a hand through my hair. Mattia was right again. Right from the start, I was worried I wasn’t good enough for Gabrielle. Like I knew I wasn’t good enough for Emilia and wouldn’t be for my daughter.
Tiara sensed I stopped and came back running. Then she sat by my foot, digging in the snow and dirt. “But how can I be someone she won’t be ashamed of? I can’t just quit my job and find a nine-to-five. I’ve never had anormaljob in my life. Who is gonna hire me?”
My phone chimed in my pocket. I knew who it was before I checked the screen. Jared. He’d been calling since yesterday, sending me angry messages. I was an ass for ditching again, notifying I was off for the weekend with just a text, after I assured him I was gonna return fresh for the busiest time of the week.
Mattia inched a brow. “Is that her?”
I wished. “No. That’s Jared. I’m probably fired.”
“Good. See, the universe is working to put you on the right path to achieve your goal.”
I strangled her with my forearm, rubbing her head with my fist. She screamed at me to stop, cursing. Then she kicked me in the leg.
“Ouch! That hurt. Who’s the dickhead now?” I groaned.
“Still you.”
“Whatever. Let’s head back.”
“But you haven’t told me what you’re going to do with the job thing.”
“Well, I can’t quit. Not until I have enough for Carmen’s college fund and something saved to fall back on in case she gets sick again. You know how she was when she was born, and the doctors said her health, even though she’s fine now, could be unpredictable.” My heavy breath fogged my vision. I didn’t want to remember those days. The worst days of my life. “But I guess I can look for an additional job, a trainee position of sorts to get enough experience to start clean when I quit.”
“Sounds good to me. Do you have any idea where to look? Because I think I do.” She smirked.
“What?” I asked, puzzled for a second, but then it hit me. “No. No fucking way.”
CHAPTER23
Gabrielle
Saturday and Sunday weren’t better than that Friday from hell. I spent most of the weekend mornings between reading—rejecting—manuscripts and rolling Fabio’s card between my fingers, deciding to call and then not to call about five thousand times.
The nights were even worse, more than usual. Bedtime was my loneliest time of the day, but I’d gotten used to it over the years. This weekend, the horrible coldness was too much to stand when I knew my bed could have been much warmer and much less lonely.
My running laptop stared back at me as it slept next to me, like it did for the past three years, wounded I was thinking about someone else. “No, baby. No one is going to replace my love for you ever.” I gave it a hug. “But you gotta understand. I can’t ride you.”
I opened the screen and checked the time. Eight in the evening on a Sunday, and I was already in bed because I was sad and bored and not even sleepy but have nothing better to do than sleep the day over so I could go back to work. Only in publishing people got excited over Mondays. Lame couldn’t begin to describe my life.
My fingers typed the first letters of Poles website, and the link popped from the history. Yes, I’d been checking Fabio’s availability on the escort website around the clock, stalking him like a maniac. But he wasn’t available. Hadn’t been all weekend. He wasn’t even in the photos they posted for the revue on the website and Instagram yesterday. That only meant one thing. He’d been with a client…or more, day and night and night and day.
I slammed the screen shut, put the laptop aside and tossed the quilt off me. Incomprehensible and irrational agitation was enough to warm me up. Why did I even bother? It was his job. Another reason I should never let him cross my mind again. I dangled my feet down the bed and got up, aiming for the bathroom, but my feet dragged me to the wardrobe.
“Nope. Uh-uh.” I shook my head at my feet. “I’m not going to a strip club to look for a gigolo asshole.”
Except that was exactly what I did. I wore the magic bra and squeezed into a red dress that fit me by a miracle, one that would tear up if I did so much as breathe. Then I wore some mascara and lipstick and called a Lyft.
Mr. Duncan caught me as I waited for my ride, though, and insisted he drive me. Great. First the liquor store and now a strip club. My ninety-year-old Super must have thought I was a slut by now.
I held my chin up in my slutty outfit, just like I did in the poop jacket, and headed straight for the bouncer, ignoring the line. He was probably twice the size of Fabio with a chin dimple and a playful smirk.
“Good evening,” I greeted.
He couldn’t help staring at my boobs and smiled. “Evening, ma’am. Do you have a reservation?”
“Uh…no. Not really. I… Is Fabio…Fab in tonight?”
He gave me the once-over with a knowing grin, as if he’d just recognized me. That bastard did tell his friends about me. “No, ma’am. He’s been off all weekend.”
