Romance Rules for Werewolves (Charming Cove, #3)(2)

I laughed, a weak sound. “We’ve been together for almost ten years, Tommy. How could you?”

He offered a little shrug. “I didn’t think you would mind this much, honestly.”

Cold shock flashed through me. “Wouldn’t mind?”

“You’re so easygoing,” he said. “So accommodating.”

Accommodating.

It sounded worse than if he’d called me a stone-cold bitch.

“Not being funny or anything,” the beautiful woman said, and I quickly understood this was her favorite phrase, and that in all likelihood, she was probably never genuinely funny. “But Tommy told me about you. Don’t take this the wrong way, love, but at the end of the day, you’re a doormat. A mug.” She wrinkled her little nose. “Sorry.”

I stared at her, blinking. I probably had my mouth open, too, just like a fish. Here I was, thinking I was about to be proposed to, and my boyfriend’s mistress was telling me that I was a doormat.

Then something wet and gloopy landed on my forehead. I looked up, spotting a pigeon flying overhead.

Perfection.

My head buzzed as I wiped the pigeon poo away, and the waiter who’d ridden in the elevator with me hurried forward with a cloth napkin. I wiped my hand off, feeling the silence in the air like an oppressive weight.

I looked back at the table. Pity flashed in the other woman’s eyes, and something snapped inside me. It lit me up like an inferno, and it felt good.

Deep in my belly, my magic unfurled, the dormant power awoken by anger. What the heck was I doing here?

As if he could sense the oncoming storm, Tommy said, “Come on, Isobel. Be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” I felt my brows rise, and something hysterical bubbled up inside me. “I’ve been reasonable.” I looked at the other woman. “And if she’s to be believed, I’ve been a doormat.” I hated to think it about myself, but I was pretty sure she was right.

“Not a doormat,” Tommy said. “Just sweet. Accommodating. That’s what I like about you.”

I laughed, and it sounded as mad as I felt. But this wasn’t a madness driven by the loss of Tommy. It was the loss of me. Seeing this beautiful scene that he’d created for another woman made it so clear how I’d become a facilitator in someone else’s life.

“You can have him,” I said to the other woman. “You’re apparently getting a better version than I ever did.” I turned, intending to stalk away.

But suddenly, it didn’t seem like enough.

I spun back to them, eyeing the remains of the dinner on their plates. I squinted, focusing all of my unused magic on them, and conjured a blast of wind. It appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, creating a tiny explosion of food that splattered all over their stunned faces.

Tommy glared at me, thunder in his eyes. Satisfaction surged through me. I was pretty sure that his date was human, so she had no idea what had just happened.

Tommy did, though, and as the ketchup dripped off his chin, he looked like the idiot that he was.

“Enjoy each other,” I said, giving them a little wave.

As I stalked past the food service cart, I grabbed the bottle of champagne and took it with me.





Chapter

Two





Isobel



I stepped into the elevator, the champagne bottle hanging from my hand. The waiter had already uncorked it. Perfect. I raised it to my mouth and took a sip. The bubbles exploded over my tongue, delicious until they took on a sour taste.

I glared at the bottle, then turned my glare to the mirrored wall. It wasn’t the champagne’s fault. It was Tommy’s fault. My fault, for letting him pull one over on me like this. I rubbed at my forehead with the back of my sleeve, removing the last bit of bird poo. Mascara streaked under my eyes, and I looked a state.

I hadn’t realized I’d been crying. How embarrassing. Maybe I could have convinced the birds to attack in a chaos of wings and poo.

How had I let this happen to me?

The elevator stopped on the twenty-second floor, and the doors whooshed open to reveal a fabulously dressed woman in her sixties. She stepped in, grace personified. She was everything I could have hoped to be—polished, sophisticated, confident.

She looked from my tear-streaked face to the champagne bottle in my hands, then raised a brow.

I lifted the bottle to her. “Want a sip?”

“I’ll pass, thank you.” She smiled, and it was kinder than I’d expected it to be. “But whoever did this to you, they’re not worth it.”

I gave her a weak smile.

“Truly,” she said as the elevator continued its trip. “Grieve tonight, but tomorrow is a new day. Wake up and say, “Screw him.” She smiled. “Or her. Either way, you’re better than them. And life will be better without them.”

When the doors opened, she gave me one last nod, then stepped out and swanned across the lobby, leaving a trail of elegance in her wake.

I blew out a breath. “Wow.”

Pretty amazing, huh?

The voice came from near my feet, and I looked down to see a chubby calico cat at my side. It was my familiar, whom I hadn’t seen in months. Probably a year. “Poa? What are you doing here?”

I felt a change. Like you grew a pair of ovaries and got your head out of your butt.