Did he let me be myself? It was my idea to take on the sub-secretary role. I was the one wandering down dark hallways in the club. I was the one eager to learn it all.
And I’m the one who really wants to go back to that club.
“Dad left because he couldn’t accept me as I am. He would have rather seen me unhappy than accept the change I knew I needed. But you found a guy who wants you exactly as you are.”
“I wish he wanted me, Sophie. But he has to put his son first…and that leaves no room for me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Tell Beau to get over it.”
A laugh bubbles out of my chest again. “Trust me, I would if I could.”
That night, I lie in bed and stare at the eight texts from Emerson I’ve left unanswered.
Can we talk?
I just want to apologize.
I made a mistake.
I miss you.
I understand you need time. I can wait. My front door is always open.
Beau knows everything now. He’s mad, but we can work that out.
I’m not choosing him over you. I’m sorry for ever implying I would.
Please, Charlie.
Tears prick the back of my eyes as I read through each one. There are also six missed calls and a few voicemails that I don’t have the heart to listen to. He’s right—I do need time. I need to come down from the Emerson Grant high, so I can think clearly. Maybe some space will help me figure out what I really want.
There’s not one from Beau—which is surprising. No scathing judgment. No invasive questioning. He just disappeared from my life. Probably better that way. I don’t even know what I would say to him.
Just then a new text pops up, and I stare at it for a moment before realizing who it is.
Hey kiddo. Hope you’re doing okay.
We had a photographer at opening night. These pictures won’t be published online, but I thought you might like to see this one.
Garrett. I can tell just by the tone and the way he called me kiddo. Not that he’s called me that before. But he’s just that playful. Beneath his first text is a photo. It’s taken in the dim club. The people around us are blurred, but Emerson and I are in the middle. My gold and blue dress is pressed against his sapphire suit. We’re on the dance floor, and while I’m looking away at something, Emerson’s eyes are focused on my face. There’s a warm, adoring expression in his features. A hint of a smile that reaches his green eyes.
It’s hard to look at. It’s no secret that Emerson thinks I’m beautiful, but there has to be more in a relationship than that. And definitely more than being called a ‘good girl’ because I give good head or kneel at his side like I’m supposed to as his sub. Does Emerson see more than that in me?
Tossing my phone down, I let out a cry of frustration. I wish I could trust my own judgment. If I knew anything about love and relationships, I could actually find the right guy, but I don’t. I’m just a naive, desperate girl that craves a ridiculous amount of praise and attention and is stupid enough to do anything for it.
But that’s not Emerson’s fault. That’s mine.
RULE #33: THE TRUTH HURTS LIKE A BITCH.
Emerson
I once loved that my desk faces hers. I could watch her profile as she worked, admiring the slope of her nose and the way she bit her lip while typing or rested her head on her desk at the end of the day. Now, the desk is painfully empty.
And it’s all my fault.
The day Beau found us, he didn’t even bother to stay and yell at me. We’re just back to the silent treatment again, and I really wish he would have let me have it while he was here. I’d rather my son yell at me instead of ignore me.
I’ve practically worn out the digits on my phone screen, texting both of them. I try to spend most of my days at the club now, but even there, her memory haunts me. Garrett tells me not to give up, to give them both time, but I don’t know how long I can do this.
I want them both, and maybe that’s selfish and unrealistic, but I don’t fucking care anymore.
Today I’m stuck at my desk. It’s been two weeks since she left, and I have no plans to replace her anytime soon. Or ever. Garrett, Maggie, and Hunter have been trying to cheer me, and I hate being cheered up. Right now I want to wallow in my pity, knowing that I may never see her or speak to her again.
And that’s it for me. I don’t want another sub or another girlfriend. Charlotte is about as replaceable as Beau, which means not at all.
I find myself tracing the lines on my palm, remembering how she said I had a long heart line, how I’d have great love in my life. Have I turned into the world’s biggest sap? Apparently.