Chapter Twelve - Veronica

 

Oh, fuck. This is not gonna be pretty. “So, funny thing happens when I get home from the DMV today, Spencer. There’s all these construction workers…” My words keep spilling out of my mouth but all I’m thinking about is how this will go down. Spencer just fucked me in this two-million-dollar condo that belongs to a man who is looking a little too much like a challenger for my comfort level.

How did that happen? The guy was nobody an hour ago. He barely had time to show me into my new condo before he had to leave and now he’s giving Spencer the territorial look?

Neither of them are listening to me so I just shut up.

Mr. Mansi looks over at me. “I’m sorry to… interrupt. But Charlie downstairs called and was worried about you meeting your… boss up here alone.”

“Is that right?” Spencer says, puffing up his chest. “He was worried about me talking to my… employee?”

Oh God. There it is. So much for he loves me, right? I’m his employee. Why doesn’t he just fucking say girlfriend! Arrrggh! I’m so pissed off.

They do the silent, teeth-clenching bro-down for several seconds and I sigh and decide to just take over since apparently both of them have caveman tendencies. “Spencer’s not interested in the condo, Mr. Mansi, sorry to have wasted your time.” I turn to Spencer to tell him I’ll look for something else, but he cuts me off.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Who says I’m not interested, Miss Vaughn?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s out of your price range,” Mansi says back. “But I have a friend with some economy units available across town. Perhaps you’d like me to put in a good word for you?”

Spencer smiles. I know that smile. I’ve seen it before. Usually it’s during a fight with my older brother Vic and it almost always ends up with a trip to the ER. For both of them.

I eye Mansi cautiously. He looks like a guy who bails himself out with money, not fists. But looks can be deceiving.

“Besides,” Mansi says with a grin. “I’ve decided to keep the penthouse for myself. It’s no longer for sale.” Then he looks straight at me and winks. “So you and I will be neighbors, Veronica. Maybe we can have dinner one night this week? Unless you have a boyfriend?”

His gaze never leaves mine, nor mine his. I wait for Spencer to interrupt and tell him I belong to him. That he and I are soul mates. That I’m his one true love. That he’s loved me since the day he met me. That he just fucked me right here in this million-dollar kitchen that belongs to the man standing in front of him.

But he doesn’t. So I suck it up and swallow down the sadness. “Yeah, Bobby. I’d like that. I’ve got some shopping to do now, so if you two will excuse me, I’m gonna get out of here. Spencer?” I finally turn to look at him and even though I didn’t expect much, I expected something. Some expression of disbelief. A small tilt of his head to ask, What the fuck are you doing? Some twitch of his eye or a clench in his jaw to say he’s gonna kill that motherfucker Mansi.

But he’s got nothing. Pure poker face.

I wave. “I’ll find you another place to look at tomorrow.”

I walk to the elevator alone. Press the button. Take a deep breath. Enter as the doors open. Smile big as I turn to press the button for the second floor. And pretend everything is just perfect as the doors close in front of me.

And then I break down. Because that asshole did it again! I’m so sick of the fuck-and-deny I can’t stand it.

In the few short seconds it takes for the elevator to reach my floor I’m a sobbing mess. The doors open and thankfully no one else is around as I bolt for my door. I push the key in, fling it open, and then slam it behind me.

I lean against the door for a moment, then slide down and slump to the floor.

I hate him. That’s it. I’m so fucking done.

My face falls into my hands and I cry. After a few minutes I lie down on the dark hardwood floors and curl up in a little ball. I’m tired. I’m so tired of playing this game with him. I lash out and kick the door.

It kicks back.

Or actually, it knocks back. “Veronica?” Bobby Mansi’s muffled voice comes through from the other side. “Are you OK?”

“Shit,” I say, frantically wiping my eyes and standing up.

“I heard that. Open up, I just want to apologize.”

I turn the handle and open the door. “Apologize for what?” I sniff.

He smiles a warm smile. “Interrupting. I’m sorry. I can tell you two are an item, even if he won’t admit it.”

“We’re not,” I insist.

He shoots me a doubtful look. “I’m not stupid, Veronica. May I come in?”

I wave him forward. “It’s your place, why are you asking me?” He walks into the little foyer area and I close the door behind him. “Are you really keeping the penthouse?”

“Yeah,” he says, turning. “I really am. I like it. I wasn’t going to stay here. Normally I live on the West Coast. But I got some new business here that requires my personal attention.”

I don’t have anything else to say. I don’t even know this guy. I don’t know this place and the only familiar things I have right now are the clothes on my back. All of which remind me of the one man I desperately want to forget about.

Bobby waves me into the living room. “Want to sit down?” he asks.

I walk forward and stop when I get to the couch. It looks nice. But I’m not sure if it’s comfortable. I’ve never even sat on it before and now I’m supposed to think of it as mine.

A hand is placed gently on the small of my back. “Sit, Veronica. There’s actually a bottle of wine in the fridge. It was purely for looks, when people walk through the model. But it’s not a bad year. We’ll have a glass, how’s that sound?”

I sigh and sit. The couch is comfortable. And then I look up at Bobby’s expectant face and nod. “That sounds nice, actually.”

Bobby walks into my new kitchen. It’s an open-concept floor plan, so the kitchen is separated from the living room only by a granite island. Not quite as spectacular as the one I was just fucked on upstairs, but still a very nice specimen of stone. He uncorks the wine and there are even wine glasses in the cupboards. In fact, I think the cupboards are just as stocked with stuff as the rest of the place.

He comes back out and hands me a glass, then takes a seat on the chair opposite the couch and leans his elbows on his knees, expectantly, turning his wine glass. Like he’s waiting for me to do something. Or say something.

I take a sip of wine instead. It’s good. I take another. Then I guzzle the whole damn glass.

Bobby laughs and sits back in the chair, satisfied that I’m OK.

When I come up for air he gets up, exchanges my empty glass for his full one, then goes back to the kitchen and grabs the bottle. He sits on the couch this time. Not next to me, but not far away either.

My eyes dart back and forth without looking at him.

“Are you and Mr. Shrike dating?”

I take another long sip of wine. God, I so, so fucking need more wine.

“Because it looked to me like you two were having a romp in my kitchen.”

Holy hell, what do I say to that? Wine makes it all better though, so I continue sipping.

“I asked him if he minded me taking you out to dinner.”

I do look up now. I look him right in his brilliant green eyes.

“He said, ‘Be my guest.’”

My eyes drop and I give myself a refill and guzzle that glass too.

“Would you like to go to dinner, Veronica? Tomorrow night? Or is Mr. Shrike lying and the two of you do have a thing?”

My sigh comes out a lot louder than I expected. In fact, it’s kind of a tipsy sigh. “No, we used to date. But it’s been over for a long time. What we do…” I look Bobby in the eyes again and allow myself to swallow down the humiliation. “Everything we do… everything we ever did… was a mistake. That ship has sailed.”

“But you still work for him?” Bobby asks.

Shit. I forgot about that. I’ll probably have to quit, won’t I? “It’s a new thing. Do I need references to stay here?” I ask.

He hands me a small chuckle. “No, Veronica. I’m not interested in your credit score or your past landlords.”

I nod. “Good, because that apartment was my first place. I’ve only got my dad as a reference. Or my brothers. And I’m pretty sure they don’t count to a guy like you.”

“Hey.” He holds up his hands. “Don’t judge me and I won’t judge you. How’s that?”

Is he sincere? I study him for a few seconds before deciding he is. “Well, in that case, I think I’ll quit my job with Mr. Shrike and go back to the only thing I’m good at. Tracing line drawings on people’s skin. But I won’t be able to pay for this apartment.” He puts a hand up like he’s gonna tell me it’s not necessary to pay, but I stop him. “I get it. The place is free. But it’s not free forever. I’m not trying to discount your kindness or anything, but everything about my life since I left home has been one big mistake. I can’t afford shit in the real world.”

These words affect me in a way I never expected. Because I just admitted defeat. I went through all that soul-searching to come up with something I could do besides tattoo art. Even if I was never really serious about a flower shop in the first place. Even if I just used that as an excuse to move on, move forward. It still stings that I dated a banker to try to get a loan. I sold my car to buy a motorcycle that is more sentimental than practical. And I spent all my savings on that cruddy apartment, only to have all my worldly belongings locked up and inaccessible. Probably irrevocably contaminated with fibers that will give me cancer just by breathing in their general vicinity.

Tears build in my eyes, so I get up real fast to make a break for anywhere but this couch with this man. I stumble from the wine and I’m about to go crashing into the glass coffee table when I’m caught in his arms. “Thank you,” I mumble, pushing off him and regaining my balance.

My pack is over on the counter, so I walk over and fish out my phone and press Vic’s face. Bobby Mansi watches me carefully as I put the phone to my ear and then he gets up and begins walking towards me just as the call rings through to voicemail. “You got me. You know what to do if you want me to get you back.”

I end the call and don’t leave a message. I forgot, my whole family is down in Colorado Springs for some tattoo thing. I have to work at the shop alone for the next three days. But no one comes in during the week anyway. Thursday nights get busy and the weekends are almost always packed. Everyone will be home Thursday afternoon, so I’ll be fine.

“Problem?” Bobby asks.

“No, not really.” I grab my pack and go sit back down in the living room. I take the chair this time.

Bobby waits over by the kitchen. “So, dinner tomorrow?”

“Sorry, I have to work in the shop until eleven at night. I’m just gonna have one of my girlfriends bring me a sandwich or something.”

He smiles and nods. “OK.”

I get up and walk over to the door since he’s sending I’m-leaving-now signals. “Thanks a bunch for your kindness. Do you want me to drop the key off with that guy downstairs when I leave?”

“That would be fine.” He steps through the door and then hesitates, like he’s gonna turn around. But then he changes his mind and calls out, “Nice meeting you, Veronica,” as he walks down the hall to the elevator.

I close the door and slump back down on the couch, stretching out. I mess with my boots until I kick them off, and then before I know it, the day fades away.