“YOU SHOULD PUT SOME PREPARATION H ON THE BAGS under your eyes. You look like hell.”
She’d already tried the Preparation H trick. God forbid, Gina found out she was commenting on the results. Rosalie kept her voice even. “Good morning, Gina. And how was your weekend?”
“Better than yours, I see. So, when did you finally stop crying?”
“I did not cry.” Bawled was more like it. She didn’t think she’d ever cried herself to sleep, woken up, and done it again before. And she knew for a fact, she’d never done it for an entire weekend.
“Have you heard from Nick?”
“No.” Rosalie didn’t think Gina meant listening to the messages he’d left on her cell. They went from curious, to concerned, to worried, to frantic. She couldn’t help herself. She’d listened to them over and over all weekend, just to hear his voice.
“When are you going to call and tell him you love him?”
“Never. Don’t you get it? We made a deal. It’s against the rules to. . . to. . .”
“Fall in love? Care about each other? Or maybe, it’s against the rules to be human and screw up. At the very least, you should call and tell him you’re sorry for scaring the living piss out of him.”
“I can’t.” Rosalie double-timed it to her office and slammed the door. At least she’d made it before she embarrassed herself . . . well, okay, before she embarrassed herself further. She sat on the leather couch and willed her tears to disappear. If she started crying again, who knew when she’d stop.
It was two o’clock, and Rosalie wasn’t hungry. Gina had buzzed her an hour earlier, saying she was going to lunch. She could have asked Gina to pick something up for her, but she couldn’t look at food without getting sick. She’d never felt like this. She hurt all over. She couldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. Every time she dozed off, she’d awaken falling off Nick’s side of the damn bed.
Even Dave was upset. He’d walked around the house all weekend with a pair of Nick’s boxers in his mouth, whining. He’d hardly eaten, and he’d spent most of his time staring out the window, looking for Nick and ignoring her.
Nick had finally hit rock bottom, or at least, he hoped he had. He went to the office, packed up Dave’s dog toys, bones, and bed, and tossed them in Rosalie’s Volkswagen before he returned it to her place.
There he was, for the entire world to see, driving around in a Barbie mobile, and he couldn’t care less.
Going back to the apartment and packing his belongings would likely kill him. He’d sat around all weekend, trying to figure out how to put things back together with Rosalie, but when it came down to it, he had no options. He’d made a deal with her—no strings and no commitments. It would last until one or both stopped having a good time. Obviously, she’d learned the truth, and she’d moved on. If she hadn’t, she would have called him, yelled at him, hit him, something that showed she cared and wanted him to come back. Right?
He parked the yellow Beetle in front of the brownstone and found Dave looking at him through the window. Something white hung from his mouth. God, Nick missed that dog. That morning, when he’d gone to the office without Dave, Lois had looked at him as if he’d kicked her. She’d gotten up and hurried out of the door. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn she was about to cry. Christ. As if he didn’t feel bad enough, he had to be responsible for making the Rock of Gibraltar cry.
Nick got out of Rosalie’s car, gathered Dave’s things, and brought them into the apartment. Dave jumped on Nick and greeted him as though he’d been gone a lifetime. Damn, Nick was going to miss the big guy, but that was only a miniscule fraction of the hole left in his life by Rosalie. Nick carried in the empty bags he’d brought from his place and started packing. He took his hanging clothes and put them in a garment bag, emptied his drawers into a suitcase, and packed his shaving kit. He dumped the drawer of his bedside table into another bag, tossed in the book he’d been reading, and searched the rest of the apartment, gathering his things. Nick decided to leave the vacuum and food processor he’d bought for the apartment. Not that he thought Rosalie would ever use them, but Nick knew he’d never be able to see them without thinking about Rosalie and Dave. Life was hard enough; he didn’t need any more reminders of all he’d lost. Dave followed him around the apartment with what Nick realized was a pair of his boxers. He tried to take them away, but Dave wouldn’t let go.
“You drop my drawers, or I’m not taking you for a walk.”
Dave dropped them, but only to go out. When they returned, he picked them right back up again and settled into the corner where Nick had placed Dave’s bed.
“Look, buddy. I have to go. You take good care of your mom for me. Okay?”
Nick set Rosalie’s car keys on the kitchen counter, right beside the set of apartment keys he’d been carrying. He took one last look around, grabbed his bags, and stepped into the hall, letting the door slam shut behind him. There. He couldn’t go back inside if he wanted to. And by God, he wanted to. He saw Dave watching him drive away in the Mustang he’d left parked in front of Rosalie’s apartment when he took his middle of the night walkabout.
Home, sweet home. Nick parked in front of his brownstone. He knew it wasn’t far enough away from Rosalie, but then, he doubted Alaska would be. He put his car in drive and headed for the Long Island Expressway.
He called Lois. “I’m going away for a few days. I’ve got my cell if you need me. Oh, and if you hear from Lee, call me right away. Okay?”
“Where are you going, Nick?”
“I’m going to the beach house for awhile. I need to get out of town.”
“You didn’t dognap Dave, did you?”
“No. Why would I do that?”
“If you had, Lee would come after you, and maybe you’d both get your heads on straight and work things out.”
“Lois—”
“Don’t you ‘Lois’ me, Dominick Romeo. I’ve watched you date and dump a plethora of women over the last ten years. You never had feelings for any of them until Rosalie. If you’re not smart enough to recognize love when it runs over you and fight for it, well then, you don’t deserve it. So go to the beach house and lick your wounds. But let me tell you something, Nick, wounds that deep don’t ever heal.”
“She left me, Lo. She doesn’t want me.”
“Are you sure of that? Did you ask her? Did you talk to her at all?”
“I’ve got to go. I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Stop at the grocery store before you start drinking. You’ll be in no shape to drive afterward, and I’m not driving all the way out there to feed you.”
“If she calls—”
“I know. I’ll get in touch.”
Rosalie worked until eight. She was avoiding going home. She’d called her neighbors, Henry and Wayne, earlier. It sounded as if they knew Nick had left, and they said they’d be happy to take care of Dave. She would have worked later, but by eight, she was dead on her feet. All she’d eaten was . . . nothing. Unless you counted the milk in her coffee—she’d had a lot of that.
When Rosalie left the building, she scanned the street, hoping she’d see Nick’s car. She didn’t.
When she got off the train at her stop, she looked for Nick. He wasn’t there.
When she got home and found her beloved yellow Beetle parked in front of her apartment, she fell apart. Right there, on the front stoop of her brownstone, she lost it. Nick was gone. He’d come back, but only to return her car. Oh, God, she’d thought it hurt when he walked out. She’d thought maybe, after he cooled off, he’d come home and at least have a fight with her—give her a chance to explain. She thought he cared enough to yell at her. But he didn’t. He’d returned her car.
“Rosalie? Is that you, darlin’? Wayne, come out here!” Henry sat beside her on the stoop, put his arm around her, and pushed her head against his chest.
“Henry? What is it? I’ve got dinner . . . Oh, my Lord, Rosalie. Is she hurt? What happened?” Wayne always reminded her of a hummingbird. He was small, flighty, and never stopped moving, but was amazing to watch. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know he was in a full dither.
“I don’t know. Dave was going berserk, and I looked out the window. Wayne, be a love and pick up her things. She must have dropped her purse. There are tampons and God only knows what rolling down the sidewalk.”
Rosalie tried to pretend that nothing had happened— that Nick was inside waiting, that her car was still gone, that she still had a life—anything to get a grip, but it didn’t work. When she opened her eyes and saw her car, reality crashed into her again.
She tried, but she couldn’t stop crying long enough to tell them what had happened. She could only point to her car and do that weird hiccup thing she did when she cried so hard, she couldn’t stop to breathe. Henry tightened his hold and pulled her up with him as he stood.
“I’m taking you inside. Come on darlin’, I’ve got you.”
They led her up the steps and into their apartment, handed her tissues, and let her cry while they commiserated the way best girlfriends would.
When she’d run out of tears, they treated her like a sick child. They plied her with tea, made her nibble on toast, and before she knew it, Henry was leading her to their guest room.
“You’ll stay with us tonight. You’re in no shape to be alone. Wayne, be a love and go over to Rosalie’s and get her a lovely nightgown. She needs to feel pretty. Don’t forget her toothbrush. Come on, darlin’, let’s get this suit jacket off you.”
Wayne came back a minute later with only her toothbrush. “Henry, she didn’t have one decent nightgown. Obviously, she sleeps au natural, because I don’t think she would be caught dead in some of the nightshirts I found in her bureau. Rosalie, darling, we really must do something about your lingerie. You need at least a few peignoirs. We’ll do a shopping day this weekend. A little retail therapy might be just what the doctor ordered. I know when Henry and I went through a rough patch—”
Henry groaned. “Wayne, not now. Can’t you see she’s overcome with grief?” Henry left the room and returned with a T-shirt and sweats. “Here darlin’, try these.”
A fresh rush of tears began. She couldn’t believe she was crying again, and in front of people she’d see every day for the rest of her life. Next, she’d start collecting cats—well, only after Dave passed. He went nuts if you even mentioned the word C-A-T in his presence.
Oh, God, she was going to turn into one of those old women with sixty cats, and she’d live here until the SPCA came to take the cats and Social Services put her in a home for crazy, old people.
Henry sat beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Damn it, Wayne. See what you did. She’s started the waterworks again, and I just got her calmed down.”
Wayne left the room in what looked like tears, but it was hard for Rosalie to tell, since she was crying, her eyes were puffy, and she had a tissue covering her red nose.
“I swear. Wayne is such a drama queen. Rosalie, you go ahead and change while I calm Wayne down. I’ll be back in a minute to tuck you in, okay?”
Rosalie slept for the first time since Nick had walked out on her. She knew that wasn’t precisely the way it had happened, but he’d been the one who’d left. He was the one who had to come back. Right?
She awoke the next morning thinking that she was cuddled up to Nick. When the fog in her head cleared, she found it wasn’t Nick at all, but one of those long body pillows. She’d barely kept herself from falling apart yet again. She stretched, and when she saw the time, she screamed. A second later, Wayne knocked and poked his head in.
“Don’t worry. We called Gina and told her you were sick and that we were taking care of you. She’s not expecting you in the office today.”
Rosalie lay back against the pillows. “Thanks, Wayne. For everything.”
He came in and waved away her thanks. “Oh, stop, don’t you worry about it. You just take care of yourself. When that man of yours comes back, you two will work everything out. You’ll see.”
“I don’t think—”
“I know. I heard it all last night. You didn’t see how he picked you up and carried you in when you were sick. It was so romantic. He held you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And the way he looked at you—doll, if he looked at me that way, I’d melt, that’s what I’d do. I’d melt. You listen to me; Nick will be back. It might take a while on account of all that macho mojo he’s dealing with. His type needs a way to come back without looking like they’re whipped. Do you know what I mean?”
“I don’t know. I guess.”
“I’ll be happy to have him back myself. He is a fine specimen. I swear—all the good ones are either straight or taken.”
“Wayne.” She picked up a pillow and threw it at him.
He caught it. “I know. I’m bad. Let’s pretend I was talking about Henry. He’s definitely taken.”
“How do you know so much about macho mojo?”
“Ha! I have to deal with that every day. Henry might be gay, but he’s definitely all man when it comes to that macho stuff. Straight guys don’t have that market cornered, girlfriend. Thank God.” He stopped and sniffed the air and then checked his watch. “I made fresh scones. They smell like they’re ready to come out of the oven. You lie back and relax. I’ll bring them to you along with your coffee.”
A minute later, Wayne brought in a tray and set it on her lap. She picked at a scone. The only good thing to come out of the whole disaster was that she couldn’t seem to eat. The one time she’d tried last weekend, she had to make a run for the toilet.
At least she was losing weight. Nick had always fed her; it was as if he wanted her to get fat. She’d comforted herself with the fact that sex burned a lot of calories. Now she was losing weight without even trying. And sadly, without sex.
After breakfast, she got up the nerve to go home. When she saw what awaited her in the apartment, she was too depressed to shower and dress.
Nick had left the keys to her car next to the keys to her apartment on the kitchen counter. No note, no nothing. He’d just packed all his things and left. The only traces that he was ever there—except for the neatness of the apartment—was his food processor, his beloved vacuum, and a dog bed and basket of dog toys he must have had at his office. When she saw those, whatever control she’d had over her emotions took ahold. Nick would make someone a great father some day. Which meant that he’d also make someone a great husband, and oh, God, she wouldn’t be that someone. She didn’t know why that bothered her so. She’d always sworn she’d never marry, but the thought of Nick married to someone other than her made her crazy.
Rosalie sat in front of the TV watching QVC and buying stuff she didn’t need. She had ordered a pair of earrings and had just disconnected the call when the phone rang. She quickly muted the TV, praying it was Nick.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Rosalie.” Not Nick; it was Richie. “I called you at work. Gina said you were sick. What’s the matter?”
“Hi, Richie. It’s nothing, just um . . . cramps.” She’d learned a long time ago when something was wrong that you didn’t want to talk about, all you had to do was tell the guy you had cramps. Once they found out it had to do with plumbing of the female variety, they got off the topic so fast, if they were in a car, they’d have left skid marks. It worked every time.
“I’ll call Pop and ask him to pick me up at the airport. I’m coming in tonight.”
“No, don’t. I’ll pick you up. It’ll be good for me to get out. What time are you arriving?”
Rich gave her his flight information and saved her from her shopping spree on QVC. It was just as well. She was buying things she’d never use. How much cubic zirconia could one person wear? Especially someone who didn’t wear much jewelry. She’d most likely end up giving it to Mama and Annabelle next Christmas.
Rosalie was a little late picking up her brother. She would have liked to blame it on traffic, but the truth was, she’d lost track of time. He waited outside baggage claim looking pissed. She pulled up in front of him and unlocked the door.
“Sorry I’m late.” she said as Rich opened the door.
“Christ, you look like shit.”
“Thanks, Richie, it’s great to see you, too. Next time you need a ride, call someone else, okay?” She hit the trunk release, hoping he’d stow his bags and get off the topic of how terrible she looked, but he didn’t take the hint.
“I mean it. What? Are you sick or something? Is it contagious?”
Frustrated, she got out of the car and grabbed one of his bags herself. The jerk.
“No, I’m not sick. I got dumped, okay? I really liked the guy, and well, I did something stupid, and he dumped me.”
“I’m sorry, Ro. Do you want me to go beat him up? What’s his name?”
“Dominick Romeo, and no, I don’t what you to beat him up. Stay out of it, and whatever you do, don’t talk to Mama about this.”
“Nick Romeo? What the hell were you doing dating Nick Romeo?” He stashed his laptop and garment bag and got into the driver’s seat.
Rosalie couldn’t help herself. The tears started flowing.
“Oh, God. Please don’t cry. I hate when girls cry, even you.”
“Thanks, that’s so touching.”
“Yeah, you know me, Mr. Sensitivity. So, how’s that cute little secretary of yours? Does she ask about me?”
Rosalie buckled up and checked to see if he was serious. He sure looked serious.
“Whoa, are you talking about Gina? You know she’d fillet you if she heard you called her a secretary—she’s my assistant. Why would Gina ask about you? You met her, what, once?”
“Yeah, but we spent some quality time under the mistletoe at the Christmas party you dragged me to. Then we ran into each other on New Year’s Eve—”
Richie waggled his eyebrows.
“You didn’t sleep with my assistant, did you?”
Rich pulled into traffic and adjusted the mirrors. “I don’t kiss-and-tell. I told her I was flying in tonight. You’re going to lend me your car, right?”
“You’re not going to do anything weird or gross in it, are you?”
“What do you think? I’m a professor, for Christ’s sake. I don’t have to use backseats of cars anymore.”
“Yeah, but Gina’s living with her sister and her brother-in-law the cop while they’re saving for a house. It’s not like you’re going to her place. And I’d be willing to bet you still can’t sneak a girl into your bedroom at Chez Ronaldi.”
“I’m not going to discuss my sex life with my little sister.”
“Fine, I’ll keep out of your personal life, if you keep out of mine. Deal?”
“Sounds to me like you no longer have a personal life.”
“Yeah, thanks for pointing that out.”
“Hey, what’s a big brother for?”
Nick sat on the cold, hard sand staring out at the waves. The tide was coming in, and soon he’d have to get his ass up, or he’d turn into a human icicle. He couldn’t muster the energy to care. He watched as the waves came closer and closer to his feet. God, he was a sorry case. He knew he was lame when he started playing chicken with the surf in winter.
He stood and checked his cell phone for the millionth time. She still hadn’t called. With every hour that went by, his hope waned and the pain in his heart increased. It was as if someone were cutting it out. He had heard people say they were heartsick, and he thought it was a euphemism, but this pain was definitely real. No amount of drinking, no amount of running, and no amount of denying made it go away.
He’d reconsidered groveling, but if Rosalie had wanted him back, she would have said so. Contacting her was against the rules. Why did he have to fall flat on his face in love with the one woman in the world who didn’t want him?
Nick knew he had to make a clean break. He just hoped that he never ran into her. If he did, he’d probably end up on his knees, begging her to take him back—rules or no rules. It was hard enough dreaming about her every night. That same fucking dream over and over and over. He awoke alone in a cold sweat, breathing like a freight train.
No wonder he had avoided love all these years. It sucked. It hurt. And once it had you in its clutches, it wouldn’t let you go.
Rosalie tore the last four days off her Far Side desk calendar, taking note of the tax-day cartoon.
“Rosalie, do you want to go to Katz’s for lunch? It’s supposed to reach seventy degrees today, and they’re working at that new construction site. Maybe the guys will take off their shirts. You need eye candy.”
“It’s against OSHA regulations for construction workers to work without a shirt, pants, and hard hat, Gina. No matter how hot it is.”
“Really? Are you sure? When I walk by, the guys are always taking off their shirts.”
“Yeah, well, it has more to do with you than with the temperature outside.”
“Hmm.” She shrugged and sat on the corner of Rosalie’s desk. “Come on, we haven’t gone to lunch since before you and he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned split up. It’s been over a month.
“What’s going on? You haven’t been eating, you’re losing weight, and I know you’re not pregnant. You’re not, right? You’d tell me if you were, wouldn’t you?”
“I can’t believe you’d ask that. We always have our periods at the same time.”
“Well, yeah, but the last time I had mine, you never asked to borrow a tampon. What’s up with that? You always forget or run out.”
“Nick put all the stuff lying all over the apartment away. Who knew I had, like, four boxes of tampons scattered around? I had to bring one into the office. There was no room left in the bathroom cabinet.”
“Makes sense, especially since you seemed to have PMS from hell, though it was hard to tell if it was the breakup, or PMS, or a combination of both that made you act a little insane.”
Rosalie shook her head and wondered if every assistant talked to her boss like this.
“That still doesn’t explain why you’re not eating. You’ve lost so much weight, even your skinny clothes are hanging on you.”
“I’ve lost weight. So what?”
“So, you look like hell. You look worse than you did when you had pneumonia, and believe me, you looked like shit then.”
“I did? Why didn’t you say something?”
“Me? I didn’t think it was my place—”
“As if that ever stopped you. Gina, since we’re having this little heart-to-heart, tell me something. How’d it go with my brother?” Her jaw dropped. Yeah, Rosalie had gotten her good. “You know, Rich, the tall, good-looking Italian guy you went out with three times the week he was here over spring break.”
“Yeah, I know who you mean. So, we went out a few times. It was nice.”
“Nice? It sounds as if Rich thought it was more than ‘nice.’ He’s been calling and asking about you.” Gina gave her that shrug that meant she didn’t want to talk about it. “So, you’re seeing my big brother, huh?”
“We hung out together when he was in town. It’s nothing serious. He lives in—where is it—Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire? Somewhere like that.”
“He lives in Vermont but teaches in New Hampshire.”
“Yeah, well, he went back home. We had a good time during his visit. Now it’s over, and he’s doing whatever he does out there in the sticks.”
Gina rolled her eyes, and Rosalie pretended not to notice. She paged through the notes on her desk.
Gina slid off the desk and sprinted out, pulling the door closed behind her. Rosalie waited a second to make sure she wouldn’t reappear. When she thought the coast was clear, she retrieved the bottle of Mylanta she kept in her bottom desk drawer, took a healthy swig, and chased it down with cold coffee. Yuck.
By four o’clock, Rosalie was ready to leave. She needed to go shopping. Gina had a point. Even her skinny clothes were hanging on her. Doing the whole safety pin on the waistband thing was getting tedious, not to mention dangerous. As much weight as she’d lost everywhere else, though, none of it was in her chest. She’d always heard women complain that when they lost weight, their bust size decreased, but now that she was thinner than she’d been since college—okay, maybe high school—she still had big boobs. It shouldn’t have surprised her; it was all a part of the cosmic joke that was her life.
Rosalie buzzed Gina and waited for her to answer. Gina didn’t. Strange. She checked the phone and saw that Gina wasn’t on the line. She waited while she cleaned off her desk.
A few minutes later, she heard noises in her outer office, and then Gina buzzed her.
“Rosalie, you have a visitor.”
She didn’t have time to deal with one more problem today. All she wanted to do was hit the sale at Macy’s. As it was, she’d have to head uptown during rush hour, which was not fun. The subways started to resemble sardine cans by four-thirty, and cabs were scarcer than straight men on Fire Island.
She checked her schedule and saw no appointment. Of course, when she wondered who it could be, the first person who entered her mind was Nick. The thought of him hadn’t stopped throwing her for a loop. She wondered how long it took for a broken heart to heal. Since she’d never had one before, she hadn’t a clue. It wasn’t as if she could ask someone, either. It was too embarrassing for words. She’d waited and waited for the pain to go away. She’d waited to be able to sleep without waking up because she’d reached for Nick and he wasn’t there. She’d waited to be able to eat more than a little pastina with butter, or half a slice of toast, or a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. She knew it wasn’t exactly a low-cal diet, but she was losing weight. Go figure.
Rosalie slipped her shoes on and buttoned her suit jacket as she rose. The jacket covered the slightly—okay, maybe a little more than slightly—large skirt.
There was a knock on the door and then Gina stuck her head in, with a huge smile on her face and no lipstick. Odd, that. Gina always wore lipstick—bright, red, and glossy. A large hand pushed the door open from above her head. Way above. A large male hand. Rosalie’s breath caught, and she held onto her desk. Nick?
Gina flew through the door, followed closely by Rich. “Hi, Ro. Still looking like shit, I see.”
“Richie? What are you doing here?”
Gina sidestepped him and tried to back out. Rich caught her around the waist. How he did that, with him being so tall and Gina so short, was interesting to watch. Rosalie guessed that being a knuckle-dragger was good for something.
She swallowed her disappointment and wished for another swig of Mylanta. Then she remembered, too late, to check for a Mylanta mustache. Damn.
Gina pointed at her. “See, I told you. She walks around half the time with white stuff around her mouth from drinking bottles of stomach medicine.”
“I do not.”
Gina teetered to the desk and picked up the wastepaper basket. She pulled out two empty bottles. The cleaning people obviously hadn’t come for a few days.
“You see why I called you?” Gina told Rich. “She’s turning into a Mylanta-holic, and she’s so thin. It’s unnatural.”
Rosalie was irate. “You called my brother and told him about me?”
“Well, what else was I to do? It was either Rich or your mother, and I thought you would be less likely to kill me if I called Rich. You don’ eat, you don’ sleep, you don’ do anything but mope. This is an intervention. I saw it on Montel one time when I was home sick. It’s like they bring together all the people that are important to—”
Rosalie shook her head in disbelief. Gina’s accent was stronger than Rickie Ricardo’s on I Love Lucy. She even had the hand gestures going.
“Gina, I know what an intervention is. Thank you. But I’m not an alcoholic, drug addict, or compulsive shopper. I don’t need an intervention.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Rich piped up, throwing an arm around Gina and pulling her to his side. “Don’t blame Gina for caring about you, little sister.”
“Rich, look, I’m sorry you were dragged all the way down here for nothing. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you look fine—if you’re into cadavers.”
“I don’t need to defend myself to you. I tried to be polite, but now I’m out of here. Have a nice time in the city, Rich. Call me when you learn to mind your own business. And Gina, I’ll talk to you about the meaning of the word ‘privacy’ tomorrow.” Gina shot her a look. Rosalie smiled, happy to have the opportunity to get back at her nosy assistant. “Yes, I know you don’t like working late on Fridays, but it was the only time I could set up an appointment with Lassiter’s secretary without anyone else finding out about it. Besides, you owe me. Good-bye.”
Gina chased after Rosalie until she was out of the department. It sounded as if Rich had stopped her. It was a good thing, too. Rosalie didn’t know what she would have done if Gina had caught up to her. She was holding her temper by a thread that was unraveling real fast.
The next day, Rosalie and Gina discussed their game plan.
Gina sat across from Rosalie’s desk taking notes. “Okay, we’re supposed to meet Randi, Jack’s secretary, in an hour and a half. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”
Rosalie nodded. “If all goes well with Randi, we should be able to take this to the Board on Monday. They can decide if they want to get the police involved. We have evidence of Jack’s embezzlement for the last fiscal year. Depending on what gems Randi sees fit to share, since she’s the one who overheard Jack proposition you. Oh, nice job with that.”
“You know what I always say—”
“Men are pigs?”
“No, never marry the man you fool around with. He cheats on his wife.”
Nick had the TV on with the hockey game playing in the background. It was a Friday night home game, but he didn’t have the energy to go, and he always went to home games. Before Rosalie, he’d loved the game; now, it had turned into a sick form of self-inflicted torture. He couldn’t watch without thinking of Rosalie, imagining what she’d say about a call, the names she’d call the refs, or the way she’d bounce on the bed when the Islanders penetrated the blue line or rushed the goal. Watching her through a power play was a thing of beauty. Her cheeks would pink with excitement, and she’d look the exact same way she did when she was turned on.
Shit, he did this to himself every time. He’d watch hockey, thinking of her the whole time, and all he’d have to show for it was a broken and bleeding heart and a hard-on—one that seemed to become nonexistent around every other women.
He’d tried jumping back into the dating scene. He’d had tickets to a fundraiser at the New York Philharmonic and had asked a gorgeous woman he’d met while she was doing a commercial for Romeo’s. She was nothing like Rosalie, so he figured he’d be fine. He’d go out, have a good time, and sleep with Bridget. Or was it Barbara? Hmm . . . maybe Brenda. No, it was Brooke. That was her name, Brooke. He’d sleep with Brooke and get Rosalie out of his system. He’d taken her out and made small talk—very small talk. It wasn’t as if there was anything wrong with her. She was nice, intelligent, and beautiful, but she wasn’t Rosalie. He went as far as her front door.
The whole time he was out with Brooke, he’d felt as if he were cheating. Stupid, he knew, since Rosalie was the one who’d stepped out on him.
God, every time he thought about the last time he saw Rosalie, the pain knocked the wind right out of him.
The doorbell rang, and Nick grabbed his wallet to pay for the pizza he’d ordered. He’d only wanted the pizza to go with the beer he’d bought. He’d given up Jack Daniels since that week in the Hamptons. He’d begun to worry about his drinking.
God, he was a mess—a fact that Lois reminded him of on a daily basis. He hadn’t been this miserable since his first week in Juvie. He never thought he’d survive that, but at least in there, he knew his release date. He had no idea how long this pain would last.
Nick opened the door and pulled a fifty out of his wallet. He looked up just as a fist crashed into his face.