More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

The turn of the lock sounds horribly final. And the truth sinks in.

If I don’t do something really fucking drastic, it’s over—for good.

After the sleepless overnight flight I had back to Dallas, my shithole of a day, the life-altering orgasm with Sloan, followed by the crushing pain of her dismissal, I’m toast. I head for the nearest hotel, grab a room, and pray that tomorrow will be better.

But it’s not. Tuesday is simply another level of awful.

Sloan is still nowhere to be found. And instead of Reservoir’s employees telling me they don’t know where to find my wife or claiming they can’t spare a moment to talk to me about my plans for their department, as they did yesterday, now when they see me coming, they simply turn their backs.

It’s fucking infuriating and humiliating at once.

Tuesday evening I return to Sloan’s place to try to talk to her. She refuses to answer the door. Nothing I say or do cracks her resolve or changes her mind.

It hits me that she may actually never speak to me again.

I’m crushed.

Not only that, neither Evan nor I have heard from Michael Astor in nearly forty-eight hours. To say my boss is unhappy is a gross understatement.

Things go from bad to worse when I arrive at Reservoir’s office on Wednesday morning to find all the employees in the lobby, wearing ear-to-ear smiles and staring at someone in the middle of the crowd. The mood in the air is jubilant.

Uh-oh.

I’d love to march over there and demand to know what’s going on. Well, first I’d insist on seeing Sloan so we can clear up the steaming pile of crap between us. Since that’s not possible right now, I settle at the back of the lobby, tuck myself in the shadows, and try to figure out why the staff is in the mood to party.

“Speech. Speech. Speech!” the crowd begins to chant.

Finally, I see a crown of fiery hair appear above the others as Sloan accepts a hand up to stand on the receptionist’s desk and someone whistles at everyone to settle down.

My stomach takes a nosedive. I have a bad feeling about this.

Sloan turns in a circle, trying to address the employees surrounding her. Her triumphant smile is a sucker punch to the gut.

I held her less than two days ago, but since then I’ve missed her so fucking much I’m half insane. If I can’t figure out how to assure Sloan that my feelings for Becca are nothing compared to the love bleeding from my heart for her and I can’t convince my wife that I’ll always put her first, what the fuck am I going to do?

Lose her.

“Okay, everyone. Quiet down! My voice may be big for someone short, but I want to make sure everyone can hear.” Silence falls to an excited hush in the room as my wife stands in front of everyone, on the pedestal she deserves. “Thank you all. I’ve been doing a lot of talking and negotiating with Michael Astor over these past two days. There’s lots more to go still, but…I’ve also spoken to Bruce Rawson. He’s agreed to invoke the escape clause in our agreement with Stratus. This is my roundabout way of saying the rumors are true. We’ve officially landed the Wynam account for the next five years!”

My eyes clamp shut. Dread slides to my belly. Defeat sludges through my veins.

One realization slams through me: Sloan doesn’t need me for anything anymore.

It’s over.

Son of a bitch.

“That means we’ll all be staying together as one big, happy family without any external influence—or cash. So we’re charting our own destiny from here on out. I can’t tell you there won’t be significant challenges, because there will. The previous management committed some serious ethics violations and brought us perilously close to bankruptcy. We’ll all have to postpone receiving a couple of paychecks until cash starts flowing again. But with this new client, careful planning, and diligent stewardship of our corporate funds, we should be able to survive the next few years—and hopefully thrive after that. And since several of you have asked, yes, the other rumors are true, too. Mr. Rawson has appointed me the new CEO of Reservoir, effective immediately.”

Another round of cheers echo off the tile floors and deafen me.

In my heart, I’m happy that Sloan now has everything she’s ever wanted—her father’s tacit approval, control of the company that means so much to her, and getting to heave-ho her nemesis and husband.

There’s no one more deserving of happiness.

Unfortunately, I’m left with nothing. I’ve failed my best friend, the company I’ve dedicated a decade to, and myself. Worst of all, I went at Sloan full throttle. She was my competition, sure. But when I realized she was so much more to me, why didn’t I do something different?

No, I need to ask that question with more honesty. Instead of assuming I would eventually win her over and she would accept my status quo, why didn’t I do the one thing she needed most from me? Why didn’t I put her first?