Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

That night I slept in the library on the chesterfield sofa.

In the morning, I left at dawn and sent Leah back to the city with Trevor.

I didn’t want to see her.

I couldn’t bear to see her.

It would hurt too much.

On Monday I had a check sent to her.

On Tuesday I signed the papers to buy the theater and told Max I didn’t want to tear it down.

On Wednesday I went to the diner to apologize because I owed her that. I could handle seeing her in a public place. Maybe. I needed to man up and say I was sorry for leaving her at my parents’ house and explain why. That it had hurt like hell and I wasn’t used to letting anyone in. That I’d let her fully in, fallen in love, and then fucked it up because I didn’t know what I was doing.

I wanted to say all of that and more.

But she wasn’t even there.

“She doesn’t work here anymore,” the hostess told me.

“What?” I frowned at her. Leah had worked there for years. She’d told me that. Would she quit to avoid seeing me? It didn’t seem like her style. Leah was a dreamer and an optimist, but she was also practical.

The other server Leah had always worked with eyed me up and down, a stack of dirty dishes in her hand. “She got fired. She called in sick then boss man saw she was partying in the Hamptons with you. She didn’t tell you?”

No. She hadn’t told me.

I left the diner. Stood on the corner, thought a minute.

Then turned around and went back in.

“What is going on in here?” Felicia said, pounding on my door. “You’ve been in your room for three days and I’m freaking out that you’re spiraling.”

Oh. I was spiraling. That was an understatement. “Go away.”

“No. I’m coming in.”

I hadn’t bothered to lock my door because who cared about anything? Not me.

Felicia shoved the door open, flipped on the light, and stepped into my room, wrinkling her nose. I can’t say the room was smelling fresh.

I blinked against the harsh light like a baby mole. I’d been in the dark for three days with only my phone for light.

“Oh, hell no,” she said, when she saw me. “No, no, and no.”

“Leave me alone,” I said, clutching the bottle of wine to my chest. The bottle of wine I was holding against the Valentino cocktail dress Grant had bought me, that I was currently wearing while lying in my bed, slippers on my feet.

I took a sip of wine. My hair was a rat’s nest and my cheeks were tight from dried tears.

“This is not healthy.”

“Of course it’s not healthy! It’s me having a meltdown. If I were you, I’d look away. It ain’t pretty.”

“Leah. Give me the wine.” She held her hand out and gave me a firm look. “When did you last eat?”

“I’m eating grapes,” I said, not interested in relinquishing my bottle.

I was, without question, totally drunk.