Protecting Her: A Romance Bundle

“I wanted to make sure you were doing okay,” he said smiling. “I know with the divorce and everything else going on with Jordan and Tiffany, he may not be the most reliable person right now. And she won’t be back for about a month, which kills me because she’s my right-hand woman. Don’t get me wrong. I completely understand why she would want to be at home. She has handled all of this with grace and dignity, and I want to make sure we do the same with her.”

“Absolutely,” I said nodding my head. “And I am all here, so anything you need you just come and grab me.”

“Thanks, son,” he said tapping his fist on the desk. “Oh, your mother wanted to know if you were coming to dinner Friday?”

“I have plans right now, but I’m not sure what time they start,” I replied. “I’ll let her know as soon as I can.”

“No problem,” he said. “We missed you at the last dinner.”

“Missed you, too,” I said, watching him walking from the office.

In all reality, missing me was probably the farthest thing from their minds. They missed Tiffany and the light she brought to the table every time she approached. I wasn’t going to lie. I missed her, too, maybe too much.

Chapter Four

Tiffany

I pulled my soft plush blanket from the dryer and wrapped it around my shoulders, soaking in the warmth it brought to my body. I sighed, rubbing the fabric against my cheek and dragging myself to the couch. I looked at the display I had laid out on the table in front of me. There were several bottles of wine, some snacks, a lot of junk food, and about five cheesy romance movies. It was like the divorced woman’s starter pack, and I had bought right into it. I had spent the week pretty much asleep most of the time and decided it was time I take the next step, moving my body from the bed to the couch and shoving useless calories, hand over fist, i

nto it. I knew it was pathetic and not grown up of me at all, but my heart was broken, my brain was tired, and I still hadn’t had the chance to come to terms with being infertile, with not bearing my own children. It was extraordinarily depressing and read like one of the movies I was about to watch, except there was no happily ever after in my case.

I groaned as I reached across and grabbed the remote, laying my head down on the pillow and pressing play. I pulled the blanket farther over my head and placed the wine glass I was drinking from down on the floor below me. I plopped a straw in it and sipped slowly as my face still rested on the couch. It was probably the laziest thing I had ever done, and though I knew I had pretty much hit rock bottom, I didn’t really give a damn. While I was here, eating my twenty-thousand-dollar check in the form of Twizzlers and wine, Jordan, my now ex-husband, was out perusing the bars, looking for the next Mrs. Banks who could produce an heir to his pathetic and sad empire. I chuckled to myself wondering how he would ensure his next bride was fruitful. Would he require a gynecological examination as terms for the marriage? Would he make them sign a waiver saying they could produce human beings from their loins? I guess, for the right girl, especially one looking for the money, they would jump at the chance to give Jordan Banks a child. That would seal the deal and create a comfortable living situation for the rest of their lives. I guess I had been the guinea pig.

I knew I should get up, shower, get functioning, but I gave into my desire to spend my Friday night, Saturday night, and possibly Sunday into Monday, lying here on the couch crying away the minutes. Hell, I had accrued enough sick time and vacation that I could stretch this self-pity party out for an entire month if I wanted to. John, Jordan’s father had been so kind and sweet to me, knowing his son decided to skip out on our marriage but not knowing why. I was pretty sure if he knew why, he might punch Jordan over the head and as much as I would love to see that, I also knew it would completely destroy Jordan’s relationship with his parents. I was angry, but I had never been a vindictive person, truly believing that those who did harm to others would find their penalty later in life. I guess you could say I believed in karma. And Jordan’s karma wasn’t racking up too good in the background. I almost expected to see a nuclear explosion when all his bad deeds came rolling around back to him.

I had been so thankful for Jordan’s family, for their love. They’d sent me flowers throughout the week and insisted I not use my vacation time and sick leave when taking a month off. I loved my job, and I loved working for Mr. Banks. He was like family to me, and up to five days ago, legally, he was family to me. I didn’t know what to expect when Jordan first served legal papers about the divorce and was afraid the Banks would take his side, firing me from my job, and demeaning me to everyone. However, just as I knew it would be deep down, they reached out to me, and I couldn’t have been more thankful. Still, as I laid on my couch searching for an answer to my heartbreak, part of me didn’t even know if I wanted to go back to the company when the air had cleared. It was one thing to work for your ex-in-laws, it was another to work side by side with your ex-husband. I just didn’t know if I could sit back and deal with being around him on a regular basis like that. And God forbid the day he started dating someone else who worked in the office. I would have to endure the hell of watching him flirt and talk to another woman the way he used to with me. Just the thought of it made me sick to my stomach, and I tried to push the thought from my mind.

I sipped harder on my straw, bleeding the glass dry and looking down into my empty glass. It kind of resembled how my soul felt, sucked dry and left to wonder where to go from there. Luckily, as far as my wine glass was concerned, I knew exactly where to go from there. I pulled myself up and situated the blanket over my shoulders, reaching for the next bottle of wine, or what I liked to refer to as, my next victim. I chuckled to myself wondering if that was how Jordan referred to the women in his life. Did he number them? Victim one, victim two, and so on? Did he sit back and laugh evilly from the throne room of his castle in Manhattan, looking down at all the “little people” of New York? I shook my head, realizing I really needed to put down the bottle, my imagination was starting to get away from me.

As I popped the cork on the next bottle of wine, watching it fall to the floor and roll into the kitchen, I heard a knock on the door. I rolled my eyes and groaned, wondering who in the world would come knocking, willfully destroying the flow of alcohol into my veins. I dragged myself, still wrapped in the blanket, to the door and opened it wide, staring at Mona, my best friend.

“Oh,” I said turning and walking back toward the couch.

“It’s good to see you too,” she said, shutting the door behind her.

“I was hoping you were the grim reaper, come to take me to the land of plenty,” I said sarcastically.

Mona looked down at the array of junk food on the table and poked at the stale pizza sitting in the box. “Appetizing,” she said, looking down at my glass and straw. “Oh, that’s very inventive of you.”

“Yeah, I thought about just going in one hundred percent and starting an IV, but I figured I’d probably screw it up,” I replied, pouring the wine into the glass. “I didn’t want to be found with one lung full of chardonnay and be labeled the old lonely divorced woman with a thousand cats.”

“You don’t have any cats,” she said flatly.

“Yeah, but when I had finally died, I’m sure they would sense me and come crawling through the windows,” I replied, lying back down on the couch and sipping my wine through the straw.

“Girl, I think it's time for an intervention,” she said, picking up the empty bottle of wine and grimacing at the label.

“What? I’ve only had one bottle this afternoon,” I whined.

“No, not the wine,” she chuckled. “You need to stop moping around like this. You are starting to freak out the neighbors.”

“Whatever,” I replied. “I don’t even think they know I still live here.”

“Well, from the looks of your yard and the papers stacked up out front, they might think the house was taken over by squatters,” she replied.

“You do remember it’s only been five days since I signed away my future,” I said, feeling my heart drop back down into my stomach.

“Yes, I remember. But I also remember it’s been a month since you found out about it,” she reminded. “This guy is such a loser. Like, grade A loser. Seriously, on the women’s timescale chart, you seriously should have only spent twenty-two hours and thirteen minutes of grieving on him. That makes you, like, I don’t even know how many hours behind.”