Her heart fell when she read: Desiree.
But she answered, “Hi. ”
“I’ve found The One. ” Excitement bubbled through her voice. “It’s nine million. A slight cliff, but you can still see the beach from the outdoor seating area, with two paths down to the beach—a stairway going straight down and a ramp on the other end of the property. The landscaping is stunning, lots of room for Rodie. An infinity pool and twelve-person hot tub overlooking the yard and the ocean. ”
Desiree barely took a breath, and before Rubi could respond, continued. “Millions of arched windows, matching doors, and room transitions. Light wood, plaster-white walls, cathedral ceilings. Four bedrooms, four baths, an office, four-thousand square feet—not too big, and it’s only a couple of years old. Really, Rubi, I know this is it. ”
Rubi downed the rest of her wine. “Thanks D, but I’m…” Royally fucked up? Yes, I am. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I want anymore. ”
Desiree hesitated, then proceeded with a slow, confused “What…do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m just…confused. And I’m tired of looking and being disappointed. I just can’t look at anything else right now. I’ve got to get this junk into storage, and I haven’t convinced any decent hotel to take Rodie yet. I’m really inundated right now. ” She pressed a hand to the ache overtaking her forehead and closed her eyes. Tears pushed over her lashes and ran down her cheeks. But that happened so often now, they didn’t even faze her. “Can you give me a few days?”
“Rubi, honey, I know you’re stressed, but I promise you this one is magical. It just went on the market an hour ago. A girlfriend working in the Realtor’s office knew I was looking for you and called to tell me—”
“I understand, D. I do. I’ll get back to you. ”
She disconnected with so much turmoil whipping through her, she pitched the phone across the room. It hit a mirror—the only fucking mirror in the whole goddamned thousand-foot suite—and shattered. The mirror and the phone.
Nothing in her life made sense anymore. She didn’t know what she was doing or why. All she wanted was Wes. And she’d screwed that to hell and back. Just as she’d realized going to Missouri had been a mistake once the plane had reached thirty-thousand feet, she’d known leaving had been an even bigger mistake at the same point on the flight home.
He’d been home from his parents for over a week now and hadn’t contacted her. And she didn’t blame him. She’d clearly demonstrated that she wasn’t wired for forever. The concept short-circuited her synapses and made her do stupid, uncharacteristic things. Made her hurt Wes. And he didn’t deserve that.
Rubi picked up the landline on the nightstand and dialed Lexi’s cell.
On the third ring, Lexi picked up with a hushed “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied. “Why would you think that?”
“Because you never call me when I’m with a client, even if I tell you to. ”
“I was just checking to see if she canceled. You were so sure she would. ”
“I was. ” Lexi’s tone took on a disgusted edge. “But then the fiancé found out that Jax Chamberlin, stuntman, and Bentley Chamberlin, movie star, were one and the same. Then insisted they keep the appointment. Believe me, this is not a business dinner. It’s an I-love-Bentley dinner. Jax has been kicking me under the table for half an hour. ”
Rubi forced a chuckle at the secret sign Jax had developed for letting Lexi know it was time to leave one of the many dinners, cocktail parties, brunches, and business meetings they attended. “Ah well. You two have fun with that. I’ll catch you tomorrow maybe. ”
She disconnected and set the old-fashioned phone in its cradle. Picked it up. Put it down. Picked it up.
“Fuck. ” And slammed it down.
When she turned back to the boxes, anxiety gushed through her system. Overwhelmed. She was simply overwhelmed. Her mind overtaxed with stress and confusion. Her body overtaxed with pain and loneliness. All her own fault. Which only led her to her recent discovery that she hated who she was. Hated who she’d let herself become.
She needed a release valve before she exploded.
Rubi poured another glass of wine but slammed the bottle on the nightstand. She didn’t want any more wine. She wanted out. Out of her body. Out of her head. Out of her heart.
Rubi finished dressing and applying makeup by avoiding direct eye contact with herself in the mirror in the bathroom. Made it through the drive to the club by hammering the latest club mixes through the Aston’s incredible speakers. Even managed to get from her car to Stilettos’ front doors by responding to the friendly, even excited welcome from acquaintances outside the club.
But once she’d slipped in the door, she was swallowed by the darkness, buffers and support gone. Rubi stepped aside and surveyed the space. Everything was the same. Exactly the same. The people, the dress, the music, the furniture, the bars. All the same. Yet the zing of adrenaline she’d always experienced simply stepping in the door was absent. Her desire to mingle and chat, nonexistent. She searched for familiar faces, someone comfortable to ease her back into the scene, and spotted Roméo working the bar.
Okay, that could work.
So why couldn’t she move toward him? Why wouldn’t her feet move from this spot? And why did she feel like she wanted to puke?
Rubi leaned her shoulder against a wall and crossed her arms. Katy Perry’s “Roar” pounded through the club, but Rubi experienced no desire to move to the beat. No rush of anticipation for the night ahead. Friends waved her over from their seats at the bar, and Roméo flashed her
a grin and lifted the liquor bottle from which he’d been pouring, toward her in greeting.