Sorry, Bride,
But I need a woman more in keeping with my celebrity image. I'm going places and I need the kind of woman at my side who will help me, not hinder me.
I'll have your things delivered to your building. Here's some money for a hotel room tonight in case you don't have any vacant rooms.
Best,
Taylor
"You sorry, sycophantic, scum-sucking dog," she snarled as she read it again and pain engulfed her so profoundly that it was all she could do not to burst into tears. Her boyfriend of five years was breaking up with her through a letter that he'd charged to her business account?
"Damn you to hell, you filthy snake!" she snarled.
Normally Bride would sooner cut her own head off than cuss, but this this warranted serious language.
And an ax to her ex-boyfriend's head.
She fought the urge to scream. And the need she felt to get into her SUV, go over to his television station, and pound him into itty-bitty bloody pieces.
Damn him!
A tear rolled down her cheek. Bride wiped it away and sniffed. She wouldn't cry over this. He so wasn't worth it.
Really, he wasn't, and deep inside she wasn't surprised. For the last six months, she'd known this was coming. Had felt it every time Taylor put her on another diet or signed her up for another exercise program.
Not to mention the important dinner party two weeks ago at the Aquarium where he
had told her that he didn't want her to join him. "There's no need in you getting all dressed up for something so boring. Really. It's best that I go alone."
She'd known the minute he'd finished speaking that he wouldn't be around much longer.
Still it hurt. Still she ached. How could he do such a thing?
Like this! she thought angrily as she waved the letter around like a lunatic in the middle of her store.
But then she knew. Taylor had never really been happy with her. The only reason he had gone out with her was because her cousin was a manager at a local television station. Taylor had wanted a job there and, like a fool, she had helped him to get it.
Now that he was safely ensconced in his position and his ratings were at the top, he pulled this stunt.
Fine. She didn't need him anyway.
She was better off without him.
But all the arguments in the world didn't ease the bitter, awful pain in her chest that made her want to curl up into a ball and cry until she was spent.
"I won't do it," she said, wiping away another tear. "I won't give him the satisfaction of crying."
Throwing the letter away, she seized her vacuum cleaner with a vengeance.
Her little boutique needed cleaning.
You just vacuumed.
She could just vacuum again until the damned carpet was threadbare.
Vane Kattalakis felt like shit. He'd just left Grace Alexander's office where the goodand he used the word with full rancorpsychologist had told him there was nothing in the world that could heal his brother until his brother was willing to heal.
It wasn't what he needed to hear. Psychobabble was for humans, it wasn't for wolves who needed to get their stupid asses out of Dodge before they lost them.