Funny how he says this just as my phone buzzes and an email from Angelina Clark pops right up on the screen.

Picking up my cellphone, I slide it into my pocket, take out my wallet, and drop some money on the table for my bill.

He looks at me as I adjust my tie, grabbing a chicken wrap off the tray. “It won’t happen, sir.”

“Damn right it won’t,” he mutters just as I turn and bite into the wrap.

“I will have the rest of the sheets sent to you tonight.”

I walk away before he can speak again, and I’m lucky that his cellphone rings. Mine buzzes in my pocket as I reach my car and I take it out. Another email from Angelina.

Angelina Clark: Hey, Mr. Boyd

Angelina Clark: What would you say if I just so happened

to fly out to Miami tomorrow?

Griffin Boyd: I would call you crazy, but I damn sure won’t stop you.

Angelina Clark : Crazy, why?

Griffin Boyd : You really want to know?

Angelina Clark: Yes. I would love to know.

You have me pretty curious now.

Griffin Boyd: Because I’ve been thinking nonstop

about your wet pussy since San Diego.

Coming here is asking for me to bend you over backwards

and fuck the shit out of you again.

Angelina Clark: Oh, really?

Griffin Boyd: Really. And this time I won’t hesitate.

Angelina Clark: Well, then, Mr. Boyd.

I guess I’m on my way.

Don’t make plans. Okay?

Griffin Boyd: Besides work and you, there are no others, Angel.

Angelina Clark: Good. I’ll tell you what hotel and room when I arrive. Promise to come by?

Griffin Boyd: You have my word, Angel.

I get into my car, a smile twitching at my lips as I shut the door behind me. Mr. Steven Jenkins is still in there, eating and most likely smoking his life away. He thinks he’s running this show, but let’s be honest.

He isn’t.

I run this. I now own my life. All he gets is a percentage of the large amounts of money I make daily. It’s nothing. Just money. An object.

I’m taking my life back.

I’m making myself happy again, even if my wife wants to remain miserable. I have tried with her. I have been the bigger person. All I want is to see her smile, but if she can’t even do that, well, then I guess it’s time for me to worry about myself and my satisfaction in life from now on.

I can’t rely on her to make me happy. It’s time to create my own kind of happiness. After years of desolation and slight depression, it’s time to move forward.

I have done counseling, and eased out of it with flying colors. I have forgiven myself repeatedly. I have accepted my faults and realized that mistakes do happen, even to the most successful of men, even if she hasn’t.

I am ready to live my life again, and if that means I have to live it without her then so be it. I will do just that.

FIFTEEN

Colette

Griffin went to lunch with my father. Explains why he’s come back in such a dull mood, looking at me from the door.

Yeah, I notice. He’s even more slumped than he was when he left. I refuse to see my Dad. He’s an asshole, always comparing me to my oh-so-perfect older sister Beth.

Beth Jenkins, the business bitch. The one who knows her politics, how to cut a deal, and let’s not forget the way she wraps herself around Dad’s finger. I don’t care for any of it. But because my mind is a touch more creative than theirs, I’m the weird one.

Whatever.

Mom is the only one who has never minded it, though she does worry a lot about me in general. Speaking of, I should really give her a call. Pry for some dirt on Beth. Mom never holds back, and I love hearing that Beth struggles, probably even more than I do.

Griffin’s arms fold across his chest, and before he can speak, I say, “The Potters are coming over for dinner tonight. Arianna and her sister will be cooking for us.”

His eyebrows pull together. “Tonight?”

“Yes.” I glance over my canvas. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes, it is. I have some things to take care of at work. I’ll probably be there all night.”

I frown. “Things like what?”

“Work stuff. Mr. Jenkins wants the rest of my reports tonight. I have to finalize the rest before having Kelly send them all off.”

I narrow my eyes, halting on my next brushstroke and squeezing the wooden handle. “And you can’t do that down the hallway in your home office?”

“My files are at my real office. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you. It’s work. I have to get it done.” He turns and walks away and I drop my brush, rushing for him as he gets to the bedroom.

“Griffin, are you fucking serious? You cannot leave me to have dinner alone with the Potters! God, I hate them so much! All they do is brag about what they have, like we can’t acquire the same exact shit!”

He pulls down his overnight bag. “Well, cancel the dinner then. Reschedule. Something.”

I release an exasperated breath, stepping around him. “I can’t just cancel now, Griffin. This was planned since last month. I told you about this.”

“Well, my job is much more important than dinner with the Potter’s, Colette.” He sighs, turning around to face me. He looks me over, my body smothered in different colored paint.

I know I should be getting ready, showering away this mess, but I’m just like him. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to do dinner. I don’t want to force smiles or indulge in their bullshit lives.

I just want to be left alone.

Why does this have to be my life now? Pretending to be someone I’m not. I refuse to stay alone here with them. If I cancel, they will wonder what’s going on. They will pry and snoop and I can’t have that.

I can’t have anyone thinking we don’t keep our word or we are having issues. Not after all they know. I need Griffin here, and if manipulating him into it will do the trick, then so be it.

My breathing thickens as I unbutton my blouse and then my jeans.

He watches me with hard, confused eyes. “Colette, what are you doing?” One of his brows is quirked, and he steps back as I walk forward.

When my paint-stained shirt is tossed aside and Griffin’s back is against the wall, I press my chest against his, point my face up, and kiss his lips. He doesn’t kiss me back.

It’s been a while since we’ve done this whole mouth-to-mouth thing. I don’t expect him to. It’s been so long since I’ve done something like this with him, all so that I can get things to go my way.

So I make up a quick lie, some bullshit pill I know he will swallow. “I feel like you’re still mad at me about that whole San Diego flight thing.” I reach behind me and unlatch the hook of my bra. It falls, hitting the carpet. “I just wanted you home, Griffin. Is that so bad?”

His face is still solid, eyes dropping to the breasts that are now on full display. “I’m not. It’s fine.” His voice is tight, like he wants to say more but needs to control himself.