“She was your best fucking friend.”

“Was—just like I was your wife. Funny how one three-lettered word says so much, huh?”

His face turned red and it looked like he was about to really lose it, but he leaned in closer so that we were nose to nose— lip to lip. “Stop pretending like you don’t care, Claire. You do. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Are you sick too? Please tell me St Francis has you scheduled for a few nights in their psych ward—I’ve heard they give out Jell-O now. Is cherry still your favorite?”

“All you have to do is talk to her for five minutes. It won’t kill you.”

“Yes, it will. Now, please—”

I heard the shattering of glass to my right—heard it echoing through the wind and cutting through the sound of pelting raindrops.

I looked over and saw Jonathan standing underneath a black umbrella, holding onto a single white lily—the only one that hadn’t fallen to the ground.

I moved my leg from around Ryan’s waist, but he was still gripping my arm and pinning me against my car. I tried to catch my breath and find the right words to say to Jonathan, the words that would tell him that what he was seeing was just a huge misunderstanding. But the way he was looking at me told me that he wouldn’t believe a single word I said.

The look on his face was one of anger, confusion, hurt. He looked over my fitted dress, at Ryan’s stance, at the small sliver of distance that was between the two of us.

“Get your fucking hands off of her. Right now.” His voice was colder than I’d ever heard it before.

Ryan immediately moved his hands and smiled an evil smile at me. It looked like he was about to say something rude, but Jonathan spoke first.

“If you value your life, Hayes—I suggest you get the fuck out of my sight before I take it away.”

Ryan looked at Jonathan and rolled his eyes, slowly backing away from underneath my umbrella, stepping out into the rain.

I watched him fade into the rush of umbrella holders that were now rushing out into the parking lot. I turned to face Jonathan again and realized he was still staring at me, looking as if I’d just broken his heart.

He bent down to pick up the white envelope that was on top of the shattered vase and flowers. Then he slowly strolled over to me and placed the single lily he was holding and that card on top of my car.

He narrowed his eyes at me and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Jonathan...” I could see the hurt in his eyes. “Let me explain...You know exactly how I feel about—”

He walked away before I could finish my sentence.

I rushed over to Jonathan’s office and stopped at Angela’s desk. I’d tried to run after him in the parking lot minutes ago, but he’d slipped away.

“Miss Gracen?” She looked up at me. “Are you okay? Would you like me to have someone bring you a set of dry clothes? A cup of hot coffee perhaps?”

I shook my head. I was drenched from head to toe, but I was too distressed to feel anything.

“I need to speak to Jonathan.”

She sighed and looked down at her hands. “He’s not accepting any unscheduled appointments.”

“Bullshit, Angela. He’s back there and you know it. Tell him I’m here. Now.”

She picked up her phone. “Mr. Statham? I...Yes sir...” She put the phone down. “He told me to tell you to go home.”

I swallowed and pulled my phone out of my pocket, calling him for the tenth time since I’d left Starbucks.

It didn’t even ring twice. He hit ignore.

“Angela, please...” I knew she had the only other key to his door. “Could you just let me in and I’ll deal with whatever he says?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Gracen. I can’t afford to lose this job. He made the orders very clear.” She pulled a notepad and an envelope from her drawer. “I can make sure he gets your message though. I’ll make sure he reads it.”

I felt tears falling down my face and nodded to say ‘Thank you.’ I scribbled down my message, signing it with an ‘I love you’ and then I slowly drove myself home. Alone.

And I kept driving myself to the same empty house for the rest of the week...

Thursday September 18, 2014

Jonathan

I don’t have shit to say.

Chapter 13

Jonathan

I stared out my office window, watching heavy sheets of rain fall over the city. As hard as I tried to rationalize what I’d seen in that parking lot, I couldn’t help but feel hurt.

My heart damn near broke at the sight of seeing her with someone else, but once I realized it was him—her ex-husband, it practically shattered.

Why didn’t she call me?

I knew there had to be a logical explanation—some type of reason, so I picked up my phone to call her, but there was already a call waiting.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Statham?” It was a high pitched voice. Miss Corwin.

“Good afternoon, Miss Corwin. Can I help you with something?”

“Yes, I um...I’ve been leaving messages with your fiancée, but she hasn’t gotten back to me. I’ll be staying in town for the next few weeks, so would you mind leaving me a wedding invitation with your secretary? I asked Miss Gracen to mail me one, but she probably forgot.”

“When was this?”

“When was what?”

“When did you ask her to mail you the invitation?” I knew damn well we’d made her one. In fact, we’d made her ten, just in case she wanted to incorporate them into the reception space somehow.

“Um...Well, I asked her that night you came to L.A., remember? And I called her two weeks ago about it.”

“And you never received it?”

“No...” Her voice was soft. “I’m sorry if I’m causing you any trouble...”

“It’s no trouble. I’ll have it delivered to you personally.”

“Thank you...”

I hung up and called Milton.

“I’m on my way to your office, Jonathan.” He picked up on the first ring. “No need to act like you actually give a damn about my financial reports today.”

“That’s not why I’m calling.”

“Of course it isn’t. What do you want?”

“Have you received my wedding invitation in the mail yet?”

There was a sudden knock on my door and I walked over to answer it.

“Would you like me to keep talking into the phone?” Milton walked into my office. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did.”

“Did you receive a wedding invitation?”

He shrugged. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m pretty sure, but I don’t need one of those to be there if that’s why you’re asking...”

I shook my head. “No...I’m just...I’m just wondering.”

He asked me to give him a few minutes to get his files organized and I took a seat at my desk. I sent out a text to five people, five people who I knew I had personally told Claire to invite—addresses and all, and waited for them to tell me if they had received their invitation in the mail.

Their responses came back instantly: “No.” “No...” “No.” “I need an invitation to get in?” “No.”

What the fuck?!

I prepared to text Angela to get to the bottom of it, but I accidentally hit my email app and saw a message labeled: URGENT. It was from our cake designer:

To: Statham, Jonathan

From: Elegant Cakes, Inc.

Mr. Statham,

My name is Jacqueline Russell and I am the manager of Elegant Cakes. Per my conversation with your fiancée two weeks ago, I wanted to make sure that you were canceling your complete order which includes: One five tiered wedding cake, two three tiered dream cakes, and the customized frozen anniversary cake.

Since your name is on the contract and we have your signature on file, we’ll need you to verify that this information is correct.