Filthy Gorgeous (29 page)

She doesn’t.

Her voice is composed when she speaks. “I’m heading home now, Alex. Thanks for coming.”

I watch from the sidewalk as the cab pulls away.

Then I walk away and I don’t look back.

Chapter Twenty

Ella is two weeks gone, and I still feel like I’ve been hit by a garbage truck and had my limbs reattached the wrong way round. Have you ever been so consumed—dare I say—infatuated with somebody, and then
boom,
they’re gone?

My stomach aches when I dare to remember the last time I saw her beautiful face. Seeing her so unfazed crushed my soul.

I was so confident she’d stay in New York. I was so fucking sure she’d come back to me, that what we had meant something.
Anything
.

How could she just use me to rebuild her confidence like that? I mean, I disbanded my goddamn harem for her for Christ’s sake.

I wake up each morning, and for just a split second, I feel she’s lying next to me. How can one person affect you so much? I’ve had women—hundreds of wome
n—
why does this feel wrong?

My emotions waver between an aching loss, denial, and anger. She rejected me.

She chose Paris.

I try jerking off every day to relieve the pain. It’s useless. I don’t have the energy, or the muse.

Now I’m back at work, going through the motions. I type. I pitch. I write e-mails. But, none of it matters. There’s an empty hole where my heart used to be, like the tin man from
The Wizard of Oz.

Karl busts through the door of my office.  “Good morning, Grizzly Adams.” He sniffs the air and immediately stalks over toward my desk. “Is that Jack I can smell?”

He’s referring to the empty bottle in my waste basket, not my father. I hope. I hold it above my head. “It’s Jim, and no, you can’t have any. I’m saving that last drop to go with lunch.”

Karl pushes his glasses onto his head and sniffs the air. “Oh, Christ. Is it time for an intervention? Just say the word and I’ll call Parker.” He tugs at me beard. “Dude, you have to shave. You’re pitching to America’s leading razor-blade company tomorrow afternoon. The ferret on your chin must die.”

I sigh loudly and spin around in my Dr. Evil chair. And now Raj is here. He must have got my invitation to the pity party. Want to hear something so depressing that I actually considered hurling myself off the Chrysler Building?

Raj still has a woman, someone to go home to and make love to, and I don’t. Yep. The world must have flipped on its axis. Not that I want any woman.

Not now I’ve had Ella.

Jesus, my stomach gripes each time I think or say her name.

“Boss, take a look at this. It’s hot off the press.” Raj throws a magazine on my desk. It’s the latest copy of
NY Style
. I glance at the front cover and see a devilishly handsome man with green eyes and dimples looking right back at me.

Guess who?

Yep –
yours truly
.

The accompanying headline is; ‘Meet Alexander Slade: NY Style’s Bachelor of the Year.’

Year?

I’m shaking as I skip through the pages. Eat shit and die, Tanner Robson—he’s in at twenty-three. I keep going until I reach number one, and then I find the article.

Four pages of Alexander Slade in glorious high-res gloss.

As my eyes skim over the words, I feel a small smile tug at my lips.

Take a look at this:

… sparking green eyes, dimples to die for… charismatic smile and charm that could melt the hardest of hearts… sharp-shooter, intelligent and oozes sex appeal, Alexander Slade isn’t your typical kind of guy… any woman should consider herself lucky to capture his heart … he’s self-assured enough to confess up to the fact he has a cockatoo named Petie ... his signature cocktail, the ‘Pink Sladie,’ is … he’s strong-willed, his appetite …

a real modern day Mr. Darcy...

Karl rubs his eyes and slaps me on the back. “Four pages of ass-kissing. You still convinced she hates you? This is the kind of shit Parker should have put in your advert. Once the females of New York get hold of this you’ll have your harem rebuilt within an hour.

I’m stunned.

Karl is still talking. I think. “… and now they know where you work, we’ll have to upgrade the security.”

Look at this. Ella even signed off with her name—her name, not her colleagues, and she wrote this before her leaving party. Those are her words.

I’m her number one.

Not Tyler Strickland.

Not Tanner Robson.

Jesus Christ.

This is unreal. The room is spinning. I stand up, pull on my jacket, and tell the guys I’m sick.

Then I head home. 

***

I must have reread the entire article two hundred times since yesterday, picking apart and analyzing every word. What does it all mean? Is she hot for me, or is she turning me into the hottest bachelor in New York so I have that new toys to play with that I’ll forget about all about her?

Like that’s ever going to happen.

She’s one of a kind. Irreplaceable. I know that now.

I swig another mouthful of beer. I wonder if she knows how much I ache for her? And then I remember her leaving party. I shouldn’t have taken Kelly. I shouldn’t have fucked with her head. I’ve really screwed the pooch this time. Ella Bryant didn’t deserve to be treated like shit for following her dreams.

What kind of stupid asshole am I?

I’m sitting in bed, penning love songs like a love-stricken, hormonal teenage boy.

I grab my guitar. “Sing it again, Petie. I’ll give you one more chance.” I strum the chords to
Umbrella
.

He hops from one foot to another, and sings. “Ella, Ella, Ella.”

Awesome.

I don’t think that I need to tell you who else would have enjoyed that. I fall back against my pillow and close my eyes. If I really have to wake up, then I hope to God that this has all been a bad dream.

“Alexander.”

My eyes snap open to find mom standing in the doorway, observing me through pitiful eyes. She hustles Petie back inside the cage and perches on the end of the bed.

Her voice aches with concern. “Alexander, look at this place. There’s bird seed and beer bottles all over the lounge.”

I groan and prop myself up on my elbows and reply in a husky voice. “Mom, how did you get in?”

“I got a spare key from Raj. Your father called me. He isn’t happy, Alex. Your phone is off. He said you were supposed to be in a presentation this afternoon.”

I fall back against my pillows.
Shit.
I forgot all about it. He’s going to kill me.

“Are you ill? It’s hard to tell with that rug on your face. Would you like me to make you some soup?”

I shake my head. My mother is obsessed with soup. Girlfriend left you? Home repossessed? Swine flu pandemic?  No problem. In mom’s world, there’s nothing that can’t be cured with a nice, hot bowl of chicken soup.

She pulls a copy of
NY Style
from her handbag. “Raj gave this to me. Tell me what happened, sweetheart?”

“Oh, mom.”

I take a deep breath and start right from the very beginning. I tell her about the advert. My interview for the article she’s holding up. The uncensored story of Jockass and the bar girl. The fight. She nods sympathetically. She says she had her suspicions. I explain how I introduced Ella to Professor Bernstein, how I tried to make her jealous at her own leaving party, and how my own stupid pride prevented me from going after her.

“Now she’s gone. She left me, mom.”

As I wind up my story, my mother sighs. “This is all our fault.”

I’m puzzled. “What?”

“We put pressure on you,” she stands up. Her face flushes. “I loathe to you tell this, but I think it’s relevant.” She brushes down her dress. “Back in the day, your father and I had only been dating for nine months when I found out I was pregnant. It was early days in our relationship, but I was sure he was the one. I decided I had to see him straight away, so I turned up at his office, unannounced, and I caught him … let’s just say that it was at that moment that I found out that your father had a harem. A harem! Can you believe it?”

Harem? The hypocritical old dog.

She continues. “So I gave him an ultimatum: it was me or the other girls. Of course, he chose me, well,
us.
But, his pride took a hit. Your father was like a sixties throwback; he was all for the free love revival. To cut a long story short, he’s happy I held a gun to his head. We got wed a few months later in Vegas, and we’ve had many wonderful years together. That’s why he forced the whole ultimatum on you. He was convinced that you just needed a push.”

Sounds romantic when you put it like that, huh?

I furrow my brow. “He was never going to sign my inheritance away, was he?”

My mother scoffs. “To Cousin Timmy? Your father would rather partner with Ingleby McKay than sign money over to that side of the family. He was pretty convincing though wasn’t he?”

I nod.

“Are you angry?”

I shake my head. “How can I be angry, mom. I’d never have met Ella.”

She tugs at my beard. “So, tell me. Are you absolutely sure she’s is the one, Alex? You can’t go around breaking hearts. Trust me, it isn’t nice. Your father lost a great accountant last week because of your antics.”

She’s referring to Renée. She quit in a pool of hysterical tears and moved to Texas. My father was pretty cut up about the whole thing and suggested she work remotely, but she turned him down and said she needed a clean break. I try to swallow away the lump that’s lodging in my throat. “I think she is the one, mom. But, she’s gone. Did you read the article?”

She nods. My mother is the only woman in my life right now who doesn’t want to kill me. She’s smarter than Indiana Jones. If anyone can decode hidden meanings, she can. “Do you think she likes me?”

As soon as those words leave my lips, I physically cringe. I sound like a frigging virgin schoolboy, don’t I?

Mom chuckles. “Of course she likes you, but that was before the beard. You did the right thing. You let her go to do her own thing. And you know what they say, if you love somebody, set them free. If they come back then they’re yours to keep.”

I blink. “And if she doesn’t come back?”

She rolls her eyes. “Move on, dear,” she waves the magazine in the air. “After the write-up she gave you, you won’t be short of female suitors.”

Thanks, mom. Very reassuring.

Her cell phone rings. “Yes, he’s still alive … no, he hasn’t shaved yet … yes, I think that will fix it … okay, we’ll see you in an hour.”

She hangs up and smiles. “That was your father. He’s on his way over. Let’s get this place cleaned up then I’ll make dinner.”

She leaves the room and I drag my ass out of bed. I hear the clinking of glass as she gathers bottles. How awesome is my mother? I was an idiot to ever doubt her loyalty. My father on the other hand?
Jesus.
Talk about a frigging curveball. I can’t believe he had a harem, can you?

I indulge in a long, steamy shower and take a razor to my scruff. I’m almost back to my normal self …
almost
.

Yeah, I don’t believe it, either.

See this cologne here? This is the scent I chose for our first date. Everything reminds me of her. See this? I even got her a fucking toothbrush for when she needed to freshen up between our weekend-long sex sessions. I can’t bear to throw it away. Maybe I’ll frame it and hang it above my bed.

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

I head back through to the lounge and find my father sitting on the couch. He’s reading
NY Style
. Can you guess which section?

“Dad.”

He puts the magazine down and stands up. “Ah, there you are! I didn’t recognize you without that beard.”

I run my hand through my hair and apologize. “Before you kick my ass, I’m sorry about the pitch. I totally forgot.”

He pours two glasses of scotch. “I’m glad you didn’t show your face while you were still running that little science experiment on your chin. Parker took over and all went well.”

I should be happy right?

I’m apathetic. My father stops short of criticism, but I can tell from his voice that he’s disappointed. But, I couldn’t give a damn about our client.

Mom waltzes into the room, carrying a dish of steaming hot home-cooked food. “It’s only mac and cheese, but I had to make do with what I could find. I’ll clean the refrigerator after dinner. I think I saw something move in there.”

I shake my head and serve up while my father picks out a bottle of white to go with our pasta. And now we’ve got music; Bing Crosby.

I shit you not.

Isn’t this cozy?