Life in a Rut, Love not Included (Love Not Included series Book 1) (9 page)

I hear people scurrying around downstairs, most likely to come to my aid. Maybe if I just keep my eyes closed they will assume that I am sleeping. People sleep in odd positions, so why would this be any different?

“Sarah, oh my, what happened!?” My mother rushes to my side. Followed by Aunt Raines, dear old Dad, and I believe, Jack. At this time I refuse to open my eyes.

“I think she knocked herself out,” I hear my father say, while Aunt Raines chimes in.

“Poor baby girl, did you split your pants?” Remind myself to kill her while managing to take myself out, too.

“Honey, say something. Are you OK?”

I am not sure how much longer I can play dead for, but I plan on giving it a try. I can feel all the shadows hanging over me. They should get bored of the scene soon enough and move on with their day.

See? In no time, I can sense them moving and the light peering over my closed eyelids. Finally . . .
Oomph. What the hell?
“What the hell?” My eyes fly open to witness Jack . . .
scooping me up in his arms!

“Honey.” My mother’s voice again. “What were you doing in here that you knocked over all those boxes and broke your lamp shade?”

Just then I witness all their minds spinning in unison, along with Jack’s, and it seems they all put two and two together at once. Slowly Jack turns to me, still in his arms, grinning.

“Did something catch your eye, Sarah?”

Oh god, did it.

“No,” I say, not at all convincingly.

Jack carries me to the bed and gently lays me down, his fingerprints burning into my sides. I can see my mother looking out the window. “Honey, what were you looking at?” Oh god, just kill me!

“Nothing, I’m fine! Everyone get out!” Two more seconds with him this close to me and everyone in the room is going to get more than what they bargained for. Jack included.

“Well I hope you are OK, dear. Looks like you took quite a tumble.”

Still holding me, Jack leans in. Feeling his breath on my neck, I hear him say, “Are you sure you’re OK?”

I try swatting his hands away from me. “I’m fine,” I say quite breathlessly.

As he lets me go and adjusts himself upward, everyone else takes that as a cue to begin their exit. Jack gives me a wink as he turns to exit my room.

“Honey, well at least since your pants are ruined you may want to wear something more . . . yourself?” My mother smiles at me and walks out. Avoiding it until now, I look down and see that my comfort zone pants are ruined. Split wide open and revealing a nice pair of purple underwear. Well, at least there’s that.

I decide to lay low for the rest of the evening. Not that I am hiding from anything, or anyone, in particular. I decide it is safer for everyone as well as for my own self-esteem to stay in my room for the rest of the night.

After waking up to pounding and sawing the next day, I begin to sort through boxes and lay some folded clothes in the dresser. Once I was done making some room, I was going to have a burial for my comfort zone sweats. I grab the piece of paper sticking out of the pocket and unfold it. My list. I open it and run through the list of alcohol-induced life expectations for myself. Number one—Make a list. Smart, Sarah. Good one.

I really do need to start making plans though. As much fun as I am having hanging out with Aunt Raines and face-planting into the floor every night, I need to get back on track. I guess I just felt that by sitting around wallowing all day and night meant I was letting them all win. Not that I hoped they thought about me. Well maybe a little. Let’s be honest. I was secretly online searching witchcraft spells so I could get into both their inner thoughts until they were sick to death with guilt. Since I haven’t heard from either of them, I’m going to assume the website was a hoax. I remind myself to get my money back for that. In the end, I realize I have been sitting around waiting for them to contact me with guilt and complete remorse. I mean, I thought it might take some time, but four months? It may be time to admit that ship has sailed, without me on it. I need to move on.

First things first, I need to find a job. I just don’t know where to look. All the great firms are in the city, and a small part of me fears running into my past there. Knowing it’s time I put my big girl pants on, I vow to make today a success. Since I have to start with the basic attire, I search for an outfit. Nothing screams ‘I have my shit together so hire me’ like Armani slacks and my sheer white Donna Karan blouse. Add a pair of strappy heels, a bit of rouge and some hair primping, and
voila!
We have ourselves a first-class working girl. I look at myself in the mirror and approve. I have to admit, the silk against my skin makes me feel elegant and feminine. It’s that or the fact that, for once this week, I actually showered.

I leave my cave and venture downstairs. It is safe to say no one is home. I am also Jack-free since I don’t see his truck out front. Not that I’m looking. I grab the newspaper and my laptop and head out, because I have to start somewhere. I don’t need a fancy job in a high rise. There are plenty of places for me to find work and be completely satisfied.
This is good,
I mentally coach myself. I smile and pick up my list. I take my pen and cross off number twelve—Be my own therapist. Things are looking up.

I spend the whole morning at the Ma and Pop coffee joint down the street. Not my first pick, but they have free WiFi and it is guaranteed to be free of ex co-worker run-ins. I spend a few hours revamping my resume and then sending it out to local companies.

Sifting through the potential options in the paper that sadly may or may not scream
“my future career”
I email out a bunch of resumes. Three coffees later, four potential job scores and a positive vibe, I set out to personally drop off some resumes to locals businesses. I figure since they are close, it wouldn’t hurt to take a peek into what may be. You can always tell what kind of company you’re getting yourself into by the type of people they hire to be the face of said company. But then again, Hamilton Corp had Becky Longhorn, so . . . Moving on.

Good thing I’m learning that nothing lasts forever, because after entering three offices, it seems the only thing they took from me was my good mood. No resume. No interview. The day is getting late and I am quickly losing my mojo. My motivation to become employed is draining fast. I figure if I head home right after my last stop, I can make it in time to meet Aunt Raines in the kitchen for happy hour. Then again, I may want to take the day off from that. My track record after time spent with Aunt Raines has not been looking good lately.

I reach my final destination and park the car. Pressing down the growing wrinkles of my pants from the long drive across town, I head towards the office. I turn the corner and realize that the company is based on the upper level lofts, located exactly above one of the newest Macy’s suburban stand-alone boutiques. I stop for a moment and stare at my past
. Literally.
I stare at the beautiful window display featuring the outside signage and marketing scheme, all perfect and elegant. Just as I had planned it. The last big thing I gave to Hamilton Corp before my blowout was the marketing plan for the new Macy’s boutiques that were expanding from the Michigan Avenue stores to the nearest southwest suburbs. Now the thought of that day is so dreadful it makes me ill.

I remember stepping out of a two-hour sales pitch and locking down the new Macy’s boutique proposal. I could feel my body radiating with adrenalin. For weeks I had worked on this project and perfected it exactly to what the clients had been asking for. Their vision in words was my image on paper. No detail missed, and all my bells and whistles attached, I easily landed the signed deal. Shaking hands with the Macy’s marketing board, and walking them out of the office, the restraint not to skip and jump all the way back to my office was strenuous. Things couldn’t have gone better. Not to mention the hefty bonus that came along with making Macy’s extremely happy. I strolled over to Steve’s office, which was down the hall, closest to the presidential suites. Being the son of the president gets you a pretty fancy office and view. His secretary stopped me in front of his door.

“I’m sorry Ms. Sullivan, but Steve is out of the office. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Hi Becky. Is Steve in the building or in a meeting?” I wasn’t aware that he had any client meetings offsite that day.

Becky scrambled up the Post-it note collection on her desk in a nervous fashion. Unsure what her restlessness was all about, I took a peek into Steve’s office and I could tell he had not been in at all that day.

“Um yes, I’m sorry, Steve is not in. He has a meeting offsite today. He is not expected in until later. Is there anything you want to leave for him, or a message in case he calls in?”

“No, that’s OK. I can call his cell. Everything OK?” I asked.

“Yep, thanks. I’ll let him know you came by when he gets in.”

“Thanks, do that.” I nodded and stepped away, heading back to my office. Not that Becky was ever that cordial but something was up with her today. I brushed her off and went to my office to make celebration plans. This night was going to be huge. First, I made reservations for two at our favorite upscale Fusion Japanese restaurant. This treat was going to be on me due to the extravagant bonus coming my way. Next stop was a department store, because my shoe collection was in major need of a new pair of Manolos, and because nothing says ‘congratulations, you’re awesome,’ like Mr. Blahnik.

With the Macy’s contract signed, I decided to call it a day. I let Jillian, my assistant, know I was leaving for the day and to forward any important calls to my cell. Then I headed out and spent the next two hours adopting the most beautiful new pair of shoes.

Satisfaction couldn’t have been any sweeter at that point. The possibilities after this deal were endless. I was in an extra giving mood that day so I also made a pit stop at the lingerie section and picked out a very seductive, very see-through red garment that I knew Steve would definitely approve of. The night was going to be full of celebrations.

I got home right around two in the afternoon, just in time to catch the latest Golden Girls rerun. My plan was set into action: a little TV, shower, primp, celebration. I dug my keys out of my purse and unlocked the door. I fumbled with the lock because of all my new bags and finally got the door open. I entered the apartment and moved to drop my bags off on the kitchen island. Then I noticed the pile of mail on the counter and began to sort through—mostly junk.

I paused suddenly as I heard noises coming from the back bedrooms. Knowing I should be alone, my panic began to rise. Who was in the apartment? Stacey should have been at work. Slowly, I dropped my mail and made my way towards the bedrooms. The closer I got, the more animated the sounds became.

Oh my god,
I thought, was someone having sex? I passed my bedroom and concluded it was definitely coming from Stacey’s room. Wow, I didn’t even know she was seeing anyone. Even closer, I saw the door was a bit cracked. I heard the audible sounds of two people definitely in a heated sexual moment.

I actually began to laugh at Stacey’s random act. It was definitely not like her to have random men at the apartment in the middle of the day. Feeling a bit guilty but a little intrigued, I continued lurking closer to her door.

The closer I got to the sounds, the less I laughed. The more I heard the sounds of two people, the more I recognized more than just Stacey’s. I could feel the color draining from my face. As much as I fought against it, when I got to the door, my arm lifted and pushed the door to its full openness.

The scene before me was like witnessing an accident in slow motion: wishing you could turn away before the final impact, but you just can’t force your eyes away from it. In front of me, I watched Steve’s naked body slam into Stacey’s.

I could do nothing but stare in disbelief at the two most important people in my life, their naked bodies intertwined. I watched as his mouth connected with her chest, while her hands grabbed for his backside. The slapping sounds and curling moans that were echoing from the walls were agonizing.

I fought for air and braced for the door, and my struggle to breathe broke their heavy movements. Both their heads swung in my direction. Steve made eye contact with me first. His facial expression was one for the books. “Shit . . .” he spat out, winded. He practically threw himself out of—and then off of—Stacey. Landing on two feet and completely naked, he realized his nudity and grabbed at the sheet that Stacey was now grasping for dear life.

“Shit, shit! Sarah, this is not what it looks like.”

My legs were not working with my brain because my brain was telling me to either run or fight, but I did neither. I stood there in complete shock at the view in front of me and prayed it was just a bad dream.

After their little tug-of-war with the sheet, Steve gave up and went in search of his boxers. He stumbled to get them over his two feet and approached me. I felt the ground crumble under me as my knees gave way and I grabbed at the doorframe in an attempt to hold my body up. Steve tried to grab me before I fell. At that moment I lifted my arm and my hand connected with his face. Stunned by my response, he stayed silent.

“What . . . What is happening here?” I struggled to ask the question I was pretty sure I already knew the answer to. I didn’t know how to process what I witnessed, but I knew it was not good. I looked at Stacey. She was sitting in the bed with her 300-thread count Egyptian cotton sheet perfectly wrapped around her. Her face was filled with panic, but she remained speechless. At that moment I felt like I was in a sinking ship of emotions, like the water was sucking me in and the sharp coldness of their betrayal was pulling me under.

“Sarah, this is not what it looks like,” Steve said again.

“Oh Steve, stop it. She obviously should know now.” Finally Stacey spoke up and her words were like searing knives cutting into my soul.

“I should finally know what?” Finally?
Finally
know? Oh my god. A
finally know
comment translated to
this was not the first time.
Was there something that I had been missing? I grabbed the doorframe again, trying to get a hold of my body and my emotions.