Taking Turns (Turning #1)(15)

And then he flicks something at Bric. A business card he must’ve gotten out of his wallet with the money. “That’s her. I wouldn’t let him go over there,” he says, nodding his head at me. “But you can do whatever you want. I got shit to do today. I’ve done my part. I’ll be around this weekend if you guys want to start looking for someone new. If not, whatever. I’m cool with that too.”

Both Bric and I stare at Smith’s back as he walks out. And then I take a deep breath and reach for the card.

Bric snatches it up from the table before I can get a hold of it. “Not a good idea, Quin. I’m just telling you, we need to let Rochelle go and leave it at that. She walked out, fine. We’re fine with it.”

I’m not fine with it. Not one bit.

“Go upstairs if you want,” Bric continues. “Take what’s yours. Keep what you want to keep. And then let it go. I’ve already got my assistant calling around for packers. I’m gonna clear the whole place out and we’ll start again.” He stops. Stares at me for a few seconds. “Do you want to start again?”

I let out a long sigh.

“Because I think Smith just said he did.”

“And you do too?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Bric says. “I’m still in. We’ve been at this longer than Rochelle has been around. I’m not ready to settle down yet. Are you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what the f*ck is happening.”

Bric reaches for my shoulder, squeezes it like a brother to a brother. Someone who understands. “Rochelle was just that kind of girl, you know? These girls… they’re not all there, Quin. No girl with her shit together says yes to this kind of offer. You know this. We’ve had plenty of games end. But we still have many more to play. Just take this week to do what you gotta do and then be here on Friday night. OK?”

I don’t say anything. I can still see Smith through the window. He’s standing out front talking on his phone. “What do you think he’s doing? He’s got shit to do? He never has shit to do. He doesn’t do anything except spend money and brood like an *.”

“Never mind Smith,” Bric says. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“I heard.”

“So you’re gonna come this weekend?”

“I can’t even think about this weekend. It’s Monday. I’m supposed to be with Rochelle tonight.”

“Quin,” Bric says, his voice stern. “Go f*ck a whore if you—”

“Fuck you,” I say.

“You know what I mean. Get this out of your system. Then come back here on Friday and we’ll figure out a way to fill your two nights. OK?”

I don’t answer.

“Go upstairs. Take what you want. And then I’ll make it all go away. It will be fine. Do you need something to do tonight? For real. Because I have an event and I’ll bring you along.”

“No,” I say, smiling. “I’m not tagging along to one of your stupid events.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds and when I look up at him, he’s staring at me.

“What?”

“Don’t let her f*ck with your head, OK? And don't take anything Smith says seriously. She didn’t leave you. She left us.”

“I know,” I say. But it doesn’t feel that way at all. Maybe if I didn’t know that Smith left her a long time ago, and that Bric was indifferent, then maybe I could talk myself into that. He’s right. We’ve had other girls leave. Girls I wasn’t too attached to, but Bric was. Smith doesn’t get attached to anyone. And I never thought the others left because of Bric. They left us. Just like Rochelle.

God. I wish I could believe that.

I just know it’s not true. She left because of me. She left because she said she loved me and I shrugged it off. Ignored it. Pretended it never happened. And I know if I explained that to Bric, he’d get it. He’d understand. But what’s the point? Why bother?

Rochelle is gone.

“OK,” I say, standing up. “I am gonna go upstairs. Check it out. See if she left anything behind.”

“Quin—”

“But then,” I say, interrupting him. “But then, either way, I’ll let her go. By Friday I’ll have let her go.” I’m looking at the card as I say all this. “It would help if I could just talk to her though.” I’m nodding at the woman’s business card.

“No,” Bric says. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. But if you want, I’ll go talk to her. I’m sure Smith was just his usual * self. No one wants to talk to him, right?”

“OK,” I say, giving in. “Fine. See what you can find out and then call me later.”

“Will do, brother.”

I walk out of the restaurant and head toward the stairs at the back of the lobby. There’s no black rope today. Club members have private rooms upstairs and they are free to use them during the week. But there are guards, all dressed up in thousand-dollar suits, standing sentry. They nod at me as I pass. “Mr. Foster,” they both say.

I nod back, but keep silent as I make my way up to the elevator. When the doors open, I step in, insert my cardkey and unlock the floor to our forbidden world.

When I get up there it doesn’t feel any different. I sit in Smith’s chair, the one in front of the window, and then get up and turn it around so I can take in the only view I’m interested in. The couches. The art on the walls. The rugs, and throw pillows, and the heavy drapes.