The First Taste(105)

I get the Glenlivet back out. Might as well indulge—there’s nobody to save it for. Maybe someone exists out there for me. Andrew’s shown me I could be capable of love again. But the thought that that someone isn’t Andrew makes my throat thick. That someone won’t pry me open with bubble baths and good liquor. He won’t force me to see that my pettiness over the divorce hurts me more than it helps me. He won’t have Bell. I can’t believe a month ago, I thought work was the most important thing in the world.

There’s a knock at the door, jarring me from my thoughts. My heart, which was firmly planted in my stomach, soars. It can’t be him. I’m not that lucky.

But it has to be.

My legs wobble as I leave the kitchen—fear, excitement, and adrenaline rushes through me. I can’t even wrap my head around what this means.

Andrew came for me.

Despite all the promises we made each other to keep love out of it, he’s here. It’s more than a bath and a drink. More than sex. He wants to make this work as much as I do.

This is real.

“It’s open,” I call. I want his arms around me. After floating in uncertainty for a week, I need to be grounded by him. The door opens, and I stop to untie my robe. My skin flushes as I anticipate his hands on me, the look on his face when he sees me in red.

When Reggie walks through the door, I’m confused. Disoriented. I clutch my robe instinctively, tying the sash. In that same second, he locks the door. “Bonjour, muffie,” he says as he walks toward me.



The hope and excitement I’d felt over getting Andrew back dissolves. Reggie’s in front of me in an instant, looking me over with bloodshot eyes, grinning so hard he’s sneering.

“Why so tense?” he asks when I retreat. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The disappointment that Andrew isn’t coming is as crushing the second time as it was moments ago. It’s as heartbreaking as my irritation with Reggie is pervasive. “What are you doing here?”

He chuckles and loosens his tie, undoing the top button of his dress shirt. “What am I doing in my own home?” His cheeks and nose are unnaturally red. “Have a drink with me, muffin.”

“For the last time, stop calling me that.”

“I only do it because it bothers you. It’s better than getting no reaction from you. Surely you’re smart enough to realize that by now. Aren’t you?”

Either I realized it and reacted anyway, or I’m an idiot for not seeing it. I look away. “I don’t want you here. You need to go.”

He holds out an arm, showing me to the kitchen. “Just one drink. I’m celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” I ask warily.

“I’ve got a new venture on the horizon.” He lumbers toward me, and to keep my distance, I let him steer me into the kitchen. “Those f*ckers thought they could fire me, but they forget what I know.”

“You were fired?” I ask. I’m not surprised he lost his job—he’s probably done enough shady shit to land him behind bars—but so few people see through him. He either charms them into turning a blind eye, or they do it on their own.

“Head of the company tried to move me off my biggest client’s account. I asked how he felt about me going to the press to expose him for insider trading.” Reggie’s breath smells of liquor, his words verging on slurred. “The f*cking idiot fired me instead. He’ll pay Monday morning. I have dirt on everyone, Amelia.” He winks at me. “You know I do.”

Reggie was always liberal with his secrets when it came to me. He didn’t have many friends growing up, and his dad belittled him constantly. I was the confidante he’d never had. Drugs, bribery, “borrowing” client funds—Reggie’s colleagues are guilty of it all, and so is Reggie. I never wanted to know the details, and I don’t now.

“I thought you quit drinking,” I say, changing the subject.

“I did, but slipping up once in a while isn’t so bad, is it?” He mock-gasps as he goes for the Glenlivet. “Well, I guess for some people, it’s grounds to end a marriage.”

I snatch the bottle and hold it to my chest. “This isn’t for you.”

He sets his jaw but squats to search the liquor cabinet. “Who’s it for?”

My heart sinks. I pick up my phone from the kitchen counter to check it for the hundredth time tonight. This whisky’s for someone who isn’t coming. It’s for no one. Suddenly, I feel exposed in my thigh-grazing robe and nightie. I can’t risk sending Reggie the wrong signal. “I’ll be right back,” I say, turning for my bedroom.

He grabs my ankle. “Don’t go.”

I fumble to keep the bottle in my hands and drop my cell instead. “Reggie, let go of me. I just need to change.”

“I’ve seen you in less. What’s the big deal?” He sticks out his bottom lip but tightens his grip. “I’m not in the mood to fight, babe. Please, don’t make me angry.”

Even though Reggie has terrorized me in the past, he and I had a few good years before that. My natural instinct is not to fear him, but now I wonder if I should. “Okay,” I say to appease him. “I’ll stay.”

He lets go and picks my phone up before rummaging through the cupboard. He chooses a bottle of his old favorite, Maker’s Mark. It’s been in there since before he left. “By the way. If you’re waiting for your new boyfriend,” he says, “don’t bother. He isn’t coming.”