F*ck Marriage(12)

We’re both sitting on the floor sipping from our glasses and laughing at something I’ve said when the door opens and Woods walks in.

“Way to knock,” I say, tossing back the rest of my drink.

He’s wearing a denim jacket over his white V-neck, which makes him look like the type of douchebag who buys his girlfriend a new set of tits and drinks vodka cocktails while wearing a pinky ring—oh wait! That is him.

His eyes travel between the two of us and then land on the desk Satcher is assembling. I’m lightheaded from the Champagne, slouched against the wall, but Woods barely glances at me; his eyes are trained on Satcher. I try to hide my smirk behind my newly refilled glass. This was exactly the type of subterfuge I was hoping for, wasn’t it? To get under my ex-husband’s skin as thoroughly as possible.

“Taking a little break, Satch?” Woods says. “We can hardly drag you away from your office, and here you are drinking Champagne and assembling furniture like a newlywed.”

I see a muscle in Satcher’s jaw jump. He drops his screwdriver and rights the desk to standing, examining his work.

“Speaking of newlyweds, when is your wedding date, Woods? Should be coming up soon.” I kick my shoes off and stare at him pointedly.

“October, actually,” he says, not taking his eyes off Satcher. “Of next year…”

“Lovely! When everything starts to die,” I say.

Woods smirks, he can’t help it. I’ve caught his attention now. His warm eyes roll over me like hands and goose bumps erupt on my arms. While the rest of the world clamored for pumpkin-flavored things and oohed and ahhed over the leaves changing color, Woods always bitterly called fall the death of summer.

“I don’t suppose I get an invitation, do I?”

Woods doesn’t bite. He acts like he hasn’t heard me, but Satcher does.

“You can always be my plus one.” Satcher looks up from where he’s lifting my computer monitor onto the desk, his eyes bright with mischief.

I stare at my ex-husband, who excels in confrontational avoidance. He’s flustered; we’re ganging up on him and he hates it.

Satcher winks at me. “All done!” he says, standing up. He takes a step back to admire his work. All three of us are checking out my desk when Pearl rushes in, a constipated look on her face.

“It’s been fun, Billie,” says Satcher. “I’ll have Claire come over to brief you on our fall schedule; we still have some slots to fill.” He’s halfway out the door when his broad shoulders turn. “Also, you’re going to need to hire a new fashion editor. Marie is pregnant.”

Marie not Pearl, thank God.

I give him the thumbs up and then he’s gone, leaving a pissed-looking Pearl and a stressed-looking Woods in his wake.

“Is there something I can help you two with?” I start carrying things over to the desk: the stacks of paperwork I need to look over, a cup of pens...

I don’t have a photo—everyone else has photos of loved ones propped where they can see them ... I try to think of who I could put a picture of on my desk and sadly come up empty-handed.

“I was just collecting Woods,” Pearl says.

Collecting! Her voice is like ice. I look up from what I’m doing, half amused, and see them both staring at me. Did they need a dismissal?

“Collect away…” I wave them off and I’m relieved when they head for the door, Woods looking like he still has something to say to me. Too bad, I think. You’ve been collected.

Five minutes later, Loren pops her head around the doorway.

“Welcome back.” She grins. “I’d have brought you a cactus for your desk, but ... um ... Satcher didn’t tell us you were coming back.”

“It’s okay, it kind of all happened at the last minute. It’s good to be back.”

Loren glances over her shoulder and then slips through the door, closing it quietly behind her.

“Pearl’s pissed.”

“Oh yeah?” I lean back in my chair, trying to keep the smile off my face. Loren and I have been nothing more than Facebook friends for two years, but it feels natural to have our old office camaraderie back. I rest my palms on the desk and push up so I’m standing.

“She’s—” Her words are cut short when my office door opens again and Satcher walks in.

“She’s pissed,” he says, shutting the door behind him.

Loren props herself on the arm of the nearest chair while Satcher sits inside of it.

“What’s she doing?”

“Reaming Woods out.” Loren sniffs.

“For what?”

“For letting you happen.”

“She should be pissed at Satcher then,” I say, shrugging it off. I must be really bad at hiding my delight because Satcher raises an eyebrow and smiles knowingly.

Loren heads for the door. “Everyone put on your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy ride,” she says before slipping out.

“Ride from hell.” He looks at me squarely and I shrug.

“Don’t care. I’ve already been on life’s ride from hell. I know all the turns.”

He grimaces and then stands up, heading for the door. He stops at the last minute to say, “Let’s not make Rhubarb a ride, yeah?”

“Get out of here, Sasquatch,” I say without looking up. “I need to work.”