F*ck Marriage(35)

He holds up his hands in surrender. “You didn’t have to go. I took your trust away, not your business.”

I’m so angry my vision blurs. “Do you have any idea what that did to me? You just pulled the rug out from under me. I had no idea there was even something wrong between us.”

“That’s exactly right, Billie. Because you were too busy to notice.”

“You’re not going to put this on me,” I fume.

But despite my anger, a familiar prickle of guilt works through me. Something I’ve already considered. Something he probably told our friends and family. Always working ... neglectful wife ... doesn’t want to start a family. Career-obsessed. I snatch my clutch from the table.

“You can tell Pearl I’m not going anywhere,” I say. I pause, a lie brewing in my mind. “I’m fucking Satcher, he’s not going to fire me.”

I enjoy the way the shock hits him, fills his eyes first with disbelief then anger. It’s so satisfying that I wish I’d recorded it on my phone’s camera so I could watch it again and again. I start marching for the door then remember my lemon drop, the one that just arrived at the table. I circle back to the table and drink it in three large gulps with Woods watching.

“Thanks for the drinks,” I say.



I go straight to Satcher’s room when I get back to the hotel. He opens the door on my fifth pound, wearing only jersey pajama pants. I stare, I do. His chest is the eighth wonder of the world.

“We have to have sex,” I say, pushing past him into the room.

“Say what?”

“It’s freezing in here.” I stop at the thermostat and see that he’s set it on sixty.

“I like cold.”

I walk over to the window rubbing my arms.

“Woods met me for drinks. He told me that Pearl wants me gone. He’s supposed to talk to you about it.”

Satcher frowns. “Ah. So why are we having sex?”

“I told Woods we were fucking and I couldn’t be fired.”

Still holding the door open, Satcher shuts it. He takes a moment to close his eyes and sigh. “Billie…”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, all right? I just didn’t want him to think he could sway you.”

“And what makes you think he could?”

I purse my lips and pull uncomfortably at the neck of my shirt. “Could he?”

“No.”

“Can we say we’re sleeping together then?”

He tilts his head back and squints at the ceiling. “Are you really asking me that?”

“Absolutely. A hundred percent.”

A whisk of a smile. Satcher is amused.

“We won’t tell your girlfriend,” I say. “It’ll strictly be an office lie.”

“And tell me what exactly this lie of yours accomplishes?”

I sit down on the edge of the bed. “It’ll get Pearl off my back. She’s not going to suggest you fire your girlfriend.”

“My girlfriend?” His hands are on his hips. “I thought we were just fucking in this scenario of yours.”

I chew on my lip as I think. “Yeah, but it’ll be more effective if we’re together-together.”

I’m pacing back and forth between the bed and the dresser. I sigh at the pained expression he’s wearing. Is it really that terrible to pretend to be with me? I’m not a Brazilian swimsuit model, but I’m not exactly ugly either.

“Or I could just say no when Woods brings it up…”

“Half the staff is friends with Pearl. She’s going to use them against me. But if they think I’m your girlfriend, they’ll back off.”

“You want to make Woods jealous,” he says.

“That too.”

Satcher sighs; it’s a deep, weary sigh, and I immediately feel guilty.

“Oh God. I’m doing it again. I’m sorry—”

I make for the door. Oh my God, what am I turning into? Using Satcher for my benefit.

He hooks me around the waist as I try to walk past. Warm hands graze my skin. My face is hot from embarrassment. I’m ashamed of myself, ashamed of what this is doing to my brain. I cover my face with my hands so he can’t look at me, but Satcher gently pulls them away. He doesn’t let go, and holding my fingers between his, he forces me to look at him.

“You’re hurting.”

“No,” I say. “I’m fine.”

“I know you, Billie…”

I want to ask him how he knows me when I don’t even know myself.

“You don’t,” I tell him. “Whatever you think you know is wrong. I’m not the same person I used to be.”

“I hope not,” he says.

My head snaps up, and I search his eyes for meaning.

“We aren’t meant to stay the same. Life hits us from every direction, and we build thick skin in those places ... calluses. It’s the way we survive.”

“I don’t have a callus yet,” I blurt. “In that spot ... where my marriage was.” I look away so he can’t see the saltwater pooling, ready to spill out and make me look weak.

“No, you don’t.”

I stare at him. He’s so ... together. And I am not. By comparison, he’s completely different than Woods, who is big and rugged and has puppy dog eyes. Satcher is chiseled and composed and his eyes are mischievous. But there’s always been an element to Satcher that puts him in a league of his own.