The Invitation by Vi Keeland(89)
Jack shook his head. “No. It was just sex.”
“Great,” I sneered. “Twenty-five years of friendship for just sex. Lexi didn’t even give a good blowjob. She was all fucking teeth.”
Through my peripheral vision, I saw Jack hang his head. He shook it for a long time. “I think I wanted to win at something,” he said. “You were always smarter, stronger, taller, more popular, and got all the girls you could handle. After we were dating for a few weeks, Alana admitted that the night we met her in that bar, she and her friend had walked over to talk to us after she’d called dibs on you. Even my wife would’ve picked you over me if she’d had the choice.” He shook his head again. “We were drunk the first time it happened, if it’s any consolation.”
“It’s not.”
We sat side by side for a solid ten minutes without either of us saying another word. I finished off my fourth scotch while my loyal friend sucked back his double. I wasn’t a big drinker, so the alcohol had really hit me. My vision was blurry, and I felt the room starting to spin.
Taking a deep breath, I turned to face Jack for the first time. He did the same, meeting my eyes as he blew out a jagged exhale.
“Is she yours?” Just asking the question caused a physical ache in my chest, and my voice cracked when I spoke again. “Is my daughter yours?”
Jack swallowed. “Lexi was never sure. As far as I know, she still isn’t.”
I pulled out my billfold. Tossing two hundreds on the bar, I raised my hand to call the bartender. “Hundred for the drinks. The other hundred is to not help him up.”
The bartender looked confused, so as I stood and steadied myself, I pointed to the piece-of-shit man I’d called my best friend for more than two decades. “He was fucking my wife while I was married to her.”
The bartender’s brows shot up, and he looked between us.
“Turn around,” I muttered at my oldest friend.
Jack turned in his seat to face me. I had to close one of my eyes to only see one of him, but he never raised his hands as I hauled back and landed a punch square in the center of his face. It was the least he could’ve done—taken it like a man.
“You don’t tell my piece-of-shit ex-wife that I know,” I warned before turning toward the door. I never bothered to look back to see if the bartender helped him off the floor.
CHAPTER 32
Stella
Almost a week had passed, and I still hadn’t seen Hudson. Though I supposed he was more entitled to disappear than I’d been when I was avoiding him.
I suspected he’d told his sister something, as Olivia had never once mentioned his name. The last of the Signature Scent samples came in, the artwork we’d shot in California for the boxes had been approved, and today, Thursday, the warehouse had started shipping the orders that had come in from the Home Shopping Channel. It was a monumental day; the dream I’d had for years had come true. Yet I wanted nothing more than to go home and climb into bed.
But Fisher wouldn’t let the occasion go uncelebrated no matter how many times I told him I wasn’t in the mood. So I wound up meeting him for dinner after I left the warehouse. He was already seated in a booth when I arrived, an ice bucket set up next to the table.
I slid into the seat across from him.
“Alright, now I know things are bad. I just watched you come in. The hostess has a giant vase of flowers on her podium, and you didn’t even try to smell them.”
I attempted to smile. “It doesn’t feel like I should be smelling the flowers today.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Today is precisely the day you should be stopping to smell the flowers, my Stella Bella. You put your heart into this business, and today your first orders started shipping.” He lifted the bottle out of the ice bucket and filled an empty glass in front of me before filling his own. “I even sprung for the good stuff.”
While he of course meant well, seeing the gold label on the bottle of champagne—the label that had been on the bubbly we’d swiped from Olivia’s wedding months ago—just felt like coming full circle. And the circle was now closed. Hudson and I had started and ended with these bottles. A heavy feeling settled in my chest.
Fisher lifted his glass in a toast. “To my smarty pants girl. You worked through the rain for years and finally got your rainbow.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Fisher.”
The waiter came and took our orders. I wasn’t in the mood to eat, but I felt like I had to give it my best effort because Fisher was trying so hard.
“So I guess you haven’t heard from Hudson?”
I sighed as my shoulders wilted. “He hasn’t been in the office. I get business emails sometimes, but those always come really early in the morning—like four AM. He’s still working, but from home, and he’s not speaking to me on a personal level.”
Fisher sipped his champagne. “So you don’t even know if he’s confronted his ex-wife? Told her he knows about the diary and everything in it?”
I shook my head. “He took the book when he left, but I have no idea what he’s done with it or who he’s spoken to.”
“He can’t hold this against you forever. None of it is your fault.”
“I’m not even sure he believes me that it’s a coincidence I had the book.”