Bait: The Wake Series, Book One(58)

I faked every orgasm Grant thought he gave me. Though our sex life was still active, it was just that. Active. Activated. Choreographed. I knew what he liked. I did it. He knew what I liked. He did it. It wasn't torture, and for him it was genuine. Grant was always sincere.

It was me.

After every fake climax, I'd pull myself into the bathroom and run water over my pale face and look at myself. I'd breathe and try to put all my thoughts back into their separate corners. Until, one especially overwhelming, or underwhelming, depending on how you looked at it, night I decided to bring my phone into the bathroom with me.

I texted Casey.

Me: Tell me what you had for lunch.

Casey: I'm glad you asked, actually. I was going to tell you about it. I had haggis. It was totally disgusting and I'll never eat it again.

I was happy that he replied quickly. All of the jumbled feelings and emotions I had rolling around in my head and stomach quieted and calmed. Things went back to the way they were. He still waited for me to contact him in the evenings, unless he knew I was out of town, even though I didn't ask him to anymore. Every time I send him something he was always right there. Just a send button away.

Me: Haggis is disgusting. Why did you eat it?

Casey: Marc bet me I wouldn't. I won twenty bucks.

Me: Congratulations.

Casey: Thank you. What's up with you?

Me: I was just going to bed. I thought I'd say hi.

Casey: Hi LOL

And I heard it. My generous memory let me actually hear his laugh. That was all I’d needed.

Me: Goodnight.

Casey: I wish.

Me too.

Smart phones were dangerous weapons. Casey's company, Bay Brewing, had a twitter account. I followed it. I set up an account of my own after I found theirs. I used the user name @BettyTRubble. I had a feeling that Casey was the person behind the account. It was to my benefit that there were pictures of him available to me whenever I wanted. Even though I let him take pictures of me when we were in Chicago, I didn't have any of him and I wasn't brave enough to ask him for any. So the twitter account, that I checked almost hourly, had to tide me over.

And it did. There were pictures of him smiling and laughing. Mostly doing work things and marketing, but it was all the same to me. Seeing his crazy wardrobe and hair whenever I wanted made me feel like I was a secret agent.

That probably made me a little bit of a stalker, but I didn't care.





Friday, October 10th, 2008


I DIDN’T REALLY GIVE a f*ck if it made me a stalker. It was public knowledge and good for my business. Blake's company, Couture Dining Incorporated, knew what the hell they're doing.

I didn't want my first trade-show to be the first show we met up at. So, since CDI had an information-rich website—including pictures of Blake at trade shows, new restaurant openings and with new clients—I made a decision to follow their staunch social and marketing excellence.

Since, taking over thirty percent of Bay Brewing last month with the help of my mom, stalking Blake, and ultimately her boss’s moves with their company, these trade shows proved to be good business and hopefully the traveling would lead to pleasure as well.

If I had anything to say about it, there would be a lot of pleasure.

We didn't talk on the phone often, okay we did, just not as much as I'd like. But we text every day about nothing and everything and I both loved and hated it. I was becoming stingy and sharing her was difficult.

I couldn't wait to see her face when she walked in. It was Friday and according to The Atlanta Food and Beverage Show's itinerary, she should be arriving to set up her booth anytime minute.

That was pretty much what the first day of the show entailed. Setting up display areas and signage, and then walking around and getting to meet the other vendors. It was great networking for Bay. Afterward, there would be a cocktail thing and a dinner.

It may have been a little overboard to call the organizer and have our tables placed across the aisle from each other. I could admit to that. But ask me if I cared. It'd been too long since I’d seen her face. I wouldn't be able to focus on work all weekend if I was wondering where she was and making up excuses to leave the booth to seek her out.

And Marcia, the event planner, was very receptive. Turns out her husband loves beer. Who would have thought? I may have walked an inappropriate tightrope to get my way, but I'd gotten it, so to hell with it.

I'd do what I had to do, and if that meant bribing a middle-aged woman with beer for a front-row seat to a weekend of, at very least, seeing her front and center, only fifteen feet away for a whole day, then I was guilty. I don't give a shit.