Texas Heat Ch 03 Redemption

I had time to think on the flight to Chicago. Honestly, I had time to think because I was sitting in the economy section

alone

. There had only been one seat available in first class...thank goodness. So, Michael had to stress without me...although he'd already made his way back to my seat more than a few times.

Mostly I was thinking about the dream I'd had that morning. Some of it accurately reflected the many changes in my life during the last few years. Selling my house and my car...moving to New York and into a small apartment with Bruce....my promotion to Michael's Executive Assistant and the nice pay raise that went along with it...the pretty radical weight loss (I was probably closer to a size 10 now)...island hoping in the Caribbean with Bruce, plans for a second honeymoon...and my marriage, how 'safe' I felt with Bruce. How very...

comfortable

it felt. All of that had been true. Even my concern about the missing fights, the missing passion, the missing heat. He really had gone away for a weekend Bachelor Party and lied to me about it. And he had been working 60-70 hour weeks and then hanging out with the 'boys' from the office on Friday nights. And I had noticed a few odd phone numbers calling his cell phone. The dream accurately reflected the civil conversations we'd had about all of those issues...and my worries about him having an affair. Although when I say "worry," I didn't mean that in the traditional sense of the word. It was more like I had one more problem I was forced to deal with...it didn't seem to matter to me much more than that. That probably should have concerned me, but it didn't, not really.

I could count on one had the number of times Bruce and I had been intimate in the last year. And when we did make love, that too was 'safe.' If Bruce promised me nothing else when he married me, he promised he would love me and protect me. He'd been trying to do his job, that's for sure. And I appreciated that about him.

Was I doing mine? Had I kept my vows to love and honor him? To care for him through sickness and health? Well...I was an 'okay' wife. I took care of the grocery shopping and laundry, I kept the house clean...okay, well, I hired the woman who took care of the grocery shopping, his dry cleaning and kept the house clean. I kept up with our bills. I planned our vacations. I shopped for his suits, making sure he was up to date with the latest designs for his Wall Street job...okay, well, Michael took care of that really, but I'd initiated it. And when we made love, I was always careful to show enthusiasm and bring myself to orgasm...even if I needed a little mental stimulation to do so.

I sighed. I sucked as his wife and I knew it. I didn't want to be married to him anymore. And I wasn't sure how to get out of it. And now that he had mentioned a baby for like the hundredth time, I wanted to flee so bad I could taste it. Almost every morning I convinced myself to tell him I wanted a divorce. And every evening I guilted myself into staying, reminding myself that marriage was a challenge and that I couldn't bail just because it wasn't a romance novel.

But if I was honest with myself, I would admit I knew I was making a mistake when I was standing in front of the Justice of the Peace in downtown Manhattan five years ago. The jitters I'd experienced had nothing to do with nerves. They had nothing to do with the normal anxiety one felt when staring a new life with someone. They were all about feeling like I was making a mistake. A huge mistake. But much like I did every day, I had convinced myself that the feelings were nothing more than Buyer's Remorse...and that I was simply obsessing about a woman who didn't want to be with me, didn't deserve me, and wasn't ready for a committed relationship.

I was jolted from my thoughts when a flight attendant asked if I wanted something to drink. I didn't hesitate to order a Stoli, neat...and then made it a double. We weren't scheduled to meet with our new potential client until much later and I would be quite sober by then. Meanwhile, I had to stop these thoughts. They were depressing the hell out of me.

*

Michael had a car waiting when we arrived at O'Hare. A nice, roomy SUV complete with an attractive male that seated us like VIPs and then went to collect our bags. Well, Michael's bag. I always carried my bag on the plane. Michael was in business mode, which was a wonderful distraction. He yammered on about the meeting, reminding me that I should pretty much keep my mouth shut. That was no problem. This would be one of our largest accounts if we managed to land it, so I had no problem letting Michael take the lead. Not to mention, my thoughts were a million miles away and I would surely botch things up if I tried to contribute.

Once I arrived in my spacious hotel room, I called to check in with Bruce, leaving a message when he didn't answer, and then opted to take a nap. The alcohol was making me just sleepy enough where I knew I would be able to knock out for a few hours and wake up refreshed, which is exactly what I did.

*

I was actually awake before the alarm went off. I took a hot shower and dressed carefully in one of the few luxury items I'd splurged on since my marriage. It was a cream, double-breasted Dolce and Gabbana pantsuit and I looked terrific in it. I had better look damn good considering I'd spent close to $4,000 on it. I'd found the ideal pair of heels to match, an exquisite gold silk tee that offset the jacket perfectly, and Bruce had sprung for some outrageously expensive diamond studs I'd fallen in love with at Tiffany's. When it was all said and done, I knew I would look absolutely fantastic in my latest power suit. This is the second time I'd had a chance to wear it and I remembered how pleased Michael had been the first time.

I was nervous about the meeting. Although Michael hadn't really talked to me about it, the economic downturn was hitting us pretty hard. We'd lost a few important clients. This one would make up for some of them, at least according to Michael. This potential client had managed to have some luck in the last few years, unlike everyone else. Obviously he wasn't tied up in banking. I smiled at my own joke.

I finished dressing, taking a look in the mirror. I had to admit I looked good. The suit was really flattering, hugging all the right places. Although much slimmer, I was still rather curvy. It wasn't ideal for a Wall Street wife, but I liked what was left of my figure. I had pulled my hair back into a severe bun, which complemented my face. It was a little less round than it had been years ago, and my cheekbones were more pronounced. Add my almond-shaped, amber-colored eyes and full lips and I turned even more heads now than I had before. Sighing, I slipped into the heels, grabbed my leather bag, and left the hotel room. I wanted this meeting to be over already. Not that I was looking forward to going home either.

Not surprisingly, Michael was a wreck when I arrived at this suite door. I shook my head, tossing my bag onto a table, straightening his bold, red tie, and then fixing him a drink. I watched as he downed it in one gulp. Then I sat him down and had him go over the proposal. Our potential client was scheduled to arrive in 30 minutes, so I had time to go back upstairs and grab a valium for Michael. He probably wouldn't make it through the meeting if he didn't calm down and I couldn't believe I'd forgotten the pills anyway. I didn't use them. I'd actually asked for the prescription for Michael. It was yet another way in which I took better care of my boss than I did my husband. I shook the depressing thought from my head and left his suite, hurrying down the corridor to the elevators.

I should have noticed the difference when I returned. When he opened the door for me, he was in the zone. I should have seen it, because it would have clued me into the fact that the client had arrived and perhaps, perhaps, that would have given me a moment to prepare. Instead, I walked past Michael, looking for one of the bottles of water I'd noticed earlier, and slammed into a wall of muscle. I took in the flat stomach, small, barely noticeable breasts, and huge biceps...all of that covered in a rich, exquisitely made black jacket, the V at the neck showing just a hint of caramel flesh. My eyes moved upward to take in the face, wide and flat, the nose narrow with an odd bump on the ridge, thin lips and a square-ish jaw. It still wasn't an attractive face. Hard and a little intimidating. Her hair was still braided back into cornrows... and yes, she still made my mind go blank.

It took me a moment...more than a moment to remember where I was...more than a moment to catch my breath...more than a moment for my brain to begin functioning again. I had taken a few steps back and bumped directly into Michael. I could hear him saying something, uttering some words...but I didn't understand them. I couldn't think...I couldn't...

"Evy? Evy, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"

He was worried. I shook my head, turning my back to the imposing figure before me and reaching out to Michael with desperate eyes. I needed a second...just a second.

"I...pl-please can I...I...outside. Can I speak with you outside?" I finally managed to get out.

Michael was in full protective mode, apologizing profusely to his guest before escorting me outside. Once the door closed behind us, he grabbed my upper arms.

"Are you okay? Are you sick? What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a damn ghost."

It took a moment for my brain to catch up again. This was not happening. This was not happening. I just kept saying the words over and over again in my head.

"I...I can't st-...I need to..." I swallowed, forcing the words to form in my head first. "I don't feel well, Michael."

"Oh god Evy, please, you can't bail on me now. This is

important

. Please. Just take a moment, okay? Maybe splash some water on your face? Please Evy, I need you. I'll try to keep the meeting as short as possible.

Please

."

I already knew I wouldn't leave him. Like I said, I took better care of Michael than I did Bruce. I nodded, kept nodding, probably to convince myself rather than assure him. He kissed me on the forehead.

He was opening the door before I was ready, but I realized I would never be ready, so what difference did it make? I followed him back into the suite, standing just a little behind him, using him as a shield. Maybe, just maybe, I could be the well paid secretary and keep out of their business dealings as much as possible. If I didn't have to think, if I could shut down, then maybe I could convince myself that this was not happening.

"Evelyn Smallis, I would like you to meet Pasadena Williams. Ms. Williams, Evelyn is basically my right hand...well, both my hands and probably a foot."

He laughed at the joke, I grunted out a noise that I hoped sounded like a chuckle, and our client didn't respond. No surprise there, she'd never been about bullshit. What she did do was extend her hand toward me. I stared at if for just a moment before I slipped my hand into hers. I probably should not have, but how could I explain not shaking our potential client's hand? Her hand was calloused and rough against my smooth skin, but that's not what I noticed. I noticed the bolt of electricity that made its way up my arm and squeezed my heart. I forced myself to look up into those dark, penetrating, chestnut brown eyes. We stared at one another for longer than a second, much longer than protocol permitted, and then she smirked and said in that damn sexy voice of hers,

"Hello Princess."

*

Once Michael realized we knew one another, it was smooth sailing from there. I already knew the entire meeting was bullshit. Dee didn't strike me as the type of person who would jump into anything blindly. So, I was pretty sure she had researched our small firm and was comfortable with us managing her affairs. This meeting, the purpose of it? I wasn't sure.

They talked business and joked like old friends. I had not seen this savvy, business side of Dee before and...it was remarkable. She could be charming if and when she wanted. But I wasn't really focused on that. My eyes were committing her to memory, assessing every little change as I took her in. She looked to be as bulky and muscular as when we'd first met, give or take an inch. Her hair was peppered with more gray than I remembered. That was logical considering she was five years older. She was still graceful, moving her frame about easily, casually...and she could still render me stupid. More than a few times she caught me staring and smirked. More than a few times a question was directed at me and I had to ask her, or Michael, to repeat it. More than a few times, I saw Michael staring at me like I'd lost half of my brain.

I felt like I was coming apart at the seams by the time Dee finally stood, her intent to leave clear. I hopped up, anxious for this ordeal to be over. She shook Michael's hand, but didn't indicate that she wanted to shake mine again. A relief, I assure you. She was standing at the door, opening it, ready to leave. I could already feel my pulse slowing down, my body relaxing just a bit. But of course she couldn't leave well enough alone. She turned to me, her brow raised.

"You free for a drink later?"

Such a casual question. My immediate response was to beg off, but I could feel Michael tense beside me. He would think it was important for me to join her, to 'seal the deal' so to speak. I knew better. Still, I couldn't bring myself to disappoint him.

"Sure."

She nodded, that smirk returning, and I knew she had painted me into that corner purposely.

"I'll meet you in the bar at 9."

And with that, she was gone.

*

The first thing I did when I got back to my room was call Bruce. I needed to remember who I was, who I had been for the last five years, who I was still trying to be. He didn't answer his phone. I called again in between showering and changing. I slipped into a pair of jeans and a casual black tee. I scrubbed the make-up off my face. I was not going to dress carefully for her. I was not going to show any hint of interest. And I would let her know she was not being invited back into my life. I left my hair out, the curls framing my face. She was an old friend, we were getting a drink and that was it. I called Bruce again, hoping to hear his voice before I left. No luck. I sighed, closing the door behind me.

I was the first to arrive in the rather sparsely populated hotel bar/restaurant. I was 30 minutes early. This hotel was actually quite upscale and I decided to order something to eat after being seated. The waiter asked if I wanted to wait for my guest, but I decided not to. I ordered a chicken Caesar salad and a glass of wine. When I saw her enter the bar some time later, I was still picking at my salad and sipping my third glass of wine.

She had changed too, into jeans, a black wife beater and a sports jacket. I took a huge gulp of the wine, ignoring the fact that my head was already spinning. She spotted me and made her way over. I watched as she sat, her piercing gaze settled on me intently. She assessed the situation quickly, glancing down at my collection of wine glasses on the table and the barely eaten salad. She smirked again, but before I could say anything to her the waitress appeared.

She ordered a burger, fries and a whiskey, neat. I waited for the woman to leave before setting what I hoped to be angry eyes on her.

"What do you want Dee?"

She raised a brow, "done being polite now?" She asked, amused.

"Fuck you." I spit out, not sure why I was so angry, not sure about anything.

I was pretty sure the waitress heard me as she put Dee's drink down in front of her. She turned to me, indicating my mostly empty glass.

"Shall I bring you another?"

I was about to say yes when Dee cut me off.

"She's done. Thanks."

The nerve of her. I swallowed back the very impolite comment I was about to make until the waitress walked away.

"What the hell do you want, Dee?"

She didn't answer, picking up her glass instead. I watched her down half the contents before she set it back down. I continued to watch her, waiting, about to blow my top when she suddenly put an envelope I hadn't realized she was carrying on the table between us. I stared at it, then looked back up at her.

"What the hell is that?"

She ignored the question, waiting for me to pick up the envelope and open it. I regretted doing so immediately. Photos. Of Bruce. And the woman he was cheating on me with. Someone from his office. I knew her. Had met her at a few different functions. I replaced the photos and shoved the envelope away.

Later I would wonder how she knew. I would wonder what the hell she was doing meddling in my life. But confronted with those pictures, sitting across from the woman that still came to me in my dreams after five years, I could only think of one thing to say.

"I already knew." I snapped, albeit halfheartedly.

She nodded, finishing her drink. She stared at me for a long moment before asking, "did you know she was pregnant?"

A squeeze...right around my heart. Not a 'oh my god, how could he, I'm so hurt' squeeze. It was more a 'shit, now I really have to deal with this' squeeze. No matter the type of squeeze, I knew I no longer wanted to sit at a table across from this woman. I stood, my legs shaky, my head spinning just a bit, my heart pounding in my chest...and left her sitting there.

She had no right. She had no right to sit across from me after five years. She had no right to know this type of information, much less share it with me. She was not a good friend. She was not a close family member. She had no right.

I held onto my tears until I was behind my hotel room door...and then I sank to the floor and cried. My marriage was over. Bruce wanted a child. I did not. I would not bring a child into a struggling marriage. He would want this woman's child. I couldn't blame him. He had a chance to be with someone else, to be happy, why shouldn't he take it? But why hadn't he told me? Why did I have to hear it from

her

? What did she think? Now that things were over with Bruce, I would run back to her? She was wrong. She was no guarantee to happiness. She never had been.

I sat there, leaning against that door for a while. I cried until I was all cried out. And then I wiped my tears and stood to start packing. I needed to deal with this and I couldn't do it in Chicago. I had crammed everything into my carry-on, called to change my flight (which cost me $300) and was about to call Michael to let him know I had to leave when someone knocked on my door. I figured it had to be Michael, coming by to see how 'drinks' went with our new client. I was glad I could tell Michael personally. He would resist less if he saw how distraught I was.

I yanked the door open, prepared to plead my case to him, and froze. She was so much taller than I remembered. And the sports jacket fit her really well, hugging her broad frame, emphasizing the size and shape of her amazing arms. She leaned against the doorjamb, her eyes focused intently on me. I turned away from her, ignoring her for the most part as I called Michael.

He actually didn't give me a hard time. I think the look on my face earlier that evening was still haunting him. He did ask how my chat with Dee went and I told him everything went well, glancing over at her as she continued to watch me from the doorway. Once I hung up with him, I continued to ignore her, gathering the rest of my things and shoving them into my bag. Giving the room a once over, I then headed to the door. She stood there, blocking my exit. I was not in the mood.