“Ryan—as in the a-hole boss who fucked you, and then broke up with you the moment he feared his wife had found out?”
“Uh-huh. That one.” Sylvie didn’t fall into a tirade of expletives, which could only mean one thing.
I shook my head, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “No, Sylvie, you didn’t listen to that idiot, did you? You might be my best friend and I love you to bits, but you’re a moron.”
She let out another long sigh. “I know.”
“What were you thinking?”
“He sent over flowers and I thought he was serious about it, so I caved in and listened to his crap. You know I lose my head around guys and make the worst decisions ever. None of this would have happened if only you were here.” Now it was all my fault. I rolled my eyes. “You’re so lucky your boss plays for the other team,” Sylvie continued.
My former boss, I mentally corrected her. The current one was far from it. This was my cue to assure her I was the even bigger fuck up but a.) the contract clearly stated I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about my arrangement with Mayfield, and b.) I seriously doubted Sylvie would be shocked. In fact, she’d probably cheer me on and expect a sex tape after I was done with Mayfield.
“So, what exactly happened?” I asked. “Because if you believed one word that lying, cheating bastard told you, I swear I’m cancelling our friendship this instant.”
“I told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine.” She hesitated, adding something that sounded suspiciously like, “After.”
“After what?”
“After I told him that I’d rather be celibate than sleep with him ever again. I think you’re rubbing off on me.” Her voice trembled slightly. Had she been crying?
So why the tears? Unless they were tears of joy, in which case I made a mental note to drag Sylvie to the nearest bar for a round of celebratory drinks the moment I arrived back home.
“That’s about when he said he was only looking for a quick fuck and didn’t mean a word he said. And then he dumped me, for good,” Sylvie said.
Ouch. “The bastard.” For once he seemed to have told the truth. Probably the only truth any woman would ever get from him. Okay, Sylvie was an easy lay, but did he have to be so hurtfully candid about it? You don’t screw with a woman, her mind or otherwise, and then admit you were only using her just when she was about to develop a morsel of self-respect by backing out of your one-way, self-beneficial deal.
“It’s okay. I’m over him,” Sylvie said, sniffing. She wasn’t. “He’s already off my mind.” He wasn’t.
“You’re beautiful, clever, young, everything he’ll never be.” I talked slowly and paused for effect so she’d understand just how much I meant each and every word. “Sylvie, you’re amazing and deserve someone as amazing as you. Don’t settle for less.”
“You think so?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I do, from the bottom of my heart.” Her huge smile almost shined down the phone line. “Now go to bed. I bet you’re three sheets to the wind.”
“I’m what?” She laughed, ignoring my jab at her drunken state. “How’s that job working out for you?”
“Good.” I had completely forgotten that I was at work and not supposed to have personal conversations. I rolled in my swivel chair to peer at the door, almost expecting Jett to be standing there, eyeing me with a frown and demanding that I peel off my suit so he could spank my backside for taking the liberty to go against my work contract. The naughty thought sent an instant smile to my face. I had never been into spanking, but it sort of sounded hot—imagining him doing the deed. I opened my mouth to tell Sylvie all about the Italian countryside, but she’d already lost interest.
“Did you find out who sent the letter?” she asked.
Frowning, I tried to remember what the hell she was talking about. And then it dawned on me. The letter on the coffee table.
Freaking hell, it completely slipped my mind.
“Just open it.”
“Don’t think so,” Sylvie said slowly. “It looks suspicious. It could be a bomb or something, and I still need my hands.”
Sweetie, if it was a bomb, your hands would be the last thing to worry about.
“Okay…I’ll check it out when I get back home, then.”
We talked for another minute or two, mostly about her being bored to death without me. She emphasized how much she missed her best drinking buddy, by which she couldn’t possibly mean me. I hardly ever managed to have more than a margarita before I was ready to hit the bed…facedown, while Sylvie partied the night away.