Just a Number(78)

It catches me off guard a little when Gretchen doesn’t stop to confront me, but instead makes a move to follow after Amelia as she weaves between party-goers, trying to lose herself in the crowd while watching over her shoulder. I recover quickly, grabbing for Gretchen’s arm and stopping her.

Her eyes find mine, and I can see just how angry she is. It doesn’t surprise me in the least. What does surprise me is that she even has the audacity to think she’s allowed to be angry about my moving on.

“Let me go, Owen,” she seethes, trying to pull her arm free from my grasp. “You can’t stop me from finding out who she is.”

“Gretchen,” I start to say, trying to keep my voice low and calm. It wavers slightly as my irritation rears its head, but I manage to keep it at bay for the moment. “You need to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I find out who your little friend is.”

Exasperated, I lead Gretchen through the room and out onto the terrace. A few drops of rain are beginning to fall, and the night air bites at the skin on my face as I release her arm and stand between her and the door. “Gretchen, you need to let this go. How did you even get in here?”

Gretchen smirks, but only briefly before her anger resurfaces. “All I had to do was mention your name at the door. Didn’t expect to hear you’d be here with someone. The moron you have letting people in thought I was your ‘plus one.’ I came here to talk to you in a civilized manner, but when I heard you’d be here with a date…well, I got pissed off.”

“You, of all people, have no right to be upset with what I do and who I do it with,” I remind her through gritted teeth.

Gretchen rolls her eyes. “You sure do seem to be having a hell of a time in the wake of our separation.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you seem to have acquired a taste for younger women,” she says, crossing her arms. “I never pegged you the type to go through a mid-life crisis.”

While she doesn’t outright name Amelia, I can tell that’s what she’s alluding to. Does she also suspect that it’s Amelia who’s here? Gretchen never was good at paying attention to anyone but herself, which meant she oftentimes missed what was going on directly in front of her, unless it benefitted her in the slightest.

Annoyed that I’m here with Gretchen while Amelia is God-knows-where hiding inside, I glare and am unable to keep the venom from my tone. I don’t mean to engage her further when it comes to my love life, but I’ve had enough. “Well, thirteen years with you, darling, and I was bound to need some kind of outlet. Who better than someone whose body has yet to be affected by gravity?”

Gretchen’s eyes widen to the point that, had this been a cartoon, I’d be able to see steam erupting from her ears and nose. I’m uncertain what she’ll unleash on me next, but I refuse to back down. I won’t out my relationship with Amelia, but I won’t deny that I’ve moved on either.

I’m surprised when she doesn’t bring up my date, though I can tell she wants to. “I got the papers, Owen,” she shoots back. “Stephen dropped them off last night.”

“Good.”

She eyes me defiantly, and I fear what’s coming out of her mouth next. “I’m not signing them.”

My eyebrows shoot skyward, and my jaw drops simultaneously. “Excuse me?”

“I mean it. I’ve spent thirteen years married to you while you built this company from the ground up and ignored me I’m not walking away with nothing.”

I’m unable to contain my laughter, and it draws the attention of a few people just inside the door. “Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before screwing around on me.”

Gretchen tries to feed me the same excuse that she’s been forcing down my throat for the last few months about how I pulled away first and drowned myself in work, but I put a stop to that right fucking quick. “Be that as it may, if you’d have just filed for divorce, we could have come to some kind of amicable agreement.” She opens her mouth to protest again, but I cut her off, pointing my finger at her and leaning forward until I’m right in her face. “Sign the papers, Gretchen, or so help me God, I’ll find a way to make the judge force your hand.”

Behind me, I can hear the countdown begin, signaling that the stroke of midnight is upon us. Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm back into the ballroom, leaving Gretchen on the terrace, and I look around for Amelia. I’m still so infuriated that Gretchen would show up here like this, but when I find Amelia by the bar, sipping another glass of champagne, it dissipates a little—not entirely, but enough for now—and I push my way through the crowd. She must sense my presence, because she turns to me, smiling, and makes her way toward me, finishing her drink and setting the glass down on her way over.