Loving Lily(44)

*

Hours later, I was riding separately with a hired car from Hugh and Patricia because they were heading to a party at one of their friend’s homes. I, on the other hand, was heading for home to unwind from our tiresome trip.

And then what? My mind rebutted when I lingered on what I had been doing was unwinding and that hadn’t been working out for me. It was about three in the afternoon, and I had nothing going on in my agenda. Well, maybe it was high time I changed that.

“Excuse me, do you mind dropping me off in Wilshire Boulevard?” I politely asked the driver, thinking I had seriously lost my mind by rerouting my destination.

“No problem, Mrs. Tatum.”

There. The deal was done. At that point, it would be rude if I told the driver to forget about my request and resume our intended route.

What if Drake declined speaking to me? What would I do then? I supposed I would cross that bridge when I got there.

Thirty long, agonizing minutes later, I was riding my way up the elevator, heading towards his office. My hands were sweaty with nervousness and apprehension, and I felt a little gaudy dressed in my comfort travel clothes of a long, simple cotton, flowing teal dress and sandals.

Never mind the outfit, I had gone there bearing peace, not to battle it out with him. The last time had been draining enough, and to be frank, I would rather spend the rest of the pregnancy without the numbing strain that never failed to dampen my mood whenever I had time to myself.

Upon arriving on his floor, I was taken aback when there was no Mindy or Katie to greet me. Huh. I thought it odd to have any of the girls gone at that hour. It wasn’t as though they had left early because it wasn’t even five. A meeting perhaps? Highly likely.

Drat. The times I visited Drake in his office were few and far between. It was rather unfortunate that he wouldn’t be available. Feeling a little discouraged, I still made my way towards his office, thinking I would leave a note, stating along the lines of peace and resolution. If that wasn’t an olive branch, I didn’t know what would be fitting. Saying sorry wasn’t my forte, but at least I was trying. I supposed it was better late than never at all.

My colorful mind drifted to several scenarios as to how he and I would resolve this while quietly strolling towards the double-doors to his office. The playful smile that toyed upon my lips died the second I opened the damn doors. My astonished eyes landed on Drake, half-naked, faced down on a massage table situated in the middle of the room with a thin cloth covering his bottom while the masseuse “worked” around his thighs. If I didn’t know better, I would believe that woman was massaging his balls.

The urge to scream was strong, yet I was too choked up to even breathe, afraid I would fall apart if I did.

Run. Close the damn door and get the hell out of here as fast as you can, and then pretend this never happened. My first thought was the same as usual—avoid.

I should go, I kept thinking to myself while my hand continued to grip the door handle, shaking. However, if I did, that would be resorting to the same cowardice that had gotten me there in the first place, and since my marriage was far beyond “rocky,” what did I have to lose if I went bat-shit bonkers on him? Nothing. At that point, there was nothing left to lose other than my cool.

“Well, well, well, it’s good to see the boss working his blood, sweat, and semen,” I drawled as I dramatically stepped into the room, basking on Drake’s horrified expression.

It was a classic look men sported when they had been caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing—a mixture of shock, indignant, shame, remorse, and fake machismo.

“So, you’re the woman he’s banging on the side?” I directed to the sun-bleached Barbie who had her breasts bulging out of her V-neck button-holed polo shirt. “In case he didn’t tell you, he’s married—to me.” I then waved my hand before her face. Hopefully, she didn’t get blinded by the carats that were in it. I could see Drake through my peripheral vision, trying to scramble off the table.

“Lily, enough!” he angrily hissed out as he rounded the table, heading for me.

Bastard!

The Barbie looked petrified as she looked at Drake then at me before stuttering, “Sorry—I’m not—I mean—no, I didn’t realize he was married. There’s nothing going on. I’m just a masseuse.”

I snorted, ready to attack both of them. “I bet you are. Now get the fuck out of here, or I’ll drag you by the hair out of this building myself!”

“Lily, calm yourself,” he growled into my ear before holding me in place with his hand securely grabbing my arm. He then addressed his masseuse, who didn’t seem to want to fucking leave the damn office. “I’m sorry, Melanie. My wife’s pregnant, and she tends to have random spurts of anger. You can go ahead and charge my card. And, again, I apologize for this embarrassment.”