“Yes, really,” I answer, accepting the glass of ginger ale Lena hands me as she and Nat drop onto the sofa across from my seat and sip their own drinks.
“What did Greg say when he found out?”
“He went nuts, obviously. I swear, for such a controlled guy he has a major temper problem. Not that I blame him or anything. I mean, I was pissed when they pulled up the footage, but it’s pretty conclusive. It was definitely Farns.”
So here’s the rundown. Remember my boss, Jordan, the guy I’d practically gotten fired and booted from a company that had been owned by his wife’s Uncle Yates?
Yeah, turns out he owns and was driving that SUV. The cops had pulled up the camera footage, and wham bam, thank you ma’am, there he was, tailgating the heck out of me.
I’d seen the footage and been horrified, partly at his actions and partly because my fear face is so weird. But the proof is there, and they’d arrested him soon after confirming that the un-plated SUV is his.
He cracked like an egg when they’d questioned him, and admitted to wanting to scare me, sort of his revenge on Greg for taking over the agency and firing him.
I feel almost sorry for the man. He’s looking at three years for reckless endangerment, and while I certainly blame him for what happened and can’t forgive what could have happened — like losing my little fetus — I forgive him. Greg, on the other hand, is so mad he’s violent every time the names Jordan or Farns is mentioned.
I don’t like the guy, but nobody deserves to be left alone with my husband after that. Thank God he can’t get to him.
He’d only been trying to scare me. It’s not his fault the brakes on the rental car had failed, something that’s made my husband furious enough to ruin them.
One less car rental agency in the world won’t kill anyone, but I feel sorry for the guy who owns it. Greg is ruthless.
“So then everything is back to usual. I was so scared when Greg told Taylor about the accident. They were acting like you were in imminent danger or something. And don’t even get me started on the non-visitation thing,” Lena mutters, still smarting from Greg’s rudeness the day I’d had the accident.
They’d all rushed to the hospital, only to be turned away by my tyrannical husband. According to him, he wasn’t about to let anyone near me until he knew what had happened. I, of course, have told him what a paranoid psycho he is, and he’s conceded the point grudgingly.
Lena’s still a little pissed, though, so she only visits when he’s away or at the office. Where I haven’t been since the accident.
“Lena, the man has serious trust issues and a frightening need to control every aspect of his life. And mine. And apparently everyone who so much as breathes my way. Give him a break already. He’s apologized, and that’s as good as it gets with him.”
“You call that an apology? He told me he had his reasons and I should understand!” she yells, and Natalia starts giggling so hard I can’t help but laugh too.
“You know that’s Greg-speak for ‘sorry.’”
“Stop being such a bitch, Lena. It’s done and dusted,” Nat mutters, changing the subject with a humph of irritation and a not so nice scowl directed at me.
“Thanks a lot for setting me up with Gregory’s twin brother, Control Freak 2.0. I woke up this morning to his secretary informing me that a car would be at my disposal. When I tried to sneak out and run to the subway, my phone buzzed. Guess what he said. Go ahead. Guess!”
“That you can’t use the subway?” I ask with a wince.
I’ve been there and had that hour-long argument, so I understand her anger. Men can be such tools sometimes.
“That I can’t use the subway!” she yells right over me, ignoring the look Lena and I share.
“What’s the big deal, Nat? The subway sucks. All those sweaty bodies are gross,” Lena says with a shrug that only a rich socialite can pull off.
“I like those sweaty bodies, thank you very much. How else do you expect me to get my daily grope on? And that’s not the point. He’s only doing this because he wants to control me.”
Been there too, sister. Might as well just shut up and give in. Men, especially rich and powerful men like Greg, Fletcher, and Taylor, simply do not stop until they get what they want. Namely, complete control of the women they—
“Oh, stop complaining. At least he said he loves you,” I mutter, scowling darkly.
Seriously, she’s been with Fletch for all of five seconds and the guy’s made his move. At the rate I’m going I’ll need a sledgehammer and pliers to get the words out of Greg. Damned stubborn bastard.