Page 8 of The Consequence of Loving Me

“I won’t, sir. But I need you to give Selma a break. She’s been working hard.” Somebody’s voice echoes on the other line, and I know that voice is his secretary—Amber. The same secretary that is way too young for him, but somehow, he’s still having an affair with.

I’ve interned at his law firm the last two summers, and anybody with a pair of eyes can see they’re hooking up.

“I gotta go, Maverick,” he rushes out.

And just like that, the line goes dead. When Tony Matthews wants off a call, it’s over. There’s no exchange of pleasantries or long goodbyes.

I sit outside for a few minutes after we end the call, gathering my thoughts. My mind runs over how much of that conversation I want to tell Selma. He’s said enough harsh things to her today, and I won’t let her hear any other negative things tonight when it comes to her as the subject.

My body lets out a long sigh as I stretch in the chair before getting up. When I walk back into the house, Aspen is enthusiastically rattling on about something.

“She’s the most badass chick I’ve ever come into contact with, Selm. I mean, my charm had zero effect on her. In fact, I think it pissed her off. I’m in love.” His hands are flying all over the place as he talks.

Selma giggles from her same perch in the kitchen.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be living in the same house as her,” Aspen says. “This is my wildest fantasy. Oh my god, what if I see her in the shower?” His hand goes over his heart as he mimics a dreamy look on his face.

I throw the closest thing I can find—a dish rag—at him.

“Aspen here is telling me we have a new roommate. Veronica,” Selma explains, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. She expertly winds a hair tie off her wrist and spins it around her hair.

“Where did you even find her, Maverick?” Aspen asks, his hand still resting on his chest.

Both Aspen’s and Selma’s eyes find me, each obviously waiting for an answer.

“It happened kind of randomly,” I begin, letting my body fall onto our gray couch. I explain the chain of events, and how it seemed like it’d be a good fit.

“I hope I’m a good fit,” Aspen retorts, grinding his hips.

“Gross,” Selma’s soft voice says, not hiding the laughter.

“I’m so happy you happened upon that beautiful creature, Maverick.” Aspen looks at me like I just gave him front row seats to a Kid Motto concert.

I shake my head at him. Veronica and I only spent a short time together, but somehow, I knew Aspen was going to be very let down by her. She has bars around her made out of Valyrian Steel, and I don’t think anybody’s going to easily penetrate those walls—let alone Aspen.

My mind replays the events of the day and how exactly I ended up with Veronica as a roommate despite her rubbing me the wrong way after knowing her for only an hour. I’m still unsure how things will unfold with her. She and I may end up at each other’s throats, or it may be that way with her and Aspen—maybe both.

But I am sure of one thing. Our new roommate seems like there’s a lot more to her than what meets the eye—and I want nothing do with it.

4

Veronica

Two days go by before it’s time to see Maverick and his obnoxious friend again. When we spoke last, we agreed I would bring some stuff over after my shift at the art gallery I work at. I currently have two hours left of my eight-hour shift, and my feet already hurt from the ridiculous pair of heels I decided to wear.

I welcome the pain of the shoes. It’s a distraction from everything else going on in my head.

My boss—Clementine—yells at me from across the studio. “I have someone coming in twenty minutes to pick up a piece they bought. Will you make sure everything is handled accordingly with them? If all goes well, I’m hoping they buy more from us as they decorate their vacation home in the Hamptons.”

My fingers type loudly across the keyboard as I construct the latest social media post for the gallery. I give her a quick response before going back to finishing the post.

In twenty minutes on the dot, a man in his late fifties walks in with a woman who looks to be only a few years older than me on his arm. Standing up and smoothing out my skirt, I walk across the marble floors to greet them. “Welcome to Clementine’s Art Gallery. My name is Veronica. How can I help you today?”

I want to crawl out of my skin as the man’s eyes roam over my body for way longer than necessary. I look at the woman next to him, wondering if she realizes the man she’s with is obviously a perv. She’s too busy typing away on her phone to notice him. Every part of me wants to bite this man’s head off for looking at me the way he is, but instead, I give him my sweetest smile as I wait for his eyes to meet mine once more.

“Hello, dear,” he finally says.

Gross.

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