Page 54 of Darling Obsession

I give the driver my address, wondering if he already knows it.Surveillance.

And I wonder what this would look like to Harlan’s siblings, if they happened to see me getting into his car with him. But if he doesn’t care, I guess I won’t, either.

What does it matter? I don’t work for Vance Industries anymore.

As the driver shuts the door, my phone chimes with a text message.

I tell Harlan, “I guess I should check this.”

He says nothing, just clenches his jaw, but the tension rolling off him is extreme. I’m not sure how I’ll handle sitting in this small space with him, I’m so flustered already.

At least we’re not alone; the driver is right there in the front seat. My place in East Vancouver, just off Victoria Drive, is only about twenty-five minutes away. I can survive that without saying or doing anything embarrassing, right?

I check my phone.

Justin:Sorry babe. I can’t make it tonight. Reschedule?

I stare at the words, letting them sink in exactly as they are. For once, I don’t even try to sugarcoat the way he takes me for granted. I see it for what it is.

I close my eyes. “He can’t make it.” I add quietly, “I was going to break up with him at dinner.”

Harlan doesn’t reply.

I take a deep breath. “He’s been sleeping with someone else, behind my back. I don’t think he even knows I know.”

“Turn off your phone.” His voice is low and deadly.

When I look up, there’s a quiet fury in his expression that leaves me breathless. “If a man doesn’t give you the attention you deserve,” he growls, “don’t give him yours.”

I decide he’s right.

I turn off my phone, and breathe through the pinched feeling in my chest. Justin really doesn’t fucking care. He’s been showing me so, in so many ways.

Why has that been so hard to accept?

He’s not the man I hoped he’d be.

I don’t think he’s a bad person, either. I just think I’m incredibly low on his priority list.

Maybe Harlan understands that I’m going through it here, because he doesn’t say anything else. We drive in silence, leaving downtown over the Georgia Viaduct and heading south along Main Street, then eastbound on Broadway.

All the while, I can feel his restless energy next to me, tense as hell. It’s like sitting next to a wolf who’s struggling to be tame.

“You really bought Crave?” I finally ask him, when I think I’ve settled enough that I can talk about it without melting down in waterworks.

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand why he’d keep that from me.”

“Same reason he didn’t tell you he was sleeping with someone else…”

I’m afraid to ask what that is, but I don’t have to, because he doesn’t pull this punch, either.

“So he could keep getting out of you what he wanted. Also,” he mutters, “because he’s a coward.”

I blink back tears as I let that sink in. Because I know it’s true.

No more sugarcoating.

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