Page 14 of The Renter
She squeals in what I, as her best friend, recognize as approval. I’m sure she’s thinking something like,Girl, you’re going to be fine. He’s rich; ride that wave!
“He’s a recluse, never does press.” I wave my arms around, exasperated. “There’s not even a headshot of him on the company’s website! But there’s plenty of press about his divorce.”
“Do you think he knows who you are?” Kelsey raises an eyebrow.
“We haven’t shared anything personal, so no, he wouldn’t have any idea that I used to work at a company his firm gave three million dollars to … and then swiftly lost.” I chug my coffee, starting to spiral.
“Breathe,” Kelsey says, patting my hand. “You didn’t lose the money. Derek did. He had no idea what he was doing, and the only part of Shirts that worked was the marketing—because, obviously, you ran that department.”
She’s the best.I don’t deserve a friend like her.
“I also made a slightly inappropriate comment to Adam the other day, and now that I know who he is, it was definitely not a good joke.” I shake my head, reliving the moment. “I basically said I’m only into guys who’ve got their shit together. I hope I didn’t come across as a gold-digger. I mean, yeah, I don’t date broke guys. But I barely date at all, especially not after …”
“Don’t evenfuckingsay his name. It’ll be like Beetlejuice, and he’ll show up here. Speaking of … have you seen him since you’ve been back?”
“No, I have not seen S?—”
“Don’t say it!” she snaps.
“I haven’t seen the man who …” I pause, unwilling to dredge up the messed-up shit he did to me. “And if I do see him …” I shake my head.
“There’s so much to unpack here,” Kelsey says, clearly living for the drama. “So, Adam is rich and owns part of Shirts. Was three million, like, thirty to forty percent?” she asks, the finance major in her kicking in.
“Yeah, we … well, Derek, gave Harris Ventures thirty-six percent of Shirts for three million. But thirty-six percent of zero is still zero because the company’s dead. Along with all my fucking hopes, dreams, and money.”
“Breathe,” Kelsey commands. “We all know Derek sucks and doesn’t deserve any more of your energy.”
“The last thing I want is forAdam Harristo think I’m dumb,” I whine.
“Maybe Adam could help you? He’s an investor?—”
I stop Kelsey. “I am not asking my summer fuckbuddy to negotiate a settlement for a company I helped scale and make appealing for investors in the first place,” I nearly cry out. “You can’t get blood from a turnip anyway.”
Suddenly, my eye catches Sorin’s unmistakable cocky gait. I freeze, unsure what to do. Hide? Run?
“Beetlejuice,” I whisper.
Kelsey mouths, “What the fuck?”
“Beetlejuice,” I mouth back.
I haven’t been with this guy since I was twenty.I hate small towns.I’ve seen him a few times over the years, always turning the other way, avoiding him. We haven’t spoken since that summer.
Sorin looks old. Nowhere near the Abercrombie model vibes I remember.Drugs.He’s the local coke dealer, after all. I wonder if he still has his “Baskin Robbins” reputation, having a new flavor of girl every week. If only I would have been done with him after a week, but the couple of months I spent on a roller-coaster tryst with him left me scarred and nearly in rehab.
He was the first guy to actually fuck me. Not like a teenage boy, but like a man. He had me so wrapped around his finger. He was the first guy to make me come. He made me beg for it, which still makes me feel stupid.
He also made sure I was never sober. Our relationship was controlling and never remotely healthy. He was always messing with my head just to fuck with it, like saying the sky was green and making me agree with him. It’s a miracle I didn’t die. How is he still alive? I’m still mad at myself for everything that happened that summer—too many regrettable decisions to count. Now, with time, I see how terrible it all was.
“My wife,” he says, his bloodshot eyes framed by deeper wrinkles than I remember.
“Sorin, fuck right off,” Kelsey says, her voice firm.
“You didn’t tell me you were back in town. I’ve seen your car, but I haven’t seen you on your bike. Why aren’t you riding?” He ignores her, addressing me directly.
The fact that he thinks he can talk to me like an old friend has my heart racing with fury.
“Coke Poke, time for you to go,” Kelsey says, waving him away like he’s a homeless person asking for change. I smirk.
