Page 105 of Rude Boss 2

Chapter 24

Quintessa

This week has been torturefor me. There I was thinking I finally found my happily ever after – the man I’d love forever – only to find out he thinks so little of me. I’ve spent the last few days at Ella’s just to avoid being alone at my apartment, crying myself into a deep sleep. And while I’m here, I ponder my life and choices until pondering turns into overthinking. What did I do wrong? What could I have done better? Is this it for us?

I hope not. I love my husband.

He needs to come to terms with a few things before I can have a productive conversation with him, but my love for him runs deep into my blood – circulates through my heart and keeps me alive. While his behavior is questionable, he’s still the man I love more than anything.

This is what I try to relay to Ella at lunch today while we sit outside on the patio at Little Beach Café. It’s muggy – the air is thicker than molasses, and I can feel the dampness on my skin like lotion. It rained last night – a downpour for the ages that only made me feel sadder. Rain tends to do that when you’re already feeling a certain kind of way.

Anyway, today is a new day. The sun is bright and I feel…all right. At least I’m able to sit in public without crying.

Ella asks, “How could you still be so inlovewith him after what he did to you? I’d be ready to choke him.”

“Well, I kinda was.”

“And you still should,” she says, then bites into an avocado chicken wrap. “I mean, you came back from the honeymoon telling me about the wonderful time you had with him, and the picture—OMG—y’all were in paradise…in places most people will never get to see, now this?”

“Ella—”

“Not only did hefireyou in front of your coworkers, but he hasn’t called once, Quin. My boyfriend calls me every day. You’re married, and Essex doesn’t call. Something is seriously not adding up here. If he’s so in love with you, why is he treating you like this? I mean, is this what you should expect every time y’all have a dispute—that he’s going to cease all contact with you. That just isn’t right.”

“It’s his own issues that he’s trying to deal with, Ella. I don’t think it truly has anything to do with me.”

“Okay, then. Why haven’tyoutried to callhim?”

“Because—” I pause.

Because he hurt my feelings…made me feel lower than low. He made me feel like I lied to him. Like I really didn’t want to be with him. Like I cheated on him WITH him. And if all that craziness wasn’t enough, I missed my period and I’ve never missed a period.

I tell Ella, “I haven’t called him because I’m not sure if he wants to hear from me. I pull in a deep breath to keep from crying yet again. “I miss him, and I’m angry with him, and these emotions are ravaging my body to the point where, if I were to lay eyes on him right now, I’m not sure what I would do.”

“Then I guess you better hurry up and figure it out because a white Maybach just pulled up and unless Rick Ross has a hankering for a grilled panini, it’s Essex.”

I turn around witnessing the moment Essex steps out of the car. All eyes are on him like he’s a celebrity, and he’s dressed to the nines as usual. I suppose he just left the office. He’s far away from me, but the smell of his cologne and his skin fills my nostrils as if he was standing directly in front of me, making me further reflect on the time we spent on our honeymoon. It also has me remembering the angered look on his face when he fired me. When he yelled at me and told me I didn’t love him.

“Did you tell him you were going to be here?” Ella asks.

“No.”

“Then how did he know where to find you?”

“He got us new cell phones before we left for Fiji. Maybe he used a tracker app or something. I’m not sure.”

Ella shakes her head and rolls her eyes – thingsIshould be doing. Instead, I take a sip of water and brace myself for the first few words that will come out of Essex’s mouth.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

Me and Ella both look up at him. She turns away, wordless. I’m wordless, too, but surprisingly, I’m not as angry as I thought I might be in his presence. I’m not angry at all.

I say, “Good afternoon.”

“How are you, Quintessa?”

“I don’t know. You look like you’re doing good, though.”

He frowns slightly. “I need to speak with you.” It’s just like him to interrupt my lunch – to come to me when it’s convenient for him because he’s so accustomed to everyone around him bending, conceding to fit his needs.

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