Page 86 of Love & Other Disasters

Violet followed Rico through a door into a bustling warehouse.

After the tour, he showed her the breakroom and the closet that contained products for the employees to take home. He handed her a jar of eye cream, a face mask, and leave in hair conditioner.

“You’re a little puffy under there, doll,” he said, motioning to his eyes.

She sighed, “Yeah, that’s cause a man made me cry this morning.”

“Dump his ass, baby. You don’t need that,” Rico said, pulling a clear plastic bin from the bottom shelf of the closet. He produced a box. “This is our revolutionary eye serum patches. They will knock out all that puffiness, so you’ll look gorgeous. That’s the best revenge ever.”

She laughed and followed as he motioned her through another door. Now they were in a compact room with more cabinetry, a sink, and two chaise lounge chairs.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“We’re on break,” Rico replied.

Ten minutes later, both of them relaxed back into the chairs, faces in different masks, and serum eye patches in place. Her mask was tightening and the patches were refreshing, a weird blend of sensations.

“My pores needed this,” Rico muttered through a sheet mask that he’d even draped over his beard.

Violet had almost dozed off when the door opened, bringing her back to an unwelcomed reality.

“Here you guys are,” Elle said, her heels clicking on the floor. “Brent called; J.P. is looking for you. What did he do?”

The rest of his day was nothing but more upset customer phone calls and more employees who expressed their opinions by ignoring him. Jordan was ready to scream. When the news had gotten out about their relationship, they’d treated her as a jezebel and now the tide had turned on him. The only thing he’d been trying to do was protect the company they had charged him with saving. And if he could explain it to her, then maybe she’d understand and forgive him.

Violet’s phone was off, and his calls went straight to voicemail. He called Brent in a last ditch effort to reach her before a meeting that would take well into the evening. He’d bet that she’d ran right to Elle, and he hoped that he could reach her. But none of his efforts enlisted a response from the only person he wanted to hear from.

That night, Violet’s car was not in the driveway, but an Infinity he didn’t recognize sat in its place. Two large black trash bags sat at the base of the steps, and Elle sat in a chair. She looked up from her phone as he approached.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s your shit,” Elle said, standing. “You take it, leave me Violet’s key, and we go our separate ways.”

“Where’s Violet? I want to talk to her.”

“Not happening, douche canoe,” she said.

“Wait just a damn minute. Why am I the bad guy here?”

“Did you really just ask that?”

“Put yourself in my shoes, Elle. You’ve discovered the former CFO embezzled money and a person you’ve met and liked turned up there under a different name. What would you have done?”

“You had her investigated so you could get her back into bed with a clear conscious.”

“No. Not that simple…” he paced, running his fingers through his hair. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ve screwed up. All I want is to explain myself.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Elle said, stepping down one step. “But she asked me to get her key and return your things.” She held out her hand, palm up.

J.P. quit breathing. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Squashing down the pain, he let anger take over. He pulled the keyring from his pocket and removed Violet’s key—the one he was happy to have when she’d given it to him. He’d been caring for her when she was sick, and now she wanted it back because he betrayed her. But he pushed the turmoil to the side, picked up the trash bags, and left.

He called Violet, and when her voicemail picked up, he swallowed all emotion and said, “I gave your key to Elle and took my things. Please, I just want to explain myself. I don’t want this to end. Even though you’ve always thought it would… it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, isn’t it?” He stopped talking as the anger of remembering her words came back to him. That he’d leave, and they would break up, and she’d rushed that into existence. He hung up the phone.

If he couldn’t talk to her, then it was time to work off his frustrations at the gym. And despite his better judgement, he tapped out a text message: Please just talk to me.

That night he tossed and turned, alone in the bed for the first time in months. The beating he gave the heavy bag at the gym didn’t tire him out enough and he wasn’t in the mood for any solo action. When did he get used to having her soft little body next to him? The following day, he went through the motions at work, his staff still hated him, and so did the customers, but for different reasons.

After another day of missing Violet, he hit the gym again hoping to work her off his mind. In the middle of slugging it out with a heavy bag, he turned to find Brent. J.P. growled and went back to punching the bag.

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