Page 11 of Beautiful Devil

Confused, I look back at her still scrambling around my kitchen, throwing away her takeout container. “Elle, I could never hate you, but you do realize it’s Sunday, right? You don’t work on Sundays.”

She looks at me like I’m stupid. “Yes, Gia. I know it’s Sunday, and Iusuallydon’t work on Sundays, but I have been for the last month now trying to get everything ready for when the new CEO takes over the company. I really do have to go. Sorry I can’t stay longer.” She runs over to me, gives me a big hug and kiss on the cheek, and then flies out my front door screaming, “Bye, bitch! Love you!”

The door slams shut and once again, I’m all alone.

Alone with these thoughts that won’t go away.

I’ve got this. Right?

CHAPTER4

GIA

I wakethe next morning to yelling coming from next door. Trying to get used to apartment living again when it's been over six years, I’d forgotten just how paper-thin these walls are.

The noise only increases my headache. Guess I should lay off on the amount of alcohol I've been consuming, but it's not like I have a job I need to be sober for. Yep, that's right: my wonderful ex-husband got me fired because of my involvement with his high-profile case – regardless of the fact that I knew nothing and wasn’t involved.

I'd been with my former company since I graduated college six years ago. I’d worked my ass off to become head of the I.T. department. I was never late, never took sick days, and only ever took off a few days on one occasion (which was for my honeymoon).

Now looking back, I wish I would have listened to Elle and never married Gallo in the first place because at least then I would still be employed and I wouldn't be living in this crappy place, hung over, and feeling like death on a Monday morning. I would be at my desk, putting out fires and yelling at my team to get their heads out of their asses and do their jobs.

I’m regretting all the times that I stayed up late into the wee hours of the morning fixing our software and getting the system back online to make the CEO of our company even richer. Why did I bust my ass for a company who dropped me on mine at the first sign of trouble?

Begrudgingly, I get myself out of bed and go in search of some aspirin. While doing so, I get a whiff of myself…and holy shit, I stink like ass.

Let's add “take a shower” to my list of priorities today as well.

Trudging into my bathroom, I relieve myself and open up the medicine cabinet, pulling out the bottle of medication. I find a glass on my bathroom counter, unsure of how or when that got there, but I give it a sniff to make sure it’s not too dirty.

Nothing can smell as bad as you do, Gia.

It passes the sniff test, so I fill it up with water from the sink, pop two aspirin in my mouth, and swallow it down, praying it’ll kick in soon because I can’t live with this pounding in my head any longer.

Before jumping in the shower, I hear my cell phone ringing from the other room. I go in search of it and can't find it anywhere. I'm just about to give up and return to my shower when my hand comes across it tangled up in the bedsheets. Pulling it out, I expect to see Elle’s name on the screen, but instead I see my mother’s.

With my parents still living in my hometown of Hartsville, South Carolina, I haven’t seen them since Gallo’s trial, and I’ve been avoiding their calls. Mainly because my mom always mentions how I should move back home now or come for a visit.

Internally groaning, I debate with myself whether I should answer when it cuts out and I let out a sigh of relief. I’m about to put it down on my nightstand when it starts up again.

Knowing that I’d better answer or she’ll just continue to call me, I hit the screen and accept the call, “Hi, Mom.”

“Gia, honey, how are you? I've been calling you all morning, but you haven't answered. I was starting to get worried about you and was just about to call the police to file a missing person report.”

I roll my eyes because I know for a fact that my mother is not exaggerating and that she definitelywouldcall the police and report me missing. One time, in the eighth grade, I missed my bus home. I had to go to the bathroom and knew that I wouldn't be able to hold it the entire forty-minute journey so I sprinted to the bathroom after my last period class and then ran all the way to the exit…only to find myself in an empty parking lot with no buses or anyone around. I tried going back inside so I could call my mom and ask her to pick me up, but the damn door was locked, and no matter how many times I banged on it, no one heard me.

I sat on that bench outside the building, praying someone would eventually show. So, since I’d missed my scheduled phone call home letting her know that I made it, she knew something was wrong, had already contacted the police, and was driving all over looking for me because she had assumed that I was lying in a ditch dead.

I start to chuckle to myself at that memory when I hear my mother say, “What’s so funny? You don’t think I would call the police on my daughter just because she’s twenty-six now?”

“No, Mom, it's not that. I was just remembering the time you actually did call the police because I missed my bus home.”

“Gia Rosa, that is not funny. You scared me half to death. I thought something seriously bad had happened to you.”

“Nope, just have a tiny bladder.”

“Well, thank God for that. Anyway, I was calling to check in on you, sweetie. How are you holding up?”

“I'm good, Mom. I was just about to jump in the shower when you called.”

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