Page 87 of Captivated By You

Fuck.

The text was from Simon.

I’d never deleted his number from my contacts, but that wasn’t a surprise. I had tons of numbers in there for people I didn’t see any longer. When it came to technology, housekeeping wasn’t my strong suit. Just one look into my email program would tell anyone that.

What the hell was he doing contacting me, though? We had nothing to say to one another. I considered deleting the text without reading it. Knowing Simon, he’d blame me for Ash sacking him, and the message would be full of vitriol and poison rather than any kind of inward retrospection that maybe he’d brought it on himself by not performing to the levels expected of his position.

In the end, curiosity got the better of me. I tapped the screen.

Simon: Proud of yourself, are you? Finally got your revenge?

I should ignore him, or better still, block his number. I knew better than to pander to his whims when it was clear he was spoiling for a fight. But a tiny part of me also wanted to gloat, to rub his face in his misery. He’d wronged me, and finally, more than three years later, karma had bitten him in the ass. There was a certain joy in that.

Me: Think what you like.

Simon: You won’t get away with this.

I sighed.

Me: What do you want, Simon?

Simon: For you to suffer.

A shiver ran through me, but I refused to allow this man to apply his pitiful intimidation techniques. I wasn’t that innocent twenty-one-year-old anymore. I was a grown woman who could hold her ground against a bully like him.

Me: You brought this on yourself. It’s nothing to do with me.

Simon: [laughing emoji] That’s what you think? It’s everything to do with you, bitch. You’re the reason I lost my fucking job.

Me: No. You’re the reason you lost your job. You were shitty at it, and you were found out.

Simon: Fuck you. All you had to do was tell your fuck buddy to let me keep my job.

I ground my teeth, my heart pounding loud enough that I could hear it. Brandon Forster, Simon Barlow, hell, my sperm donor of afather.They could all fuck off. I’d kept the peace long enough.

Time’s up.

Me: You’re right. I could have. And he’d probably have listened, too. But that’s just it, Simon. I didn’t want to. I’m glad you lost your job, you piece of shit. Call it payback for what you did to me.

Several seconds passed. The three dots kept appearing and then disappearing as though he was typing and then deleting. Finally, the text arrived.

Simon: Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

What the hell did he mean by that?

I almost replied, asking him just that, but it was what he wanted. To keep the conversation going so he could carry on throwing insults and trying to make me feel guilty for his own failings. Well, too bad. I wasn’t about to play that game.

I put my phone on silent, snuggled beneath the covers, and went to sleep.

It took me a while to come around the next morning. Sluggish and with a fuzzy head, I stood in the shower, allowing the needles of hot water to pelt my face and body. Ending with an icy blast that woke me up fully, I dried off and padded back into my bedroom to call Ash to see if he was free for breakfast. My shift at the hotel wasn’t due to start until one o’clock this afternoon, and I knew without looking that my fridge was bare. Pastries and strong java at my favorite coffee shop sounded perfect, and with Ash for company, it didn’t get much better than that.

I picked up my phone. The message icon showed four unread messages. I clicked into the app. The most recent one was from Ash. My mom and Gia had texted, too. But those three messages weren’t where my gaze fell. My stomach flipped. Simon had sent me another message.

Everything inside of me screamed for me to press Delete without reading it, to block his number and forget he existed.

Instead, I opened it.

Simon: Check this out.

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