Page 5 of Best Friend's Dirty Ex

I can't hold back a laugh at the thought of my mom giving up exercise to drink morning margaritas while watching my father shout at random cooking shows. All at once I realize how much I've missed them both and I'm glad that I called.

“I also picked up a hobby that I decided to drop. Mine was a narcissistic boyfriend.”

I hear her exhale on the other end of the line. “I thought it might be something like that. I wasn't really sure how to get through to you or how to help, so I figured that I would just step back when you became unavailable and hope for the best.” The understanding in her voice has me on the edge of tears.

“I'm sorry. It wasn't you. It was me.”

“Sounds like it was him.” Once again, my mom goes right back to batting in my corner, and I can't help but feel blessed and lucky to be so understood and so loved by this woman, even though I shut her out of my life because of a man.

“I missed you.” As I force the words out, my throat closes, and I know there's no way I'll be able to say anything else.

“Oh, honey. We missed you too.” The warmth in my mother's voice overflows, and tears stream down my cheeks. “Thank you for calling. It's so good to hear from you again.” I can tell she absolutely means the words and I take a deep breath, trying to get past the pain in my throat as my nose burns and drips. There's no doubt I'm an absolute mess now, but it’s a relief.

I'm loved, I'm safe, I'm whole, and I'll never let anyone come between me and my parents again. My phone beeps, and I glance down at it, seeing that there's another call coming through on the other line.

“I have another call coming in. Can I call you back?” As I ask the question, I internally promise myself it won't be so long between calls next time.

“Of course, honey. I'm just glad to hear your voice and know that you are okay. We love you and we'll talk to you soon.”

“I love you too, Mom. Give Dad a hug for me.” With that I end the call and switch lines.

“Hello, is this Everly Paige?”

The voice sounds strangely familiar, but I can't quite picture the owner’s face. “It is. How can I help you?” Something tells me this call is all business, no pleasure, and that's absolutely fine with me except the thick, deep voice of the man on the other end makes my heartbeat suddenly irregular and my breath catches. I swear, I know who he is and not being able to put a name to the voice is going to drive me up the wall.

“The interior designer.” The words sound like they should be a question but are instead a statement of fact, and I nod my head before realizing I should probably use words.

“Yes, that's me. How can I help you?”

“I need an office redesign. Do you have availability?” The man sounds so nonchalant, I try to picture his face. I have no doubt he's handsome, and he speaks in a low voice that tells me he’s likely used to being listened to. I scan my apartment, taking in the nice white loveseat that matches my couch, the hardwood flooring, the accents and touches I put everywhere to make the room look more open, airy, and bright. I have a fascination with light that leads me to try every new kind of lighting available, from LED strips to pretty little fairy lights in colored bottles.

“When are you looking to have this redesign done?” I've learned better than to just accept when people ask if I have availability, because that could mean they want me to start tomorrow or two months from now, and if I'm unable to meet the client’s requirements, they’re generally upset. Which makes sense, of course. It's just a possibility for a miscommunication that I'm not interested in worrying about.

“As soon as possible.” Despite his answer, the man doesn't sound too eager, and I have to wonder if his wife or girlfriend is the one requesting the redesign. This wouldn't be my first experience with the person paying for the service making the call on behalf of someone in his life wanting it done. But maybe I'm being unfair. Of course, men can want redesigns of their space also. They’re just usually a little bit more... interested.

I decided to put aside my personal feelings and instead focus on the nitty gritty details I need to do the work. Things like asking if he has a specific design in mind, what kind of space we're looking at, what kind of taste or themes. Everything that allows me to do my job to the best of my ability the first time with the least amount of margin for error.

By the end of the conversation, I am still going insane because I absolutely know that I know who this person is, and as I shift the fuzzy white pillow underneath me that I'm lying on, I try to place him. The voice is so familiar, I'm sure I've heard him speak recently. I feel like I should know who I'm talking to.

“Excellent. I've penned you into my schedule, Mr...?” As I say the words, I’m making notes in my phone. Not that it matters, because I record every single phone call I make just to be sure that I have backups of every person I talk to when it comes to my business.

“Vin.”

“Mr. Vin. Interesting name, is it short for Vincent?” I can't think of any other names that make sense, and I don’t know any Vins... or Vincents for that matter. Maybe this is a strange occurrence of thinking this person sounds like somebody I know when I really don't know them. A stranger with a familiar voice, maybe?

“No, just Vin. Is there any further information you need?”

“I think that'll do it, Mr. Vin.” I'm dying to ask him if he knows me or if I know him. Is my voice familiar to this person too? I can't quite shake the feeling that I do know this man and that there's something going on. But that's fine. I guess I'll just figure it out when we meet up in person. As long as this isn't James - which I am certain it is not - how bad could things possibly go?

“Thank you, Miss Paige.” Something about the way he says my name has my heart fluttering and I feel like a silly schoolgirl. I am too old at thirty-two and have been through far too much to feel this way when a man says my name.

The man disconnects the call and I get comfortable on my couch, thinking about this new job while using my phone to Google the name Vin.

I quickly find that it is a name, Latin for conquering. And then it pops up that Vin Diesel is a popular celeb with the same name.

Maybe this is just a familiar-sounding stranger and they just searched for designers in the area or took the advice of a friend to hire me. I am a small business, and while word of mouth has done a lot to help me out, I'm not a big name by any means. I can pay my bills, but I'm not going to get hired by the real Vin Diesel to come redesign his mansion.

I sit back, staring at the information he'd left me with, chewing my lip and trying to figure out why I feel like I know this person. As much as I want to tell myself it's just a coincidence, and maybe he sounds like someone I know, a little voice inside me whispers that something isn't right.

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