Page 18 of Irredeemable

“I was biding my time, but after this morning, I realize I need to change tactics, or I won’t get the woman I want. So I no longer have any use for you.” I send a text to Jasmine, asking if she knows where Sam is, as Madeline stands like a statue near my bed.

Glancing at her, I grab a t-shirt and slip it on, moving to my closet for shoes. She’s still there, unmoved as I finish. I check my phone, seeing Jasmine’s confirmation, and impatience bubbles in my gut.

“You got everything? I need to go,” I ask.

Madeline jerks as if my words have physically hit her. She blanches at me. “I don’t– what’s going on?”

I drag my tongue along the back of my teeth, uncertain how to phrase what I need to say, so I just go with the truth.

Shrugging, I fold my arms across my chest. “I needed a girlfriend to get Sam’s attention; you were the perfect choice. I never expected you to want to fuck me, but I wasn’t going to turn down the added bonus after months of celibacy. I thought after Sam and I finally fucked, it would be over, but she’s slow to recognize her feelings, and I realize I need a different approach with her.”

Her brows furrow, her chest hollowing as she starts to take erratic breaths. “You were… using me?”

I nod, checking my phone again.

“Wait, you only took my virginity a few nights ago? When– Sam?”

Sighing, I rub a hand down my jaw. “Don’t do this, Madeline.”

She screams out, grabbing my lamp from my nightstand and throwing it at me. I sidestep it.

“God damn, what is it with women throwing things at me,” I growl out.

“When did you fuck Sam, Tanner?! She’s been in Italy since Monday.”

Grimacing, I send a text to my building’s manager that I may need security. “Look, when you told me you loved me. It kind of freaked me out.”

Madeline bends over, catching the bed and holding onto her stomach. “Oh god. The same night? Did you leave me in this bed and go to her?” Her voice cracks at the end, the shakiness in her tone making the tone softer than she probably intended.

“Madeline. I told you to leave it. Spare yourself the details.”

She laughs, the shrill emptiness of it sending shivers up my arm. “And what? Just accept it and move on. You took months of my time, you took… you took something you were never worthy of.”

Licking my drying lips, I swallow down the self-loathing. I don’t regret what I’ve done, but the emotions sprawled across her face are making me queasy. I’m not a confrontational person, I'm more of a deal with you silently and in the dark type of guy. Also, there will be catastrophic consequences for humiliating a Waldorf the way I have, but I can’t bring myself to particularly care at the moment. I can only focus on getting to Sammie before she does something else stupid.

So I say the only thing I can think of. “I didn’t take it, you offered.”

Madeline becomes inconsolable at that point, lunging across the room to attack me. I catch her wrists as she screams at me, tears and snot streaming down her face. Her body is jerking, and she tries to kick me since I won’t let go of her arms. It felt like an eternity before I saw security moving into my apartment and removing the rabid, flailing girl from me. She’s still screaming as they exit, and I let out a deep breath, an unknowing weight on my shoulders lifting.

Sammie

“You’refuckingluckynoone recognized you at the airport!” Jasmine yells before returning to typing furiously on her phone.

I sigh, slouching back on my couch and taking slow sips of water. This hangover is from the actual pits of hell. “I’m not important enough to be recognized unless I post about it in my story.”

She rolls her eyes. “Spare me the melodramatic pity party. He’s liketheItalian bad boy, thinkmafia.”

“Oh…is he going to kill me?”

“You’re incredibly irritating while hungover,” She snips, knowing it was a stupid question. Honestly, it's a blessing in disguise that the wife made it public. It would be suspicious if I suddenly disappeared.

Groaning, I close my eyes and lay down on the cushions. “Okay. Sorry. How bad is it?”

“Well, considering the wife leaked the news and showed off the texts. I would say 70-30 in your favor. It comes across as a girl warning girl thing, and you seem apologetic.” Her tone is thoughtful, and I can tell she’s stopped pacing since the click of her heels is no longer echoing through my small space.

“And the thirty?”

Jasmine’s typing continues as she ignores me. Then she slams her phone on the counter and groans. “You are literally my most difficult client.”

---