Page 45 of First Comes Revenge

Crazy.I can almost hear the word about to come out of his mouth, because it’s exactly the kind of thing he liked to do to me. He’d throw me under the bus if he ever had to save face. I was disposable, like an emotional shield he would use at will. I was too busy trying to be a good girlfriend to stop and wonder why I was putting up with his shit.

Only this time, the word doesn’t come out, because Jameson takes a very aggressive step forward, invading Vaughn’s space. The closeness emphasizes how much bigger and taller Jameson is than Vaughn.

“Careful,” is all Jameson says. He may have claimed not to be a “front puncher”, but when he’s looming over Vaughn, I’m suddenly very confident Jameson is more than capable of knocking Vaughn on his ass if he decides to.

Vaughn looks up at him, eyebrows twitching together for a moment in confusion. He seems surprised to be threatened, and like he’s trying to decide if he has the balls to stand up to the confrontation. After a moment of hesitation, he raises the two fingers holding his glass and his other palm, stepping back a half foot. “Who can keep all the dates straight,” Vaughn says, laughing a little.

“Does she know?” I ask. I didn’t plan to ask or confront him. I still haven’t so much as texted, called, or even talked to him about what he did. Well, I did send him the shortest breakup text in the history of breakup texts before blocking his number, but I don’t count that. I just couldn’t bring myself to ask him why he would steal my book. What could he have said that would make me feel any better about what he did?

“Know what?” Aubrey asks.

“Does she know who wrote the story you’re slapping her name on?”

The look on Aubrey’s face isn’t surprised like when Jameson mentioned an “overlap” in the time Vaughn spent dating Aubrey and me. This time, she looks guarded and worried. She looks like she’s wondering how I know she didn’t write the story, because she knows damn well she didn’t. Any points I was willing to award her go down the drain. “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. Now she is hooking her arm in Vaughn’s and smiling. The expression seems full of plastic and fake things.

“I saw you two at the convention,” Vaughn says, ignoring my question and Aubrey’s reaction. All he cares about is his wounded pride. “How long was this going on, Charli? You and Jameson behind my back.”

I’m opening my mouth in absolute shock. Is he seriously going to try to turn himself into some sort of victim? He told me to stay home and brought another woman to an author’s convention to parade her around as the author of a book he stole from me. He was probably fucking her for months before that. All that, and he tries to turn things around on me?

Vaughn sniffs and his lips turn up in a sneer. “I always knew you were a slut. You show up in…that,” he says, gesturing to my costume. “And you just go fucking your way from one powerful man in publishing to another, don’t you? Because you always knew your book wasn’t good enough to stand on its own, didn’t you? You were always so goddamn unsure and insecure. It was exhausting. Why do you think I had to cheat?”

“Please,” Jameson says. His voice is a dangerous, low sound. It makes me picture some big predatory animal crouched in tall grass, waiting for its moment to strike. “Set him straight,” he says, looking at me.

I raise my eyebrows. I was expecting him to jump in and defend my honor. I think Iwantedhim to. But then I realize he probably feels like I deserve the chance to defend myself. My feelings for Jameson swell in a warm, pleasant rush. Most guys probably would just punch Vaughn right now, or they’d start yelling and insulting him. But Jameson is different. He wants me to grow from this, I think. He wants me to feel closure and have the chance to know I spoke my mind and faced my demons.

“You’re wrong,” I say. Okay, not exactly the best start, but my throat feels like it’s being gripped by an invisible hand and I’m trying not to speak in that “I’m about to cry any second out of pure nerves” crack in my voice. I take a few deep breaths and focus on the ugly look Vaughn is giving me–like I’m something he stepped on and wishes he could get off his shoe.

“Wrong?” He laughs. “That’s rich, coming from–”

“No,” I say. “It’s my turn to talk. You know, the worst part about dating you was that you actually made me feel like the one who was in the wrong. I thought I was being a bad girlfriend because you had to tell me ponytails made my ears look big, or that I looked ridiculous when I wore that blue dress I love, or that I was chewing like a cow and that’s why you made a scene and got us to leave dinner with your friends early. I thought it was my fault that I couldn’t lose more weight for you or find time to exercise like the girls you were always showing me on your phone. I thought you were trying to motivate me andIwas the one in the wrong for letting it hurt my feelings.” I shake my head, because the memories alone are making suppressed emotions try to raise up from the depths. “But it was just you. The whole time it was only you. You couldn’t feel good about yourself without putting everyone else down, could you? Without puttingmedown? I was just some emotional punching bag to you, and I’m so glad I finally found somebody who appreciates me for me.” I put my arm around Jameson’s and realize I mean what I just said. I really am glad I found him, even if I am bitterly confused about what happens next with us.

Vaughn is just glaring, though. If any of my words really sank in, he’s not letting it show. He rolls his eyes at me and folds his arms. “Feel better, Charli? Been waiting to get that off your chest, have you?”

“I do. Yes. I feel much better.”

“Well, let me tell you–”

He’s cut off by a chorus of whoops and cheers.

I look, and I see four men in various skimpy costumes dance walking through the room toward us. One of them is doing congo fists in his little tiger speedo and mask. Another is pumping up the crowd, raising his arms and shouting something I can’t quite hear. A third cups his hands around his mouth. He’s in a police uniform with a leather vest and booty shorts. “Where’s the bad boy? We’re here to punish the bad boy!”

Several people laugh and someone does a dramatic “oooh”.

“Was this your idea?” Vaughn asks Jameson. “Strippers? Really? At a work party?”

“Our bad boy goes by the name Vaughn Vanderlesh. Come out, come out, wherever you are, Vaughnie boy! You paid top dollar for our time, baby. No point hiding now!”

The people around us start moving away and pointing. Aubrey is tilting her head at Vaughn, our confrontation already forgotten as the attention of the entire room is turning toward her boyfriend.

I take a few steps back with Jameson so Vaughn and Aubrey are now at the center of a growing crowd. The crowd parts ways for the stripper parade to dance its way toward him. They punch through into the open center where Aubrey has abandoned Vaughn to stand all by himself in his silly little devil “costume.”

“There he is,” the police stripper says. He pulls out a floppy baton that I realize is actually a big, thin dildo. He holds it over one shoulder and purses his lips. “Boys? Get him!”

“What the hell is this?” Vaughn asks.

“Don’t play stupid, Vaughnie boy. You gave us very specific instructions. You paid for a dirty lap dance, and you’re getting what you paid for.”

Jameson looks down at me, and I can’t help laughing, because his eyes are practically glistening like he’s falling in love with me for this.

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