Page 77 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

I could have shared my success at Georgia’s today with someone else. I could have mourned the departure of a good employee with him. He would’ve told me the reviews were just a speed bump, and everything would turn out okay in the end. I would’ve believed him.

Or—more likely—my success never would have happened, because I’d either be distracted by the newness of the relationship, or I would have been consumed with trying to make his life easier. I would push aside my own goals to make room for his.

Terry used to do that. I had to be at his beck and call to make sure he always had his needs met. If he’d forgotten to buy his mother a birthday present, I was the one who had to drop everything to go and buy one. If we got overcharged on a bill, he’d point it out, but I was the one who had to wait on hold on the phone for hours to get the charge reversed.

It was exhausting. I felt like his mother half the time, and his maid the rest. Is it any wonder I stopped wanting to sleep with him?

I’m not going through that again. Not even for Remy.

Looking away from the window, I try to turn my thoughts back to the joy on Georgia’s face when she got the first glimpse of her new closet—but the first thing she did was look at Sebastian, who smiled at her with a tender look in his eyes.

My heart aches, but there’s nothing I can do to fix it. If I have to choose between my own sanity and a less-than-fulfilling relationship with a man, I’m choosing my sanity every time.

Still, I peek through the window again and watch Remy for a few more seconds. What could have been shimmers in front of me until I lie back and let it go.

THIRTY

REMY

As the days pass, jobs pile up on my schedule, and I make a note to hire an apprentice. I’ll have to put together a job description and post it online somewhere, but for now, I scratch out a “Now Hiring” sign with a sharpie on a scrap of paper and tack it to the front door. Good enough.

I could use someone in the office too. If I didn’t have to do so much invoicing and paperwork, I could take on more work.

Being busy is good for one thing, though: it stops me ruminating over Audrey.

Jeff and I will close on the garage once the lawyers finish all the paperwork and the bank agrees to lend me the full amount of money, which should take another few weeks. But now that we’ve signed the sale agreement, I’m looking around the garage like it’s already my own.

Truthfully, it’s felt this way for a long time, and that feeling intensified after Audrey performed her magic in the office. I’ve just been too scared to officially take the leap. The victory feels emptier than I thought it would, and I know it’s because I’ve got no one to share it with.

While I’m busy keeping my thoughts at bay, a familiar car rolls into the garage. I look up to see Terry Scott exiting the driver’s side. My whole body stiffens as he lifts his hand to wave.

“Hey there,” he says, then jabs his thumb at his vehicle. “The noise is back.”

“That’s because you refused to make the repairs I recommended last time, and you went for the quick fix.”

Terry laughs, as if I’m joking, then throws his hands up. “All right, all right,” he says, “you got me. But the price you quoted was insane. Can you do a discount?”

I grunt noncommittally, glancing at the car, then at him. “No.”

“Come on,” he cajoles, then pulls out his phone. “I’ll write down a number, and you tell me whether you agree.”

“You’re wasting your time,” I tell him. “I don’t negotiate.”

Last time he was here, I wanted to overcharge him a bit to pay for dinner with Audrey. Now I just want him to leave.

“Here.” He shows me the screen, where he’s got his calculator app pulled up and a number written down. That number is about a third of what I quoted him for the repairs. I’m about to tell him to take his offer and shove it where the sun don’t shine when a notification pops up at the top of his phone. It’s an email, and the subject line is written in big bold letters:

Your review for Organizing Goddess has been successfully posted…

I go completely, utterly still until the notification disappears. I frown. Did he review Audrey’s business? Why?

“So? Looks like you’re thinking about it,” he says, grinning.

This guy came on to Audrey just a couple of weeks ago. He’s got a pregnant wife at home, and he tried to hit on the woman who moved on from him. My hand once again curls into a fist, and I just barely resist the urge to punch him across the jaw.

I need to figure out what the hell is going on here.

“Come into my office,” I grit out.

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