Page 28 of Working with the Scrooge

“Hardly recognize?” Mr. Jorgenson asks.

“I’ll explain later,” I tell him. “Please excuse us. I hope this doesn’t impact our business together, but right now, I need to figure out how to win over the woman I love. The real woman I love, not…”

“Ashley,” the woman admits.

Damn, I was way off.

“I may not understand the mess you’ve gotten yourself into, but I know love when I see it,” Anders says. “Go after her, and whatever you do, don’t let her get away. Love like that only comes once in a lifetime.”

10

CLEMENTINE

Iwalk into my apartment, kick off my heels, and collapse onto the couch, letting out a sob as the miles of ruffles and sequins on my dress puff out around me. I’m surrounded by scratchy material, and my push-up bra is digging into my ribcage, but I have no energy left. Not even enough to strip out of my dress.

Engaged?Engaged?!I guess that answers the question as to why he didn’t answer any of my texts or calls throughout the day.

How could I have been so gullible? Of course the ridiculously rich, stupidly handsome CEO has a woman in his life. So that makes me… the other woman?

Tears and snot run down my face as I ugly cry, the pain of betrayal burning a hole through my chest. I choke out a whimper, remembering how Kingsley held me in his arms this morning. He kissed me so sweetly before we parted ways for the day, and I believed we would continue to share kisses like that for a long time. Maybe even the rest of our lives.

Am I that naive? Kingsley was annoyed by me from the very beginning, which I took as a challenge. Maybe he had a different challenge in mind—see how long it would take to get me in bed. Was I a fling? Someone to “get it out of his system” with before he got married?

God, it hurts even thinking that word. He was engaged the whole time. And that ring… I thought this dress was a lavish gift, but that thing had to have cost twenty times as much as everything he spent on me yesterday.

Rolling onto my side, I grab a pillow and bury my face in it, screaming into the void.

I wish I could call my grandma.

The thought slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. She would know what to say to bring me back from the brink of a meltdown. My grandma was kind and wise and never made me feel silly or stupid for making mistakes. Even giant mistakes like falling in love with an engaged man and giving him my virginity.

Taking a deep breath, I yell into the pillow once more, putting all of my frustrated, angry, heartbroken grief into the action. My throat is sore and my voice is scratchy, but I feel a tiny, miniscule bit better.

I don’t know how long I’ve been wallowing in self-pity, but the itch of the tulle and taffeta is finally irritating my skin enough for me to do something about it. I haul my ass off the couch and begin the process of unbuttoning my dress and climbing out of it. I wasn’t too worried about it when I was putting the damn thing on before the party. I was counting on having help getting out of it from Kingsley, but…

My heart twists up in my chest, tightening to the point of pain. The grief from the loss of my grandma mingles with the heart-wrenching betrayal by the only man I’ve ever loved, making it hard to breathe.

With trembling hands, I undo each button, then pull the mini zipper down on the side of the dress before stepping out. I leave the garment on a pile on the floor in front of the bathroom, along with my bra and panties.

Inside the bathroom, I turn on the water, disappointed but not surprised that it’s lukewarm. The water feels colder than usual. Grittier, somehow. I guess I’m already spoiled after only two showers at Kingsley’s penthouse.

Stepping out of the shower, I feel cleaner on the outside but no more settled on the inside. My emotions are a tangled knot sitting like a lead weight on my chest, and the more I try to figure them out, the more questions I have.

Why did he buy me this dress if he was going to embarrass me in front of his business partners and fiancée? Also, if he had a fiancée, why did his mom waltz in two weeks ago and ask if he had a date?

As I dry my hair with a towel and pull on my comfiest pajamas, I wrack my mind for the answers. Ultimately, thewhydoesn’t matter. The image of Kingsley holding his arm out and her hugging him and showing off her ring will forever be burned into my brain. It makes me sick to my stomach.

I braid my damp hair to keep it out of my face, then sulk back to the couch and curl up with my blanket. Going over the whole day in my head, I should be more focused on what a huge success the party was. The catering was exactly what I envisioned, the decor was classy yet warm and welcoming, and the hot chocolate bar was a huge hit.

Everyone I talked to seemed to enjoy themselves and the family-friendly atmosphere I worked hard to cultivate. It wasn’t easy merging corporate America with family values, as the two are usually on opposite sides of the spectrum, but I think I pulled it off pretty well.

Instead of being proud of the fruits of my labor, all I can think about is Kingsley’s betrayal. And how stupid I am. I fell right into his trap, and I only have myself to blame. Next time, I won’t trust as easily. Or at all. I don’t know that there will ever be a “next time” for me.

In such a short time, Kingsley filled my life with his surprising sweetness and adorable grumpiness. He also gave me my first kiss, my first, well,everything.

My phone rings, startling me out of my depressing thoughts. I almost shut the damn thing off, assuming it’s Kingsley trying to contact me, but then I see the name flash across the screen.

“Tempest?” I ask as soon as I answer. We grew up together back in Oklahoma. Tempest and I would walk to and from school together most days in elementary school and middle school. She lived in the trailer park across the street from my grandma’s house.

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