Love, Lies & The D.A. (3 page)

Then
there was the look in his eyes when we were alone. Now that I think about it,
there was no look. He couldn’t look me in the eye. I think a part of him seemed
angry. I’m not sure… However, the image of him thrusting his body into her over
and over hit some sort of nerve in me.

Suddenly,
I find myself bawling—uncontrollably bawling. The more tears I wipe away, the
more they continue to flow. Then I realize I can’t see the road. I pull over to
the side. Five, ten, fifteen minutes later, and they continue.

I fold
my arms over the steering wheel and lay my head down. I am in so much pain, I
literally feel my heart breaking. The aching sensation in my chest gets worse
with every tear that streams down my face. The more tears I wipe away, the more
this throbbing sensation in my head develops.

A
tapping sound on my window causes me to raise my head. Red and blue lights reflect
all around me. Just what I need—the police.

I look
around. There is one car in front of me, another is behind me. I roll down the
window. The officer gazes down at me. At first, he looks annoyed, then his
expression changes to concern.

“Ma’am.
Are you alright?”

“As
you can see, I’m not,” I mutter. “I’m sorry if I’ve broken any laws.”

“We
got numerous reports of a car parked that seemed unattended with no disabled
markings.”

“I’m
sorry. I had a really rough day.”

“May I
see your license and registration, please?”

I hand
them to him, and he, in turn, hands them to the officer in the car in front of
me. After a few minutes, the other police officer walks over to the car.

“Ms.
McLean, are you sure that you’re in any condition to drive?”

“I’ll
be fine. If I don’t think I can handle it, next time I’ll do the responsible
thing and stop at a rest stop or get a hotel.”

“That
would be best. Get going. Please stay safe on the road,” he says.

“Thank
you. Have a good night.”

They
both smile sadly at me and watch as I drive away.

I push
on for another forty-five minutes, and I’m able to make it to Sacramento. I get
a comfortable room at a hotel where I stay for the night.

After
an uneventful
two-hour drive the next day, I finally arrive
at Lake Tahoe at lunchtime. I’m not hungry, but I do need a house somewhere
secluded and private that I’d like to stay.

I pull
up to a beautiful restaurant overlooking the lake. I sit at one of the tables
outside that overlooks the view. I pull out my laptop to see if I can find an
agent in the area that will see me on short notice. After some research and a
few phone calls, I’ve made an appointment.

By
midafternoon, I find myself a place to call home. It’s a beautiful chalet on a
steep hill with views of the lake beyond. A long set of stairs lead to the
docks below, along with an inviting hot tub on the terrace.

Now
that I know where I will sleep, I visit the supermarket to stock up for my
stay. By late evening, I get home in time to unpack and see the stunning orange
ball dip below the distant mountains. Everything is in silhouette. Beautiful.
This is the exact reason I came here. I make myself a pot of hot coffee and
cuddle up on the patio, being present, appreciating the view.

I
think about my mom. I don’t want her to worry, but I know she must be worried.
I get my laptop, snuggle up in front of the massive stone fireplace, and I send
her an email.

Emails
inundate my mailbox. Too many of them. As I look down the list to see whom they’re
from, ninety percent of them are in response to the email I asked Solace to
send out the day before. Others with subjects like
I’m so sorry
or
you
are in my thoughts
repeat as I scroll through the list. I send out a
blanket email thanking everyone for their support but requesting privacy. While
at it, I delete Richard Preston and Koto Miller from my address book. In fact,
I think I should consider everything from them as junk. That way, I won’t have
to see any more of their sorry attempts at an apology. I already had to delete
at least six emails from both of them.

They’re
not sorry; they’re sorry they got caught. I wonder if he’s ever screwed her in
my bed.

With
that one thought, I allow my mind to run wild. Did he share with her what he
shared with me? Did he do to her the things he did to me? Did they have
mind-blowing orgasms together? By what I saw yesterday, they probably did. Then
I think the one thought that hurts the most—I thought he loved me.

As
much as I want to hate him, and I hate what he did to me, deep down I know it
hurts so badly because I loved him so much.

For
the first time in a long, long time, I feel so alone. The woman who I thought
was my best friend, the one I always could rely on, or so I thought, betrayed
me in the absolute worst way possible. Why did she do this? Did she not think I’d
find out? Did she not care about our friendship?

It was
just two days ago that we had lunch together and she told me how excited she
was about the wedding.

Liar.
The whole time you were sleeping with my fiancé.

Why
did he do this? Are they in bed together right now, laughing at what a fool I have
been? Well, you know what… I have spent too much of my precious time already
thinking about them. They can have each other.

I
drift.

“Oh
Richie, oh
yes Richie.”

I hear
his groans, his thighs repeatedly slapping hers, and I see his hands gliding
over her breasts. Then there is the sight of him slipping out of her. It
happens, once, twice, three times, and I wake. The pillow under my head is
completely soaked. Once more, the tears won’t stop. That night, I cry until I
sleep.

*     *     *

Thank
God, it’s Friday. This District Attorney job sure makes me appreciate the
weekends. I’d be a liar if I said I sometimes didn’t miss working with Dad at
the firm. However, I chose this path. For the next few years, I, Jonathan Kole,
will need to deal with the ridiculous workload that this job entails.

I’ve
wrapped up this case, so I could use a well-deserved break. I’ll pick up Megan
and the dogs, and we’ll head to Lake Tahoe for the weekend.

*     *     *

I
awake the next day with a pounding headache. This can’t continue. I don’t want
to feel like this. I want this pain to go away, but I don’t know what to do to
get it to stop. How did I stop it when Daddy died? How did I do it then? Back
then, I found a project. Then, it was my company.

I took
every dime Daddy left me and started building a business. Perhaps I need to
venture into the East Coast, or the Caribbean, or Europe, possibly even Asia.

On the
other hand, maybe I need to take my camera and go out. I haven’t picked it up
in over a year. At least, not for taking this type of photography. I swallow
some aspirin, take a long shower, then I head out.

I get
some breakfast at one of the restaurants on the lake, then after, I trek along
the water’s edge. I take the opportunity to photograph every scenic vista,
wildlife, and flora I come across. By midafternoon, I am exhausted and decide
to head back home after I pick up dinner.

Today
has not been a great day, but it’s been a better day, and I have to believe
that it will get easier with every day that goes by. I take a bubble bath in
the spa tub that overlooks the gorgeous lake view. It relaxes me. After, I
cuddle up on the sofa and watch a movie.

I wake
at
eleven the next day. I haven’t slept that late in forever. Except for when
Richard and I—I stop my thoughts. I will start the day on a bright note.

I
shower and dress in a white pair of skinny jeans, a navy and white striped top,
and a navy blazer. A pair of navy stiletto booties completes my outfit. I will
indulge in brunch at a nearby resort today.

*     *     *

Women.
It was Megan’s idea to have brunch here this morning, and she woke me up entirely
dressed, so it is beyond me what she could possibly be doing in the bathroom
all this time while I wait for her in this lobby.

The
entrance doors open, and this beauty catches my eye—tanned in complexion, with
a slender pair of legs, and skin that looks as smooth as caramel. Her light
brown hair falls in waves above her shoulders, and she has the lightest pair of
gorgeous hazel eyes.

She
walks with such poise and confidence, she could be a model. She’s exceptionally
stunning—exotic.

I slip
my hands into my pockets and nonchalantly trace her steps, observing her from
afar.

“How
many in your party?” the host asks her.

“Just
me. Party of one, please,” she replies confidently.

I can’t
help but smile at her response. She’s the confident, self-assured, in-control
type. Not
usually
my type, I like to be the one running the show, but
for some inexplicable reason, I’m intrigued…

*     *     *

The
pretty, young host escorts me to a table for two near a window with panoramic
water vistas. Within minutes, a server takes my order. As my café latté
arrives, I can’t help but overhear a rude exchange between a man and his leggy
blonde with the host that escorted me to my seat.

“Look,
I reserved that exact seat yesterday,” he says.

“I
apologize sir, but that seat is not available,” the host replies.

“Well,
if you were doing your job in the first place, it would be available to me,
wouldn’t it?”

“Sir,
I’m sorry for the error, but it wasn’t written here. If you like, you can wait
at the bar where I’ll be happy to serve you a complimentary beverage of your
choice while you wait, or I can accommodate you at an available table now.”

I can’t
help but look to see who this asshole is.

Everything
about him smells of money. From the designer jeans that hug his ass, all the
way to the Jaeger Reverso watch that graces his wrist. He’s hot—probably in his
mid to late thirties, tall, broad shoulders, piercing grey eyes, and a head of
black hair like I’ve never seen.

Ordinarily,
I might have found him attractive, if only he would just shut up.

Everything
he says to that poor young girl, who has tried so hard to rectify someone else’s
mistake, pisses me off. He’s been nothing but rude and condescending. As I look
up, my eyes land straight on his. Then I realize they’re all looking my way. I
turn around to look behind me, but there is no one. Then it dawns on me that he’s
arguing with the host about my seat.

My
meal arrives. I mind my business, and I proceed to enjoy it. Before I know it,
I see him approaching my table. I pretend not to notice and focus all my
attention on my lemon ricotta pancakes before me, but within seconds, he stands
beside me.

“Excuse
me, my name is Jonathan Kole. Would you mind terribly if you were seated
elsewhere?”

My
eyes travel across my pancakes to his broad thighs, to his crotch, and to what
I suspect is an extremely trimmed stomach beyond his black ribbed sweater. Then
I stare into his grey eyes in silence.

“You
see, my girlfriend and I met right here at this table a year ago, and I wanted to
propose to her. Here. Today.”

“Actually,
Jonathan, I do mind. Seeing that I’m enjoying my meal, surely you wouldn’t mind
waiting until I’m done. Or perhaps you can let that polite host, who has done
everything possible to accommodate you, have you seated elsewhere.”

“Do
you have any idea who I am?” he asks.

Asshole!
Your name might sound familiar but who cares…

“No.
You could be the king of England and I wouldn’t give a damn.”

“Who
the hell do you think you are?”

“You
really want to know?” I ask quietly.

He
lowers his head slightly, as if he’s seriously interested.

“I am
a woman who walked in on her fiancé screwing her best friend one week before
her wedding, so forgive me if I’m not in a sentimental mood.”

His
mouth drops open at my response.

“Now,
if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Kole, I’d really like to enjoy my brunch.”

His
piercing grey eyes are glaring into mine. I know he’s angry. His temple
pulsates as he stares at me. He walks away completely flushed.

I don’t
care. Perhaps if he had been nicer to that host I would have considered his
request. However, because he comes from money doesn’t give him the right to
speak to people any which way he wishes.

I
continue to enjoy my meal and notice him walking hand in hand to the bar with
Malibu
Barbie
. Half an hour later, I ask for the check then purposely make him
wait an additional five minutes before I leave.