Still Into You: A Novel (Better Than Series Book 3) (11 page)

              I plead, “Davis, I love you.  I’m sorry.  Really…it’s NOT. WHAT. YOU. THINK.”  I sob between each of my last words.

              This is feeling too real.  It hurts too much.  And just when I think I can’t take another moment, Davis fires the killing shot.

              “I’m DONE, Biz.  DONE.  I won’t be home tonight.”

              He pushed the elevator button right before he said it and like magic it arrived.  After delivering his last word, he steps into the elevator and is gone.

              My head is swirling.  That went well.  Too well.  It was all too real.  And painful.  All the air has left the room.  It’s eerily quiet.  It seems Davis left an entire room speechless with this faux venom.  Not wanting to face anyone, I run to the stairwell, slip off my silk blush-colored Gucci crystal ankle straps and run down the stairs as fast as one can in a couture gown.  I cannot help the sobs heaving from my mouth.  It was all an act, but my heart is having trouble accepting that fact, even if my head knows the truth.  If there was anyone in the crowd not fooled by our performance, I’d be amazed.

              I run out of the building in tears, ensuring everyone in my wake sees me, and slide into the seat of my waiting Town Car.  Donovan had it arranged to be ready and waiting.  None of this public “break-up” has been left to chance.  Even Kathleen, our friend at Arch Scene magazine and Smitty, her boyfriend/photographer, were tipped off.

              The valet begins to close the door.  As he does, I hear him say, “Don’t worry, Biz.   Your husband is an idiot.  There’s someone better out there for you.  I’m sure you’ll see them soon.”

              I know the voice.  I look up as the car door closes and through the window, staring at me intensely, is Randall Ireland.  Dressed as a valet.  Those narrowed, creepy eyes are unmistakable.  A smile spreads slowly across his face.  He winks and the car takes off.  My head turns, as we pull away, not able to take my eyes off him, like I’ve seen a dead person come to life.

              Now really panicked, I dig in my clutch for my cell phone and text Donovan.

The mole has popped up

***

              “Let him go, Biz… It’s time for Davis to go,” Donovan insists from behind me placing both of his hands on my shoulders.  I’m clutching Davis with all my might.  Davis has one hand around my waist, the other is holding his suitcase.  The one I was staring at earlier in the evening.  We are standing in the foyer of our condo and I’m clinging to him like my life depends on it.  When the car let me out, I ran up the stairs and into our condo, straight into Davis’ arms.  And that’s where we are now.  I almost missed him.  Almost missed holding him one more time before he left.  Our foreheads are together, our eyes burning into each other.  Davis opens his mouth to say something, when our front door flies open, slamming into the wall.  I feel Donnie’s hands leave my shoulders and he moves to stand in front of us, his hand reaching into the left side of his jacket at the same time.  Is he reaching for his gun?

“I’m going to fucking kill him!! What the fuck does he think he’s doing?!”

Charlie barrels into our condo with Jules in tow, tottering behind him on her four-inch heels, her perfect coif falling down.  He looks like he ran the few blocks from the hotel.  Breathing hard.  Sweating.  And the look on his face – like he could tear someone’s heart out with his bare hands.  Jules’ expression is worse.

Charlie stops just inside the door, perhaps at the seriousness of Detective Garrett’s position as a human shield.  “Davis?” Charlie growls. 

Simultaneously, Jules says, her voice high and squeaky with concern, “Biz, What

is going on? Are you guys really breaking up?” 

              Donovan turns to Davis and me and says, “It’s up to you, guys.  The more people that know the more complicated this will be.”  He’s right, but we can’t leave our best friends in the dark.

              I nod at Donnie and he steps aside.  Davis and I hold hands and face Jules and Charlie.  We look at each other one more time.  In that look is confirmation of our agreement. Charlie makes a quick move toward Davis his hand up and fisted.

              “Charlie, no!”  I yell.

              Jules pulls on Charlie’s arm, silently directing him to lower it.

              Davis puts both hands up, taking on the posture of surrender “Charlie, man, don’t. Don’t be pissed. We aren’t breaking up. It was an act…”

              “An act?” The hurt is front and center in Jules’ voice.

              Charlie steps back and places both hands on the sides of his forehead, while shaking his head, “What the fuck, guys?

              It’s my turn to talk.

              Donnie is pacing impatiently off to the side.  I know he wants us to hurry.  I can hear him mumbling, “Wasting time.”

              I speak rapidly.  Everyone knows I’m really good at talking rapidly, especially when nervous or panicked. Which, right now, I am. “Charlie, Jules, we don’t have much time.  Here it is.  Davis and I faked breaking up.  We’re trying to get Randall Ireland to come out of hiding, show himself.  Donnie…” I turn and point to the detective, “had the idea that if we broke up publicly, Randall would find out and show up.  It’s working.  He was at the Gala, posing as a valet.  I saw him and he talked to me.  We have to get Davis out of here.  We have to make this look real.  Do you understand?”  They nod that they do. “Can you help us?”  They nod again.

              “NOW!” Donovan interjects emphatically.  He’s serious now.  Waving us toward the door.

Wordlessly, because really, what more can we say, Davis and I kiss.  The kiss is good-bye, a promise to see each other soon and the desperate making of a memory all at once.  Davis backs away from me, not releasing my hand until the last possible moment.  I see Donnie walk over to Charlie and whisper something in his ear.  Davis walks out the door.  He can’t be but one or two steps out when I see Charlie bolt after him. 

Then, from the hall a barrage of profanity and loud argument occurs – Charlie is ripping Davis a new one.  "I am going to fucking KILL YOU, Davis Brandon.  Seriously, you think you can talk to my sister that way!"

I hear Davis reply, "She's not your fucking sister!"

WAIT!  My heart screams to my brain before the word escapes my mouth.

“Wait!” I move toward the door to stop Davis. 

Donnie grabs me by the shoulders and stopping me with a ferocious glare tells me, “No!  It starts NOW!”

  I didn’t hear it.  Davis didn’t say it before he left.  He always says it to me.  Every time we part. “HAVE FUN.” It doesn’t mean exactly what it sounds like.  It can mean whatever we need it to at the time.  And he didn’t say it.  This is not good.  Not good at all.  For the first time in a long time, I give into the panic and begin to cry.  Donovan pulls me into his arms and up against his large chest to silence the tears as they come. My expensive mascara is no match for this night.  I am certain Donnie’s shirt will be covered with black streaks. 

I feel Jules come up behind me and run her hand down the back of my hair.  Then she turns me out of the detective’s embrace and into hers.  “Sshh, Sshh… I got you.
I
got you, now.”  From the tone of her voice, I get the sense she was talking to Donnie Garrett with her last words, not me.

Chapter 14-Present:  Four Weeks In

It DOES feel like forever.  Forever since I’ve seen Davis.  Held Davis. And it’s only been four weeks.  Four weeks with no direct contact.  That’s the rule. NO Contact.  I have not spoken, texted, Face-timed, emailed, snail-mailed or seen my husband directly.  I know he’s been out on tour with Boxwood some of the time.  Mostly because I have their tour schedule memorized.  And Jules tells me.  All communication is filtered through Donnie or Jules and it’s been minimal. 

Frequently I open up the website for the Boxwood/Lawnmower Tour, hoping a picture of Davis will appear.  It’s also one of the only times during these days apart that I laugh, recalling Davis joking about how
Boxwood/Lawnmower Live!
sounds more like a gardening exposition than a rock concert.  The corners of my lips turn up into the kind of smile that only Davis can put on my face when think I about him saying the tour should be called the “Trimming the Hedges” Tour.  I miss his dirty mind and his double entendres. 

This separation is worse than when we spent a summer apart.  Almost worse than when I was so very alone – before I ever met him.  I wonder how much longer I can hold out.

By all appearances, to those not in the very small circle “in the know,” I am living the life of a happy, newly separated woman.

Couldn’t be further from the truth.

But as I’ve heard from Davis before, “people’s perceptions are their reality,” even if it’s not the truth.  An outsider’s reality of my current status might go something like this:  Biz Connelly is a slut.

Yeah, I could see that it would look that way.  It’s what we want Randall’s reality to be.

I have “dates” two times a week with Jake, two times a week with Donovan.  Sometimes on the dates, we go out.  Other nights, Jake or Donnie will come over and spend the night.  These nights are the best.  Not because I’m enjoying a romantic evening with one of my new lovers.  Ha! No, they sleep on the couch.  More like, I don’t have to get dressed up, I don’t have to pretend and I get to go to bed early.  It also ensures that I’m protected.  This ruse is exhausting.  That’s the reality.  Much less scandalous than the illusion we’re creating.  I hope to God, Randall is paying attention and buying it, because I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

Oh, and my condo continues to smell like garbage.  At least two or three nights a week.

***

              One evening, one of Donnie’s nights to stay with me, I asked him what his wife thought of all this – her husband fake dating another woman.  Staying out all night.

              He sort of grunted and laughed at the same time and said, “She doesn’t know.”

              “What do you mean, she doesn’t know?” I probe.

              “I’m at work. That’s what she knows.  She knows what I do.  She doesn’t ask questions.  Once I close a case, I tell her, if she asks.  Right now, she knows I’m working on the Randall Ireland case.  That’s all.  Not everything,” Donnie explains as he sits down on the sofa and flips on the news, not looking at me as he talks.  This is my date tonight.

              Then he adds, with as much affection as I’ve ever seen this gruff police detective display, and a soft sigh, “Posey. She’s my good girl.”  I can tell in those few words he adores his wife.

***

              Randall has not made himself visible in a month.  The last time I saw him was the evening we began this whole thing.  Donnie says it’s time to step up the game.  I need to go out more.  And – I need to start picking up and dating random guys.  It’s supposed to give Randall the impression that I’m open to more options than just the two guys I’m “cheating” on my husband with. 

              I give Donnie an ultimatum, “Three weeks.  That’s it.  I can’t do this much longer. Three weeks.”

              Donnie only nods his agreement.

Chapter 15-Present:  Five Weeks In

There is an old Shriner’s temple near our condo.  As part of the urban renewal our city is undergoing, it has been converted to a movie theatre.  But not just any sort of movie theatre.  This one is upscale, with a Middle Eastern flair.  The theatre doesn’t have small, sticky theatre seats, but luxurious, reclining couches, perfect for snuggling. In the large, gorgeous Temple Bar in the lobby there aren’t regular tables and chairs.  No, there are low tables with large silk cushions in saturated jewel tones around them, scattered on top of oriental rugs.  The place is intimate and mysterious and has become a popular date destination.  A popular trysting destination.  Tonight, I pick up my first “random guy.”  The random guy hand selected by Donovan Garrett from all the undercover cops in his precinct.  All I know is the guy’s name is Aaron.  According to Donovan, he has thick dark brown curly hair and wears glasses.  He’ll be wearing jeans, a navy blue and white striped t-shirt and flip-flops.  At first, I snickered at Donnie’s very specific description.  Then I realized, he’s a detective.  It’s his job to be specific.

I order a cocktail.  It’s a move out of character for me, but I’m trying to give the impression that I’m “running wild.”  The Temple Bar has become well known for its cocktails, so I order one of their signature drinks – a Marrakesh Pineapple Smash.  One sip and I know it’s strong, whiskey-based, and dangerous.  Fortunately, my “date,” approaches not long after and engages me in conversation.

Moving in close, he says so only I can hear, “Hi there, Ms. Brandon. I’m Aaron.”  I shake his hand and gesture for him to sit.

“Please, call me Biz,” I say giddily.

I quickly abandon the drink and focus on Aaron.  I’m surprised how easily acting comes back to me.  He is soon whispering in my ear.  To anyone walking by, they’d think he was whispering sweet, dirty nothings to me.  I giggle, as if he’s said something incredibly clever.  What he’s really telling me is the plan for tonight.  Aaron, suddenly, suggests loudly that we go in to see the movie.  I agree.  He helps me up to my feet from the cushions.

I straighten my skirt and as I look up, I see not Aaron, but Davis.

“Biz?” Davis says.  I see a spark of excitement in his eyes.  Oh, I’ve missed his beautiful green eyes looking into mine.

I can say nothing.  No words are forming.  Firstly, because I haven’t seen my husband in over 30 days. And secondly because he’s standing in front of me, in the lobby, on an obvious date with… Suzette.

The skank.  Jake’s Ex.  My former RA colleague.  And worse of all, a childhood friend of the Ireland brothers.  I’m stuck where I stand.  No words will form.  I must look like I’ve had a lobotomy because my thoughts, never mind words, won’t come together.

Suzette?  What is he doing with her?

Aaron steps forward and says to Davis, “Hey, I’m Aaron.  Are you a friend of Bizzy’s?”  Wow! Aaron has done his homework.  Using a familiar version of my name so quickly.

Davis looks confused, but shakes Aaron’s hand, “Uh, yeah, we’re… friends.”

Suzette chimes in bitchily, “Friends?  Oh my God, Biz is Davis’ wife.  Or should I say soon to be ex-wife.”

Aaron looks at me in shock.  If he’s done his homework, he already knows I’m married... then oh, he is good at his job…
really
good.  The shocked look is all part of the act.

I finally regain my faculties and stutter out an introduction, which I quickly realize is redundant, “D-Davis, this is Aaron… Oh, you already know that.”

“Yeah” is all Davis says.  His eyes dull and he continues, telling us, “Well, we’ve got to get into the movie.”

Suzette takes Davis’ hand and pushes her upper body into his arm suggestively. Like practically rubbing her breasts on him, suggestively. They turn and leave.  Davis looks over his shoulder at me.  At first, I think I see yearning and then blankness.

I whisper, “Bye,” at him.  I don’t think he heard me.

My head is in a flat spin.  I’ve wrapped my arms around my waist to hold myself together.  Once Davis and Suzette are out of sight, I let a rushed anguished sound escape my lips.

Aaron rapidly moves to my side and has an arm around my waist.  I wish it was Davis’ arm. “You okay?” he asks.

“No.” I snap at him.  I want this “date” to be over now.

              Aaron leans down and says very, very quietly directly into my ear, “Don’t worry.  Your husband’s date tonight is fake, too.”  I sigh in relief.  He did know!  Aaron knew it was my husband.  I wonder if Davis knew.  And what’s with Suzette?  Why is she Davis’ beard? Is it because she knows the Ireland brothers? Is she “in the know” or could Davis and Donnie just be using her to feed info to Randall?  My cortex is swirling with a million questions. I wonder if she knows her date is phony?  Aaron continues, “Now, put your head on my shoulder and act like you’re having a great time.”

              I do as I’m told.

***

The movie is The Great Gatsby and much as I enjoy “eye-touring” Leo DiCaprio, I cannot stay awake.  The recliners are comfortable, I’m exhausted from work, I’m exhausted from “play dating,” it’s dark, I’ve had a cocktail and Aaron’s arm is warm around me.  The outcome of all of these factors is me in a deep snooze on his shoulder.

I only know I’ve been sleeping when Aaron says, “Ms. Brandon? Biz?” gently by my ear.  I jerk awake with a start.  The movie is ending.  As the credits begin to roll the other patrons in the audience get up to leave.  I wipe the drool from my lip and apologize to Aaron, trying to paw away the little bit that also puddled on his shirt.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

I stop talking. That weird garbage-y smell hits me and my stomach flips.  I cover my nose and mouth with my hand to conceal a retch.  From beneath my hand, I ask Aaron in muffled speech, “Did you smell that?”

“What?” he asks.

I describe it to him. “A smell.  Like garbage… and maybe cigarettes, alcohol… Just garbage-y.”

Aaron finally seems to catch a whiff of it. “Oh, yeah.  Wow! Someone in here has really bad b.o.”

So it’s not just me.  I was beginning to think I was imagining it. The smell really is in here.  And Aaron thinks it’s a person.  I take my hand down from my mouth.  The smell has dissipated.

“Come on, Biz.  Let’s get you home,” my date tells me, looking in my eyes with realistic seductiveness.  Oh, that’s right.  I’m on my mock pick-up-a-random-guy date.  Which includes a mock hook-up at my place.

***

“Aaron, you can sleep in the guest room.  Obviously, by my sparkling company and the drool stain on your shoulder, I’m wiped out.  I’m going to sleep.  Thanks for helping out with this plan.”  I yawn and then add quietly, “Even if it doesn’t pan out.”

Aaron waves good night and moves in the direction of the room I just pointed out to him.  I’m not being a very good hostess, but right now I don’t care.  I just want to sleep.  I think I need a day off to catch up on my rest.  Get on top of this crushing fatigue.

***

Walking out of my bedroom after sleeping like a rock, I yawn and spy a really buff back on a half naked dark haired guy sitting at the island of my kitchen.  For half a beat, I think its Davis.  I know its Aaron with the second half of that beat.

Back still to me, Aaron greets me.  “Good Morning, Biz.  Did you sleep well?”

I wipe my eyes and zip up my hoodie a little higher, “Umm, yeah, as a matter-of-fact, I did.”

He turns.  Whoa!  I miss my husband and I’m sick of this whole sting to catch Randall, but whoa! Aaron’s chest.  It’s so… so… chiseled.  I stare.  Probably a little too obviously, because Aaron reaches over to the chair next to him and proceeds to put on the button up shirt he arrived in last night.

Peeling my eyes off him, I go into the kitchen for coffee.  I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t interact with him before I’ve had coffee. 

Aaron chuckles softly.  I guess he did notice my gawking. “Good.  I mean, good that you slept well, because I just got a text from Garrett.”  Aaron holds up his cell phone.  “Randall, or someone looking like him, was seen last night.”

“What?” I say and turn quickly, spilling a bit of coffee on my hand.  It burns a bit.  I place the cup on the counter and run cold water over it in the sink.

“Yeah, evidently when we were leaving the theatre, one of the patrols that were watching outside spotted a guy that fit his description,” Aaron continues, getting off the barstool and coming over to take my hand, “Let me look at that burn.”

I pull my hand away and snap, “It’s fine.”  It is fine.  And I don’t want some half naked hot guy touching me. I want Davis. “Tell me more about Randall.”

“It looks like he was hovering around the theatre last night.  So maybe this plan of Garrett’s is working after all.”