My heart drops to the floor. I’m a blubbering mess. I glance across the bar, paste a plastic smile on my face, and raise my glass. “Oh my goodness, it’s my boss, Jackson.” I mouth, “Thank you.”
He smiles and nods.
“What a smug asshole,” Gabby says under her breath.
Through clenched teeth, I say, “He’s doing good in the world. Just be thankful for the drink and that he’s not making me talk to him right now.”
“Well… He’s coming over with two of his friends.”
“Fuck. Those aren’t his friends. They’re his bodyguards.”
Next thing I know, his deep voice rolls through me. “Corrine, nice to see you here.”
Jackson Graham is a girl’s version of a wet dream. He’s a Chris Hemsworth lookalike with Daniel Craig’s piercing blue eyes. He’s also the founder of an alternative energy company that has made him a billionaire. I’m his assistant, which I’m proud of, but in that role, I must get a dozen calls a day from women he’s never met asking him out. That I’m less thrilled about.
“Nice to see you, too,” I tell him. “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. I thought I made a reservation for you at Bix?”
I only make a point of asking because, with his entourage, they reserve three tables in a prime location. If he stands them up, I’ll have a problem the next time he wants to go there.
“You did, but Valerie tells me she’s getting bored with Bix. I called and canceled.”
He can make his own calls? That’s new. “Oh, I think I called her Jennifer today. Sorry about that.”
He looks back at her with his brows furrowed. “She didn’t mention you calling her the wrong name. Enjoy your drinks. I hope your night gets better.” He smiles and walks back to his table.
Every woman’s eyes in the packed bar are glued to him.
Gabby leans in with a bit of a drunken slur. “Your boss is positively hot.”
I shake my head. “That might be true, but he likes the surgically enhanced, and he seems to have no interest in women with brains.”
Her phone pings with a text, and she gets this funny look on her face. Love. I know exactly who she’s talking to, her boyfriend, Damien.
I haven’t had my phone on all day. While Gabby sexts with her boyfriend, I reluctantly turn mine on. I’ve got to do it at some point, and it might as well be while I’m partially drunk. It lights up and buzzes with multiple texts. My stomach ties in knots as I stare at the messages rolling over on the locked screen.
What happened with Bobby?
When I find out, Elly, my supposed best friend from high school, I might let you know.
I knew it would never last.
Thanks, Stepmom. In her mind, to get a man, you need to give up everything. I’d take her advice if she hadn’t been married five times.
I thought you had some great summer plans with Bobby?
Angela, you’re such a nice roommate. We had plans with other players and their wives to go to a lake in Wisconsin. I’m probably off that invite list. So much for any summer vacation. I can’t afford to do anything.
How does any man compare after dating an NFL quarterback?
John, you broke up with me and only wanted me back when you found out I was dating him. Bobby wasn’t perfect. But I liked that he made twenty million a year and was four years younger than me.
I put my phone on mute and toss it in my purse. I can respond later. It suddenly occurs to me that none of the other players’ wives or girlfriends sent me texts. We were all planning for the game on Sunday. I guess in the back of my mind, I thought a few of them would stand by me, but apparently not. That might hurt more than the breakup.
Gabby is ready to go find Damien, so we say our goodbyes. As I walk out of the bar, I look over at Jackson and his date and wave. She scowls at me. Whatever.
I take a rideshare across town to my meager apartment in Presidio Heights. It’s a fancy way of saying I live behind the old Army base, the Presidio, and in the Avenues. The beautiful people look down on those of us who live in the Avenues, but it’s considered affordable. I don’t consider it affordable. I share a three-bedroom apartment—my bedroom used to be a closet—with two others and pay an entire half of my monthly salary toward my portion of the rent. But I do it on my own.
I let myself in and crawl into bed—still wearing my dress and without washing my face or brushing my teeth. That’s very unlike me, and I cry myself to sleep. He broke up with me on the news.
***
My alarm sounds, and my eyes are crusted shut from my tears. My mouth feels like a cat strolled by while I was asleep and took a crap. I roll over and look up at the stained ceiling. Bobby Sanders is not going to get to me. Taking a big breath, I sit up. Oh, I can’t move that quickly.
I go slowly into the bathroom and wash my face, determined to make today a better day. I can’t let this keep me down. I’m better than this.
As I do each day, I stop at Starbucks and pick up Jackson’s and my coffee order. He likes a double espresso with steamed milk, and I treat myself to a mocha cappuccino. No one’s going to see me naked for a while anyway. Who cares about the extra calories?
Jackson typically beats me to the office, as he works nonstop, and today is no exception. Placing the cup on his
