I even let her knock on the wrong door, stood back, and was prepared to laugh my ass off. It wasn’t until I heard my name from the other side of that door that I became concerned. And when I realized it was Dawn’s room, I knew shit was about to go down. She asked if it was me knocking at the door when I didn’t know where she was staying. However, when I sprinted to the door it had already shut.
I heard Dawn’s scream and Rayna’s seething words, though not clearly. I knocked on the door, but they’d already been too engaged in ruckus to hear. I called out Rayna’s name frantically, but tried not to alert other hotel visitors with my alarm. I called Paul, my muscle, and asked him to discreetly find someone who could open the door without calling the cops.
It seemed like an eternity before they arrived, and by that time several hotel guests had opened up their doors for answers. I couldn’t worry about them; I had to make sure my wife was safe. When we entered the room, I saw Rayna, wearing Dawn’s ass out. At first, I felt relief knowing my wife wasn’t being victimized. Then, I saw the brutality of the situation.
Now, I’m a married man and very aware of whose team I play for between the two women, but when I saw Dawn, helplessly hunched over, having recurring jabs thrown into her face and upper body, I felt a bit of sympathy.
I grabbed Rayna, demanding no one to touch my wife but me. The hotel staff, Paul, and Tyler, who appeared out of nowhere, respected my wishes as we separated the femme warriors. After the screams, threats, and heaving for air by the two, I was able to get Tyler to take Dawn to seek medical attention. Paul stayed behind to play the role of the Cleaner. With him being former One-Time, he knows the language that will convey discretion of this matter.
I was able to extract Rayna from the scene and into my suite where she was seen medically and cleared to bathe. At first, she appeared tired and…hard assed. She argued that I was overreacting, but I couldn’t give a fuck. My wife just beat the shit out of my PR rep.
Sometime later, while in the living room, going over blueprints for a new Global Fusion office building, I sense her presence. I glance up from the coffee table, and see her glaring at me tentatively. I know this mood she’s in. Over the past few months, Rayna has adopted this hard veneer that was dissimilar to the one she had when we met. This time, her attitude encompasses me and our relationship. She’s been more assertive in arguments concerning our bubble. I can see right through that layer of protectiveness, but totally respect her switch in gears. It’s all about her process of bettering herself.
“Well...?” I ask while I observe her in a long taupe silk robe, inadvertently matching the motif of the suite.
“Well, you said you wanted to see me.” The crisp in her tone can’t be missed. Her hood persona is still lingering. I have to take it up a notch to effectively handle her.
“Okay. So can you now tell me what the fuck happened downstairs this morning?”
“Are you going to listen to absorb or listen to develop your argument?” She folds her arms into her abdomen as her hip rests against the sofa, keeping her distance.
I straighten in my chair, tossing my highlighter aside. “Let’s cut the bullshit already. I’ve given you time alone to get into a calmer state of mind. Damn, Rayna, a couple of hours ago she was a contracted employee. Now, she’s a battered, former, contracted employee that I have to negotiate out of pressing charges against my fucking wife. Give me something!”
“Give you something? Are you ready? Because I have lots to give you on the woman who we know you have a checkered history with going beyond public relations—”
“We’re beyond that, Rayna—”
“Like hell we are! You should have never kept her on! Not only was she connected to you through business, but her access was too immediate. To you, that kiss was nothing more than a revelation of the flaws in our relationship, but to her it was only the beginning. And you, keeping her around—and so close, no less—fueled her obsession.” She advances toward the desk. “Dawn sent me a botched stylist for the Mauve event. I have pictures to prove the satire in that attempt. She dressed like your date for the event, in anticipation of me taking on said faux designer! She purposely put me on a wild goose chase that night so that she could be photo’d with you as a date. Dawn took and leaked those wedding day pictures to the media—”
“Oh, we’re on this shit again?” I snort, interrupting her finger count. “I deal with facts, Rayna. We have no evidence of that.”