Hello.
Another flush of heat spirals through me, but I refuse to let him distract me from my noble quest for vengeance. “I just can’t let him do it, OK?” I say, my voice cracking under the pressure of weeks of crying myself to sleep at night. “I can’t let him just throw us away, and waltz on with his life like I never even mattered to him, and WIN. I want him to hurt, like I do. I want him to suffer something for the way he treated me. Can’t you understand that under all your layers of cool ironic detachment?”
“I do understand,” Jacob says quietly. He looks at me and then sighs again. “Fine, I’ll help, but only if we do this my way. No offense, but you’re way too drunk to be planning on breaking any laws tonight.”
“I’m not drunk!” I protest.
“Really? How many fingers am I holding up?” Jacob tests me. I roll my eyes.
“Why, how many fingers am I holding up?” I flip him the bird. Jacob snorts.
“Real mature.”
“Thank you.” I beam. I glance out the window. “Ooh, stop, we’re here!”
4
Still New Year’s Eve
I tumble out of the cab onto the sidewalk, almost hitting the deck until Jacob’s strong arms catch me at the last minute.
“You want to tell me again how not-drunk you are?” he murmurs. I ignore how good his body feels against me and fix him with a glare.
“You try walking straight in three-inch heels.”
He grins. “Maybe on the weekend.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. For all his annoying quips and judgmental stares, he’s funny. Cocky and hot and drunk and funny. Part of me wonders if I should just skip this whole revenge scenario, take Jacob back to my place, and ring in the new year with a much-needed orgasm. Then I remember how humiliating it felt to have Todd walk out and leave me in the dust. My resolve hardens.
Vengeance first, orgasms later.
“OK,” I say aloud, looking up at the building. “Fuck, this is a nice place.”
“Doorman,” Jacob agrees. “Classic pre-war. Is your ex loaded or something?”
“Now he is,” I reply bitterly. “I got to help pay his way through law school working double shifts and living off ramen, but now it’s doormen and sushi all the way.”
“Sushi sucks,” Jacob says. “I mean, I know I’m supposed to like it, and I’ve tried, but you’re basically eating Nemo.”
I giggle. “Come on.” I start for the entrance, but he pulls me back.
“Wait, what if he’s home?”
I shake my head. “He’s off at some big party thrown by his firm. Open bar on a yacht on the Hudson. I thought we were going together. Why do you think I bought these shoes?”
“If it’s any consolation, they’re hot shoes.” Jacob glances down. “Very kinky.”
It is a consolation. I put a little extra swing in my hips as I open the door and stride across the marble lobby. I’m channeling every badass femme fatale I’ve ever seen. I’m Marilyn in The Seven Year Itch. Rita Hayworth in Gilda, I’m—
“Excuse me.” The doorman’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Which floor do you need?”
I turn, my mind racing. Shit, what do I say now?
But before I can blurt out a crappy excuse, Jacob speaks up smoothly. “Oh, hey brah. We’re with Todd? In three sixteen? Or is it seventeen? I don’t know man, I was wasted the last time we were by, you know how it is, right, brah?”
I blink. Is it just me, or is Jacob doing a stoned Keanu impersonation right now?
“Anyway, we’re crashing for the night. Todd said it was A-OK, and—oh, wait, he forgot to leave the keys, didn’t he?”
The doorman checks a file. “I don’t see anything here.”
“Shit man, is there any way you can let us up?” Jacob strolls over. “My lady’s ready to hit the hay, if you know what I mean.”
“I should really call Mr. Portman . . .”
“He’s out of range, I tried.” Jacob peels a twenty from his billfold and slides it over. “Hook a brother up?”
The guy pauses, then shrugs. “Fuck it, I’m just a temp.” He plucks some keys from a drawer and tosses them to Jacob. “I’ll need these back before morning or my boss will kill me,” he warns.
“Got it, brah.”
Jacob walks back, and hustles me into the elevator. “Peace out!” he calls, as the doors close.
“Holy shit!” I cry. “That was amazing.”
“Thank you, thank you very much.” Jacob grins.
“I didn’t even realize you spoke bro.”
“It’s universal, man.” The doors open, and we get off. I check the numbers, then find Todd’s apartment. Jacob opens the door, and we step inside.
“What. The. Fuck.”
I gasp. This is insane. The apartment is like five times the size of the shoebox we shared back in Williamsburg. Jacob lets out a whistle, looking around. “Your guy has style, I’ll give him that.”
“I don’t understand.” I look around. “This isn’t Todd at all.” The décor is uber-modern, with lots of really uncomfortable looking furniture that would probably look more at home in a mental hospital—or torture chamber. But the solid wall of windows in the living room more than make up for it, framing all of the twinkling lights of the city.
Suddenly, a tiny, shaggy grey-and-white Shih Tzu comes flying towards us on toothpick legs like one of the hounds of hell, sinking its razor sharp teeth into my ankle boot.
“What the fuck!” I yell out, shaking off the dog.
“Whoa, you didn’t say anything about a dog!” Jacob edges closer.
“I didn’t know he got one!” I lean down to inspect my ankle, making sure the skin is intact. The dog backs up, growling, its ears pinned to its tiny, demonic head. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“Easy there,” Jacob says, walking over and holding out his hand, holding it out for Cujo to sniff. “Down, boy.”
All of a sudden, it’s like the dog has multiple personality disorder—his eyes brighten and he begins humping Jacob’s leg furiously, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy in his little doggy skull.
Is it possible to be jealous of a tiny, psychotic dog? At least someone’s getting lucky tonight. He finally shakes the beast loose and he looks up at us, blinking with fierce doggy eyes, before running back into the depths of the apartment, his nails clattering on what looks like miles of honey-colored hardwood floors.
I let out a sigh of relief. “When the hell did he get a dog?”
“Um, something tells me it’s not his dog,” Jacob says, holding a photo from the cabinet. “And also, not his apartment.”
“What?”
I snatch the photo from his hand. It’s a framed print of a gorgeous blond girl, smiling and cuddling the dog against a mountain backdrop. I recognize her from one of the company cocktail parties, back when Todd actually took me to them instead of blowing me off, saying I’d be bored, and it was all work.
Harmony.
He moved in with fucking Harmony.
I look around again, and suddenly, it all makes sense. The perfect décor. The elegant lights and fresh flowers on the table, and the fact he didn’t want me dropping by to deliver his stuff in person.