Virtually Impossible (Once and Forever #2)

  “We’re going out,” she said, leaning up against the door of our apartment.

  “Where?” I couldn’t recall any parties I had to force myself to go to, and Clare knew better than to surprise me with social events. I needed at least twenty-four hours to gear up and pretend to be happy. Or at least not bored out of my mind.

  “You’re taking me out to dinner. Think of it as a celebration of our newfound honesty, and not like I’m trying to keep you out of the apartment until it airs out.”

  I groaned. “What happened?”

  “I cooked.” She grimaced and then shook her head. “No, that’s not quite right. I charred.”

  “Should I call the fire department?”

  “Nope,” she said, unsurprised by the suggestion. “I already put it out. We may need a new pan, though. And potholders. Maybe counters.”

  With my eyes shut, I felt her take my arm and turn me toward the elevator. “Wait. Let me put my briefcase down.” I tossed it through a narrow opening of the door, smelling ‘dinner.’ “We may need a new apartment, too.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  We went to one of the places Clare and her friends frequented and were seated near the window despite not having reservations.

  “Throw enough money at something…” she said after I’d dismissed the maître d’.

  I nodded at her favorite expression and pulled out her chair.

  “Hayden, do you realize that the most normal night out we’ve ever had just happens to be after we’ve unofficially split up?”

  “Maybe we should unofficially split up more often.”

  She adjusted her utensils unconsciously, keeping her head lowered until she spoke. “Thank you, Hayden. For understanding and sticking by me. I had no right to do what I did, and you had every right to walk out the second you knew I was lying.”

  “I made my fair share of bad calls and things I should’ve done differently.”

  “Like not marrying a lesbian?”

  I smiled. “Actually, I don’t see that as one of my bad calls. You’ve given me a lot, Clare. Whether you know it or not.”

  “You’re a sick, sick man, Hayden Bennett.”

  I laughed. And agreed.

  Until, over Clare’s shoulder, I saw Sira, wide-eyed and staring at me from a table across the room. I moved to stand, but she shook her head and then glanced at the woman who was sitting next to her. I was at a loss, wanting to speak to her, but if the other woman was her boss, I’d only complicate things by going over.

  “What are you looking at?” Clare asked.

  I grabbed her wrist to stop her from turning around and then yanked my hand back. What was worse than Sira seeing me while being with her boss at a restaurant? Seeing me holding my wife’s hand while being with her boss at a restaurant. Especially right after assuring her the divorce was pending.

  “Hayden?”

  I took the champagne out of the pail and refilled Clare’s glass. “It’s nothing.”

  “Well ‘nothing’ just put an endearing look on your face that quickly turned into panic, so—”

  “Someone I work with is here. But she may not want to be seen with the person she’s with.”

  “Oh,” Clare said, tilting her head as if it was an everyday occurrence. And it was—ignoring the obvious for sake of propriety. I’d seen it in every woman I’d ever known.

  I tried to keep my eyes away from Sira to prevent stressing her out more than she already was, but my gaze was drawn back to her every time I stopped concentrating on avoiding her. Now that I’d finally met her, all I wanted to do was study her.

  She stood abruptly and turned away, bumping into the server.

  “Okay, I guess I’ll order for you,” the other woman said to her.

  Sira whipped around. “No, don’t. Please, Emilia.” As she met my gaze again, she shook her head, and then rushed toward the front of the restaurant.

  I pushed my chair back and stood. “I’ll be right back.” When I got to the hostess desk, I looked around. She wouldn’t have walked out of the restaurant without telling her companion, so I turned into the thin hallway leading to the restrooms. I passed the men’s room and, glancing around quickly, opened the door to the ladies’ room and whispered her name.

  When no one answered and I didn’t hear anything, staying near the door just in case someone screamed and I had to run for it.

  “Are you in here?” What an idiot. I hadn’t snuck into the girl’s bathroom since I was seventeen years old and at boarding school.

  “Go away,” she said from inside one of the stalls.

  “I just want to talk to you for a second.”

  “Go away.”

  “Sira, please.” I flicked the deadbolt on the door. There were three stalls, each door going all the way to the bottom. I knocked on the first door and then jiggled the handle. Then the second. Both empty. “Can you please come out and talk to me?”

  “You know what women do in here, right? Well, I’m doing that. So go away.”

  “I can wait.” I wiped the edge of the vanity slowly and then leaned against it.

  “Hayden, you need to leave.”

  “I will…just as soon as we talk.”

  Eventually, the lock clicked and she came out, looking furious. Her shoulders slumped when she glanced at the door. If she tried to run for it, she’d have to pass right by me.

  “You didn’t flush.”

  She glared at me. “I didn’t pee. I was hiding, and you know it. Are you stalking me?” Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, hip out, toe tapping—the complete package. And all I could think about was how amazing angry sex with her would be. All that anger lashing out toward me while she was naked.

  “Right,” she grumbled. “I forgot how well you listen. Should I repeat the question?”

  “Can we just speak calmly?” It was all I could do not to blind her with my shit-eating grin, but I knew it would only piss her off more.

  “How ‘bout you start by calmly explaining why you’re following me?”

  “I’m not. You were seated after I was already here.”

  “With your wife.”

  I sighed. “Yes. Clare is here.”

  “Great. Well, I think that’s enough calm and enough speaking.” As soon as she moved, I stepped in between her and the door. She threw out her arms to stop her momentum, her palms landing on my chest briefly before she pulled them back as if I’d burned her. “What do you want from me?”

  More than I could tell her. “To be in the same room with you. To not have you instantly run away. To have a conversation. Something. Anything.”

  “Look, the—” She turned her head, shying away when she saw our reflections in the mirror. “What happened between us—”

  “The kiss or the whole evening?”

  Her lips tightened. “What happened was that we both experienced a momentary lapse in judgment that lasted an hour more than momentary lapses should. It’s no one’s fault, but it was a mistake we won’t be making again.”

  What? “You’re telling me that kiss was a mistake? One you never want to feel again? Wow. I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. I want to feel it again and again until—”

  “This isn’t going anywhere, Hayden. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re my boss, my married boss. That’s what we need to focus on. All the other stuff just confuses things.” She held out her hands as if weighing something. “A little disappointment now, or a shitload of hurt later—guess which one I choose.”

  “I don’t accept that.”

  “You don’t accept it?” She laughed. “Well, tough shit.”

  “No. I don’t accept those two things as our only choices.” Not when there’s even the slightest chance of having more. She knew there was, just as much as I did. “Do you know that you’ve never actually said no? Or that you don’t want this?”

  “I’ve told you this can’t happen more times than I can count.”

  “That’s different. That’s sit
uational. Letting other people determine our fate. But you’ve never said, ‘No, Hayden. I don’t want you.’ Why is that?”

  She stared at me long and hard. “Your wife’s probably wondering where you are.”

  “I didn’t lie to you about her.” I moved a step toward her. Then another. “Please, if you want this even a fraction as much as I do, don’t walk away.”

  She shuddered when I touched her cheek, when I cupped her chin in my hand, when I lifted it so she would look at me.

  “I can prove I wasn’t lying. Just give this a chance.”

  When my lips were millimeters away from hers, she spoke. “No.”

  I closed my eyes, dropping my hand from her face. But I didn’t pull away. I couldn’t. I wanted her to take it back, give me some kind of proof I wasn’t in this alone. “Is that what you really want?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “I’m not sure what to do now.”

  She sighed and stepped backwards. “Go back to your wife, Mr. Bennett.”

  Then I realized something I should’ve already figured out—she really didn’t see this like I did, not even close. She could keep me out, and I would never be able to do that, not with the way I felt about her.

  So I stepped out of her way, her shoulder brushing my arm as she passed. Then I heard the deadbolt click and the door slam closed when she left me.

  28

  Andi

  “Are you okay?” Emilia asked when I came back to the table.

  “Perfect.” I sat down with my lips curled up, but with no teeth showing because that’s the kiss of death when you’re trying to fake a smile. As soon as you show a little teeth, it ends up looking like disgust or a snarl. Two expressions happy people don’t make.

  Emilia stared at me, no teeth showing, but only because her mouth was open in confusion.

  “Really, I’m okay,” I said. “Not crazy about the bathrooms here, though.”

  “You’ve got to be the worst liar ever. What happened?”

  I pressed my lips together to try and hold in my shame. Turns out, shame can escape in other ways. Like in watery eyes that can’t seem to look anywhere but the tablecloth in front of you. Or the knife you should probably stab yourself with before you ruin somebody else’s life.

  “Can we leave?” I asked. “Go somewhere else?”

  Emilia was out of her chair before I’d finished speaking. She grabbed our stuff and ushered me out of the place as if she were Secret Service and I was someone important.

  She didn’t say anything until we were in the car and pulling away from the valet station. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

  I shook my head. I wanted to disappear and forget everything about my life. “Not right now. Still a lot to process.” Like that Hayden had lied about getting a divorce and had turned me into a home-wrecker. In less than twenty-four hours. The sensible thing was to salvage the last remaining shreds of my dignity, start all over again, and find another way to make money. “That okay?”

  “Of course.” She put her hand on mine and squeezed.

  Karma had just taken a huge bite out of my ass. No, that’s not right. This was me making the same mistake I’d made four years ago. I’d trusted the wrong person again. I’d chosen a man over common sense. Back then, because of the transparency of my cluelessness, my punishment had been light—no jail time, and of course, no more internet access. It wasn’t enough.

  Don’t get me wrong—I was very grateful not to have to wear orange, take group showers, or learn how to make a shiv, but I’d been responsible for ruining lives, and I should’ve paid more for that mistake. Guilt, shame, disappointment in myself, and a bunch of other great emotions, as well as all the cash I could return to the people I’d hurt would never be enough. Because no amount of money could repair those people’s heartbreak, the violation they’d felt.

  I was so sure I’d never be that big of an idiot again, but like the saying goes: ‘Never say never.’ Or ‘always.’ Or ‘One more episode on Netflix, and then I’ll go to sleep.’ Because, as that other saying goes: ‘The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves.’

  I deserved this.

  “Do you know why I wanted to take you out tonight?” Emilia asked. “I heard something about Hayden Bennett from a reliable source.”

  My stomach clenched so hard, words and tears started spilling out of me. I couldn’t stop them. “OhmygodIshouldn’thaveandI’msosorry.Ittotallywasn’thisfault.Itwascompletelymine,and—”

  “Andi, he’s getting a divorce.”

  29

  Hayden

  I’m not sure how long I was in the women’s bathroom, staring at the tiny dots of the granite countertop, trying to see a pattern where none existed. I didn’t understand how I could’ve gotten so far off-course, imaging things that weren’t there. Shocked and confused how I’d made it through this much of life being so incredibly clueless.

  “Hayden?” Clare called from the other side of the door.

  Time to go back to reality. I pushed off the wall and went to rejoin the land of the living.

  “Where’ve you been?” She did a double-take when she saw the picture on the door I’d just walked through. “You getting in touch with your feminine side, Hay?”

  I slowly followed her back into the dining room. One quick glance told me what I already knew—the table Sira had been sitting at was empty, the staff clearing off unused utensils and untouched water glasses. I took one last pity-me breath and refocused on the woman who wanted to be with me. Kind of.

  “Remind me to never use the bathroom here,” Clare said as I pulled her chair out for her. “Seems like a depressing place. You going to tell me what happened?”

  “I’d rather not. Nothing personal. It’s just—”

  “Nothing personal. Got it.” She emptied the bottle of champagne into my glass, filling it all the way to the top. Evidently I’d been gone long enough for our food to have arrived, so I used that as a method of conversation escape.

  She watched me eat for a little while. “Hayden, I’m going to tell my family we’re getting divorced at dinner tomorrow night.”

  Unless I was traveling, every Sunday evening I put on a suit and took her to her father’s house. Oh, the fun.

  “Not a bad idea, as long as you time it right after everyone’s second glass of wine and your stepmom’s sixth,” I teased. “But are you really sure you want to? There’s no rush.”

  “I’ve wasted enough of your life. We need to tell them, but I’m kind of chicken, so it’d be great if you were there, too.”

  “You mean so they’ll have someone to aim at?” I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but it was Clare’s life, too. And she cared what her family thought of her. Luckily, I didn’t have that burden with my own family. Not anymore.

  I’d stopped caring what anyone thought of me the second time my father had tried to kill me. Or maybe it was a few minutes later when I’d let him die. I’d been pretty closed off before then, but that’s when I stopped caring about everything, stopped feeling anything, and became nothing more than the person everyone expected me to be.

  As soon as we got home, I tried calling Sira, but she didn’t answer. Then I tried explaining myself over a few text messages. That failed to get a response, too. So I left a few more via the computer. I gave up after the second email, knowing anything more than that would only prove how pathetic I was.

  Sunday morning, when I turned my laptop on, I saw a message. It was short, much too short to warrant the amount of relief I felt. But anything was better than being ignored.

  ‘A friend told me she’d heard a rumor that you’re getting divorced.’

  Wow, I’d underestimated the speed at which Clare’s so-called friends’ mouths worked. And had never been more thankful for it.

  ‘But, even so, I still work for you. I hope you understand why I can’t do anything to risk my livelihood.’

  That was it? That was all?

  I typed, ‘Then you’re fired.
Problem solved,’ but then deleted it. That was hardly a good solution. By wanting to spend more time with her, I’d screw myself. I’d taken up so much of her workday, she’d become dependent on that income and had probably let other opportunities go. Since I relied on the quality and speed of her work too, dropping it all wouldn’t help either of us.

  Until now, I’d put off hiring an in-house assistant. That would change on Monday morning. I’d hire someone competent and keep Sira on until my new assistant could handle the workload and Sira had found other clients.

  After that happened, she’d be out of excuses.

  That night, on the long, anxiety-riddled drive over to Bart’s house, Claire and I discussed scenarios, phrasing, etc. “Nothing should be this stressful, Clare. Why don’t you just let me tell them?”

  “No, I should. They’re my dysfunctional family, not yours.” Her pants were going to be stretched out in the shape of her fists if I didn’t drive faster.

  “It’s not an execution. I’d be happy—well, not happy, but I’ll tell them. As long as you’re absolutely sure you want to do it now.”

  “As soon as I kick you to the curb, and some hooker takes pity on your pathetic-ness and brings you back to her place to live, someone will notice.” Her smile was tight, like her brow.

  “When we get home, I’m throwing away your e-reader and ordering you another, filled with nothing but the classics.”

  “Just make sure Moll Flanders is on it. Talk about a tragic life. That kind of stuff happens all the time, Hayden. They even made it into a movie.”

  “And I’m canceling cable.”

  “I appreciate the bad jokes, but I’m serious. I may have accidentally mentioned our pending divorce to a couple of friends, and you know how my friends are, especially when they promise not to tell anyone.”

  Yes, I knew.

  “I’d rather my dad hear about it from me rather than a tabloid,” she said.

  “We could claim it’s a trial separation.”

  “What will that get us?”