Page 36 of Love is Fake (Love is Everything #1)

Chapter

Eighteen

I’ve wasted way too many tears on Lennox Damn Gray. They’ve stained my pillow, my sweatshirt, the designer-looking silk shirt Kiara’s wearing. For someone who ‘doesn’t do tears’, I’ve really outdone myself.

I’d slunk out of the Uber and directly into Kiara’s arms, the angry expression on her face telling me she was ready to go on over to the Gray Mansion and go medieval on Lennox’s ass on my behalf. And, to be honest, I half-wanted her to. I wanted him to hurt like he hurt me.

I didn’t tell her what had happened. I didn’t need to.

Even if Lennox hadn’t come clean to me only moments before Honey made her big entrance, it would have been impossible to hide from the news of their engagement.

It was all over social media and every tabloid website in the northern hemisphere.

Not that I’d poured over every one of those articles until Kiara forcibly took my laptop away from me or anything.

I wish I had amnesia, that way I wouldn’t be able to remember exactly how it felt to be held by him. I didn’t realize I’d been preparing the whole time for what it would feel like to lose him, but the truth is he was never mine to lose.

I hate him for what he did to me. But I also I hate myself a little too, for what I let him do to me.

For letting him in even though I knew I shouldn’t have.

For breaking all of my rules because I thought he was special, because I thought he was worth it.

My thoughts go back to the encouragement my gave me, telling me the pain of losing someone was worth the happiness of being with them, that it’s the price you pay for loving someone. It sure as hell doesn’t feel that way.

“He’s not worth any more tears, babe.” Kiara says the words I’m thinking out loud as she strokes my hair soothingly. Absently, I wonder if her hands are tired. She’s been stroking my hair for the better part of a week.

She’s not wrong, I reason, but turns out it’s easier said than done.

I was never much of a crier but since leaving the Gray Mansion I don’t think I’ve really stopped. The worst part is, all I have to show for my sobbing is a wet pillow and a banging headache.

“You think Michael can take over?” I ask, part of me feeling as if I shouldn’t be letting my private life affect my professional one.

“He’s already said he will,” Kiara confirms and the lack of judgement in her voice makes me relax a fraction. “You said it’s just a few follow-ups anyway, right?”

I nod.

“Did you tell Michael why?” I ask, sniffing loudly like a total lady. The man is my mentor and the last thing I want is for him to think I’m a complete flake.

“I told him you were taking some long-overdue vacation time.” Kiara gives me a meaningful look as I scoff.

“I haven’t taken a vacation since…” My mind blanks.

“Exactly. So you’re definitely in need of one. Take a couple of weeks – do something fun, you work so damn hard - you more than deserve it,” she nudges me.

“So, let me get this straight; I screw things up by falling for the biggest client we’ve ever had– even though you warned me not to – and when the whole thing implodes you punish me by giving me vacation time?

” I frown over at her, before I suddenly go cold inside.

“Oh crap, Ki – you’re not firing me, are you?

I love this job and I know I messed up but -,”

“Will you stop?” Kiara puts both of her hands on my upper arms as if she’s about to shake some sense into me.

“Of course, I’m not firing you! Only you would consider a holiday a punishment!

” She shakes her curly head at me in despair.

“And you didn’t screw anything up with Len…

him,” she interrupts herself, looking at me quickly to see if I’ve heard her almost name he-who-shall-not-be-named.

“He’s the one who screwed things up with you and there’s no doubt in my mind the day is gonna come when he’s going to realize what he missed out on.

And you don’t need to worry about the work side of things.

We’re paid up in full, I got an alert this morning from the bank confirming the final installment has been received, two weeks before your contract was due to be up. ”

I go quiet, processing what she’s just said.

Lennox has held up his end of the deal, even though – contractually – he didn’t have to.

The ungracious side of me, says it’s the only way he knows to make things right, to apologize by throwing money at the problem.

The hopeful side says he’s done it because he’s a good person.

I tell that part of me to shut the hell up, because I have no business thinking anything positive about Lennox. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

I see Kiara’s phone light up with a text from a familiar name and I blink in surprise at it.

“Kai finally called you?” I ask, wiping my tear-stained cheeks, because I need to talk about something other than he who shall no longer – ever - be named.

Kiara gives me a sidelong look, as if she’s checking that I really want to hear this rather than just spewing the beans if I’m not up for the information.

I respond earnestly. “Tell me, I need to think about something other than my crappy life!”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she mutters, nudging me gently, forcing a watery smile out of me. “We were supposed to go out tonight but -,”

“Nuh-uh,” I shake my pounding head. “No buts, you’re going!”

“There’s no way – I’m not leaving you like this, Iz.” She gestures to my sad, unwashed, pajama-in-the-middle-of-the-day state.

I glance down at myself, knowing she has a point. If Kiara looked this pathetic I wouldn’t want to go out and live it up either. But if Kiara ever looked like this it would be nothing short of a national emergency.

“I promise to shower while you’re gone,” I assure her.

“And eat something.” She looks pointedly at the cheese sandwich still sitting on my nightstand. Turns out having your heart ripped out is murder on your appetite.

“And I’ll eat something.” I hold up my little finger for the standard pinky swear.

“And you won’t stay up all night binge-watching repeats of ‘Gilmore Girls’,” Kiara adds because, damn, the woman knows me too well.

“No promises on that one.” I snatch my pinky finger away from hers. ‘Gilmore Girls’ is my happy place. I’ve seen it so many times it’s like a comforting blanket. I figured all moms and daughters – apart from in my house, obviously – were like Lorelei and Rory for so long I’m ashamed to admit it.

Kiara looks conflicted so I resort to violence, physically pushing her towards the door.

“We both know how long you take to get ready, so go home and make yourself even more beautiful and get out there and knock Kai’s damn socks off!” I tell her.

“Iz…” she starts, her voice far from convinced.

“Kai’s one of the good ones,” I assure her, hoping I haven’t got that completely wrong – my man radar is apparently faulty. “And he really likes you. And if it works out with you guys, we could give you a cute couples name like KaKi! So, everyone’s a winner!” I joke.

“Khaki’s not really my color,” Kiara deadpans.

“Noted, it wasn’t my best work,” I admit, hands up. “I’ll think on it while you’re out.” I make a shooing motion with my hands.

Kiara gives me one last once-over. “If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure, one hundred percent,” I assure her. “And I expect a full de-brief in the morning.”

My friend sends me a mock-salute and is half-way out the door when she pauses.

“He’s just a guy, Iz, you don’t need him. You’re gonna be okay,” she vows.

“I know.” I conjure the best smile I can, hoping it’s convincing, and close the door behind her.

“And turn you damn cell back on!” she shouts from the hallway.

Just a guy. It’s the phrase I would have used with any man other than Lennox, because to me he was so much more than that. It didn’t take long for him to become everything to me.

I shake my head as if it were possible to physically force that thought from my mind. Delving into those feelings is a complete dead end. They can’t go anywhere, which means it’s time to park them.

I give my cellphone a wide berth. It’s been off since I called Kiara from the Uber, asking her to come over.

Lennox tried to call me more than once before then and rather than ignoring his calls, turning my phone off seemed like an easier option.

Part of me wants to check if he’s left any messages, wants to hear his voice.

But that’s the weak side of me talking; the side that still wants to hear what he has to say, as if any explanation could make any of this okay.

Mostly, I’m too pissed off and, more importantly, too hurt to deal with anything Lennox has to say right now.

I’ve allowed myself a week of wallowing, it’s time to get my shit together.

I sniff my sweatshirt, wrinkling my nose at the ripeness I smell.

Time for a shower. And after that I’ll call a company to get my stuff back from the Gray Mansion and then maybe I’ll order a pizza and drink a whole damn bottle of wine.

And that’s how I’m going to get through this, I reason.

One task at a time. If I can focus on the next thing and then the one after that and then the one after that and on and on, then I don’t have to ask myself how you go from thinking you can’t live without someone to having to.

I won’t have to think about what it feels like to know you thought you were in love with someone who apparently didn’t come anywhere close to reciprocating your feelings, no matter what you thought.

I won’t have to think about how you stop loving someone, even when it’s clear they don’t love you back.