We click off and I check my messages, not expecting to see anything from Charly, certainly not wanting to see anything from her, and yet I’m disappointed when there’s nothing. I open the last message from her and read it for the fifth time since she sent it earlier this afternoon. She thanks me for bringing her lunch, sorry that she missed me.

She should be thankful that she missed me. I wish I’d never gone to surprise her. Then again, I wouldn’t have seen her get cozy in the storeroom with her ex, telling him that she’d see him when she returned from London, showing me exactly what I was getting myself into.

Today was a long series of events that led to me seeing the truth: I can’t trust her. I can’t trust me.

We’re better off without each other.

And thank God I saw it before I took her to London and fell even further in love with her. Which is exactly what I’ve been doing: falling completely in love with her.

First, I got an email this morning from Jack, my former partner and friend, the man I caught in bed with my fucking wife. It was full of spite and hate and such rambling drivel that I was on edge, every cell in me screaming for Charly.

So I went to her, needing to see her, to talk to her, to hear her soft voice giving me words of wisdom, putting everything in perspective in that sexy as fuck accent of hers.

And instead I found her in the arms of another man.

That seems to be the story of my fucking life.

Was this all just some elaborate mind fuck for her?

It’s time I get home, back to work, back to my responsibilities, and remember what’s important.

That doesn’t include dishonest women disguised in a sexy package.

***

“Simon,” Mother says, staring at me with tear-soaked eyes. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

“A lot of reasons,” I reply and stare at my father as he paces their living room, his hands linked behind his back. When he’s this quiet, it means that he’s angry.

“No reason you might have,” he says with controlled anger, “is ever good enough to not tell us that your ex-wife was emotionally abusive.”

“I know,” I reply. “At the time, I was just focused on trying to help her. And when it was all over, I told you the truth, that I caught her being unfaithful, and I thought that was a valid enough reason to leave. I just didn’t think it was necessary to bring up the rest of it.”

“But I wouldn’t stop speaking with her,” Mother adds and hangs her head in her hands. “You told me to stop, but I wouldn’t listen. I just wanted everything to be okay, and I knew that she’d made a mistake, but I’d hoped that you could work it out, especially when she told me over and over how lost she was without you, and how very sorry she was.”

“She’s excellent at manipulation.” I sigh and wrap my arm around my mother’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault, Mum. I should have told you more.”

“I can promise that I won’t be speaking to her again, except to give her a piece of my mind.”

“She’s not worth it,” I reply, shaking my head.

“I gave her money,” Dad says. “She was pathetic and sad, saying that you wouldn’t help her.”

“You gave her money?” I ask, appalled. “Jesus, Dad, I didn’t even know that she’d come to you with that bullshit.”

“You clam up whenever we mention her name, and I felt sorry for her,” he says. “Obviously, not so much now.”

“I could just slap her,” Mum says, clenching her fists. “I should have known better. She told me once that she didn’t know how she was going to go on without you, and thought about ending her life.”

“That’s typical,” I mutter and rub my eyes. “That was her M.O.”

“Thank you for telling us,” Mum says. “I’ll back off, and I’m so proud of you for being strong enough to see her for what she is.”

I’m not terribly strong. I fell for it again.

I simply kiss her cheek and stand to leave. “I’m heading home. I’ll call in a few days.”

I pull away from their house, toward my loft which isn’t too far away and the heaviness of exhaustion hits me. I’m so fucking tired.

My loft is quiet, everything exactly as I left it, and yet it feels like nothing is the same.

I’m not the same.

I shoot Todd a text.

Got home early. Meet me at the office tomorrow morning at 9:00.

He replies immediately. Got it.

I thought I would sleep on the plane, but I didn’t. Instead I tortured myself over and over again with the vision of Charly and the fucker with his hands on her, and then my focus would shift to how she looked naked, writhing beneath me. Laughing. Sleeping. Eating. Her touch.

Fucking hell, how did I fall in love with something that wasn’t real?

***

“You look like shit,” Todd says as he walks into the office and sets a cup of coffee under my nose.

“Fuck you,” I reply and sniff the coffee, then decide fuck it and take a drink, then scowl. “This is black.”

“You’re the one that turned into a pussy and decided to drink coffee rather than tea, mate. I have no idea how you take it.”

“Fuck you again,” I reply and set the cup aside. “Let’s get to work.”

“Okay. But first, what’s going on? I thought you were bringing Charly.”

“Don’t want to discuss it. Let’s work.”

“Great.” He nods and sighs in frustration. “Speaking of work, we had all of the slots filled for the retreat this fall, but we had one back out last night. Savannah Boudreaux sent me an email and said that she wouldn’t be attending because she refuses to give her time or money to a hypocrite.”