I give her a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get my payback one way or another.”
Noah returns with two fresh cocktails, hands one to me, and then sits down in the chair next to his wife. “Now, what in the fuck is going on that we’re drinking hard liquor at twelve . . . thirty-eight,” he says, glancing at his wristwatch.
God, it hasn’t even been an hour since I discovered Sterling fucking his ex in the conference room. It feels like I’ve aged sixty years since that time.
While I concentrate on putting a dent in my second cocktail, Olivia fills Noah in on the basics. She spares me the embarrassment of repeating the delicate parts of my story, but Noah’s expression goes from neutral to angry, but never seems surprised.
“You knew,” I say when Olivia finishes.
“Fuck.” He pushes his hands into his hair. “I knew something was going on. But this shit with Rebecca doesn’t make sense. He likes you; he really does.”
That revelation doesn’t mean much. Sterling might have liked me, but not enough apparently.
“Has he ever been known to . . .” Olivia pauses, looking at me with concern.
“Go ahead,” I say, encouraging her.
“Has Sterling ever been known to hook up with someone like that, randomly, practically in public?”
The look on Noah’s face says it all.
“Spill it, Noah. The truth,” Olivia demands.
“In the past, yeah. There was this time several months ago when we volunteered at a soup kitchen. He banged a girl in the bathroom.”
Olivia’s face twists in disgust. “He fucked a homeless person? Does the man have any standards?”
Noah shakes his head. “No, she was another volunteer there for the day.”
“Guys, this isn’t helping.”
“Right. Sorry.” Noah rises to his feet. He returns with a bottle of vodka and a fistful of takeout menus. “We need to turn this into a proper post-breakup pity party. Pizza or Chinese?”
I laugh despite the crappy mood I’m in.
“Both,” Olivia says, grinning.
Later as we sit there, eating plates of egg rolls, lo mein, and pepperoni pizza, Noah offers a solution.
“I could just call Sterling. Find out the truth of what the fuck happened today.”
In my buzzed state, I consider it for a second. It’s not a half-bad idea.
“No way,” Olivia says. “He’ll try to talk his way out of it, then he’ll want us to put Camryn on the phone. So, no,” she repeats. “He needs some time to sit and ponder what he did wrong. There’s no redemption for him tonight. Let him suffer in silence.”
She already made me turn off my phone earlier, and then hide it somewhere in her kitchen where I won’t be tempted to see if I have any missed calls or voice mails.
Noah and I have put a hefty dent in the bottle of vodka, and I know later I’ll eventually be faced with the decision to cab it home or stay the night in their guest room. But there’s something about being inside their happy home that makes me feel out of place.
Maybe it’s just that they’re married, and their love is a real, visceral thing I can feel in the space around us, or maybe it’s just because I’m so far from anything similar in my life. It hurts when I pause to think about it. Which is why I need to just keep drinking.
I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I only know that I won’t be working with Sterling on his search for a wife ever again.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Camryn
I managed to keep my phone turned off all weekend, and now I’m back at work on Monday morning without knowing whether Anna or Sterling tried to contact me.
I almost caved a thousand times. Not that I would have contacted him. But I stood at the kitchen counter, my finger poised over the power button to my cell for a long time on Sunday. The pull to know if he’d tried to contact me was so strong. Would there be a text from him to say he was sorry? Would there be an explanation that, after facing all the women, he decided he wanted to get back with Rebecca after all?
It was better not knowing. For now, at least.
Navigating my way through mass department e-mails and other things of nonimportance, I stifle a yawn as I try to unclutter my in-box. The comforting morning ritual, paired with a steaming cup of coffee, makes me feel halfway human again. A long weekend spent sulking wasn’t healthy. My work gives me purpose, so at least there’s that.
I’m still wondering if Anna’s going to be brave enough to show her face here today. And I have no idea what I’ll do if she does, since I’m assuming clawing her eyes out and calling her a cunt is against the employee code of conduct.
At a few minutes before eight, Anna enters the office. Rather than the confidence she radiated on Saturday, holding her head high as she strutted past my table, today she wears a subdued expression.
“Hey,” she says sheepishly. She enters the office but stays near the door.
My gaze lifts to hers, but my fingers remain on the keyboard. My hope is that this is quick and painless, that maybe she’s just here to pick up her belongings.
“Can we talk?” she asks.
I tip my chin. “Sure. Say what you need to say.” It’s not going to change a damn thing.
I have too much respect for myself to be like Hey, you betrayed me? That’s cool. I may forgive her in time, but the trust is gone. And friendships without trust are like bachelorette parties without alcohol—they’re not something I want any part of.