Page 105 of Crave Me

CHAPTER 24

Wren

I didn’t see Evan for the rest of the day. He didn’t text me or call and he never reported back to his office.

He was supposed to meet with Anne and Clifton to follow up with an aggressive sales campaign he developed that could best be described as Guerilla marketing. Every rep we have was flown across the country, hitting over two hundred hospitals in ten days. We need close to fifty sales just to stay afloat. But Evan is expecting more. No, he’s demanding it, and has inspired his reps to make it happen.

I thought he’d tell me how the meeting went. But when he didn’t return, I couldn’t shake the feeling he didn’t want me anywhere near him. I know what he said, about nothing changing between us, but everything had.

My eyes dart across my computer screen, looking at everything and nothing at all. Between my office and his, this place is usually a beehive of activity, but although I can hear the buzz from the staff typing away on their keyboards, rushing to hand their reports to the courier stopping by their desks, and the constant ringing of phones, it’s like everyone is keeping their distance from me.

Ever get so emotionally bitch-slapped that if feels like a part of you has died? That’s how I feel, and when five o’clock hits. I’m done. It may sound like business as usual outside those clear glass doors, but inside my head and heart, it’s been a nightmare.

Curran called me back. He didn’t tell me anything that I didn’t already know: That I needed to file another report to create a paper trail, and that he and his partner planned to pay him another visit, but that it’s been too many months since I heard from him directly to substantiate harassment. The plate number I gave him wasn’t anything the police didn’t already have. They were looking for him for questioning, but they still don’t have anything solid. Aside from everything he’s done to me, there’s more tidbits linking him back to organized crime.

Curran is pissed. So is Declan. But they’re not alone.

I gather my purse and jacket, lifting a progress report in my hands so it looks like I’m doing something and not wallowing in my anger.

“Going home, Wren?” Dee-Dee asks when I pass her cubicle, her comment causing those working closest to her to glance up.

I lift the folder. “I have a lot to read through.”

My lie is believable enough and hides that awful dullness to my tone. Normally, Dee would be all over me, pressing me to tell her what’s wrong. But like everyone else surrounding her, she’s full speed ahead, working like she just arrived and raring to go.

She doesn’t so much as look up, too busy sorting through the pile of work on her desk. “In that case, let me add to your to-do list,” she says, passing me a folder shoved beneath at least six more. “It’s a progress report on the new hires.” She gives me a full smile. “You did good, Wren. The staff is kicking tail.”

“Thanks, Dee,” I reply, pretending to flip through the folder so I don’t have to meet her face.

“No problem,” she answers, returning to her computer. “See you tomorrow.”

I place the file on top of my folder. Will she see me tomorrow? I wish I knew myself.

I walk as casually as I can to the elevators. In all the months I’ve worked here, I’ve never left so early. The exception was when Bryant (or whoever the hell he manipulated) tossed that brick through my front window and I had to return home to gather my things. But even then, I came back and stayed late to make up for it.

Like Dee said the new hires, along with the workers we kept, are making a huge difference. I think I’m the first person to leave. It probably looks bad. But considering I’ve been torn between raging and crying since Evan left me this morning, I think I owe it to my sanity and his team to leave.

My stomach jerks into my throat as the elevator speeds down. I’m sure I’ll get sick. I haven’t eaten all day. Finding out your psycho ex turned you into an internet porn star tends to rob you of your appetite, along with your dignity and pride. I rummage through my purse and find a protein bar to munch on. My hands shake, not from lack of food, but from everything that comes with my life falling apart. I’m trying not to think about Evan and what he saw. But it’s so damn hard.

I don’t remember the drive back to our place. And I barely remember the progress report I started despite that I read the first paragraph about twelve times before setting it down. I don’t even remember sleeping. All I remember is waking to an empty bed.

I showered and changed out of the dress I slept in then headed back to Philly with every intention of going to work. Instead, I drove back to my old place. I’m not sure why, maybe because I don’t feel like I belong at iCronos anymore.

I accelerate as I go up the hill leading into my neighborhood, thinking about the text from Evan this morning.

Still working.

That was it. No, “I’ll be with you soon”, “I’m sorry I missed you”, or “I love you”. But then maybe the latter was too much to expect.

I’m not being overly dramatic. I needed to hear him say it. It’s proof that nothing has changed between us.

I park in front of the house, not bothering to pull in because maybe I don’t belong here either. For a fleeting moment, I want to run. Just leave. But as much as I think I should go in, all I manage is to stand on the walkway, staring at the way the shiny glass from the new picture window gleams in the sun.

The breeze picks up the longer I wait there. But I can’t seem to move forward and it doesn’t feel right to move back. Moving back means going to iCronos and facing Evan. I’m not ready to see him, scared out of my mind he’s reconsidered me and us.

The thing is, the longer I stare at that window, the more that anger replaces my fear. Bryant violated my home in tossing that brick and my place of work when he drove that truck through the dealership. Before that, he violated me and shared it with the world, using the worst thing that’s ever happened to me to ruin the best thing to come along.

I slip into my truck and pull onto the road.