2. Lorelei

2

LORELEI

B y the time I emerge from my bedroom, now dressed in a pair of too-big-for-me sweats, a tank and an ugly cardigan that I think might actually be Tate's, the sun is setting outside and casting the living area in a gorgeous orange hue.

I don't appreciate it like I should, and I hate myself for being so up in my head.

I love this apartment. I always have. But it's not the same anymore.

We chose this place together the day after I secured my job. It was our first apartment as independent working girlies.

Tatum and me against the world. Or at least, our little slice of it.

I never imagined a time when one of us would move on.

Sure, I've always been looking for my Mr. Right—it's a compulsion that I can't quite kick; whereas, Tate was always looking for Mr. Right Now.

I guess, looking back, maybe I assumed I'd be the first one to disrupt life as we knew it here.

But that's so far from the truth it's laughable.

Tatum is married. Hell, she's six months pregnant with her brother's best friend's baby. A man she's hated all her life—well, until she ended up having to say "I do" if she wanted to secure her inheritance from her father.

A sigh falls from my lips as I stare out the window at the city that owns my heart.

I miss having Tate here more than I'd ever confess.

I miss Griz, her kitty, too.

There used to always be someone to talk to. Even if the little furball never actually looked like she cared about the drama in the human world, at least she was a pair of ears.

But while her aura might still permeate the walls, she's no longer here. Neither of them are.

I'm alone.

My fingers grip the windowsill so tight my nails dig into the wood as I attempt to get a grip of myself.

I tried to convince Tate to give up the lease on this place once it became clear that she wouldn't be moving back in after the timer runs out on her arranged marriage, but she wouldn't have any of it.

So as much as I hate taking money from anyone—especially my best friend after everything she's done for me over the past few years—I've had little choice but to stay.

She's still paying her half of the rent despite the fact she hasn't slept a night here since Kingston moved her into his flashy penthouse, and hell knows that I can't afford to take it all on now. Even when I was employed, this place was well beyond my reach.

But what happens now?

A bitter laugh spills free.

I know exactly what will happen.

Tate will take over the rent, and she won't accept anything else.

I love her. I really do. But I don't need or want her money. That isn't—and never has been—the reason why we're friends. Of course, I love her big heart and her need to help. But I hate being anyone's charity case. Even my best friend's.

I earn what I have. I pay my way. For everything.

And, for what it's worth, I don't fucking steal.

"ARGH," I groan loudly before spinning on my heels and marching toward the freezer.

There's only one answer.

Vodka.

Will it help? No.

Will it answer any of my questions right now? No.

Will it stop my boyfriend from being a cheating asshole who deserves to fall into a beehive, or stop my boss from being a jerk who seriously needs to get fucked up the ass with a cactus? Also, a big fat fucking no.

But it will numb the pain.

Oblivion. That's what I need right now.

Total fucking oblivion.

I don't bother with a glass. Why waste the time and effort in decanting it into something else when in these situations, drinking straight from the bottle is perfectly acceptable? At least, in my opinion, it's totally fucking fine.

"Shiiiiit," I hiss when the neat alcohol burns down my throat.

A thought flickers through my head that I should probably eat something before heading down this road, but it doesn't settle. Instead, I allow it to be washed away with my next gulp.

"Alexa," I shout. "I need break-up songs."

It takes a couple of seconds, but Alexa pulls through. Of course she does, she's a fucking woman. "My Happy Ending" by Avril Lavigne erupts from the speaker.

"Yes, Alexa. Louder," I call before taking another swig of vodka.

That song bleeds into another, and then another, and another, until I've no idea how many have passed. What I do know is that the vodka is having an effect, and everything that is currently trying to bring me down feels a million miles away as I belt out my best Whitney Houston.

I think I sound damn good. My neighbors, however, may disagree.

I'm so lost in the music that I don't hear the front door open. I also don't notice anyone walking toward me as I stand with my head tipped back and my eyes closed, channeling my inner diva, so when the music suddenly cuts and only my flat tone fills the apartment, it scares the shit out of me.

"What the—Tate?" I screech, my eyes taking a moment to focus on her standing on the other side of the room with her beautiful baby bump covered in a gorgeous floral dress.

Aw, my bestie is so fucking pretty.

"What's going on?" she demands, effectively stomping on my warm, fuzzy thoughts about her.

"Err…"

"I've been calling you for an hour. We were meant to meet after work."

My heart sinks.

"Fuck. I forgot."

Her eyes narrow in suspicion. I get it. I never forget shit like that.

"I'm sorry. Today…this month has just been?—"

"What's happened?" Tate asks again, knowing me well enough to know this is not just cheating-asshole related.

"Men are stupid. That's what's happened."

"I thought Matt had stopped hounding you."

Just hearing his name sends a shooting pain through my heart.

He was so perfect.

So fucking perfect.

Laughter erupts from me, making Tate frown and study me as if I've gone mad.

Maybe I have.

Too fucking good to be true, that's what Matt was.

I should have seen it.

All the red flags and warning signs were there.

How he'd fall off the face of the Earth for days at a time. How when his "grandmother" died, he wouldn't respond to anything I sent. How he refused to give me his parents' address he was apparently staying at so I could send flowers for his mom.

It was all right there, screaming in my face.

But when we were together…

Fuck. I'm such a moron.

"He has," I confess quietly.

I should be relieved of that fact. I mean, I am relieved. Having him hounding me from dawn to dusk, begging for forgiveness, was only making things worse.

Maybe he was telling the truth about it being over with his fiancée. Maybe they have now finally called time on the relationship and canceled the wedding.

Or maybe he is just a compulsive liar who will tell me whatever I want to hear so that he can continue getting his rocks off.

I let out a sigh that feels like it comes from the pit of my soul.

"So, what's this about?" Tate asks, plucking the half-empty bottle of vodka from my fingers and waving it in front of my face.

Was that full when I started?

I can't remember.

"I got— hiccup ." I pause, staring into the compassionate eyes of my best friend.

Changing tactics, I reach for her bump.

"How's my favorite girl?" I ask, gently caressing her belly.

Honestly, we have no idea what the sex is. But I can't imagine my bestie growing anything but a fierce little lady.

Plus, it'll be hilarious watching Kingston get his ass handed to him by both his wife and his daughter on the regular.

"She's fine. Now stop deflecting. Why are you here with Whitney instead of hanging out with me?"

Guilt twists me up inside.

"I'm sorry I forgot."

Taking my hand, Tate tugs me toward the couch and doesn't let go until I fall onto it beside her.

"Talk to me, Lor. What's going on?"

Her eyes bounce between mine, trying to read the truth within them.

Tears come faster than I can control, and before I know what's happening, I'm in her arms.

I sob as if I hadn't already purged the anger and disbelief in my bedroom when I first got back.

But despite the tears and snot I cover her in, Tate doesn't once try to pull away. Instead, she's the unwavering friend she's always been and just holds me. She's my rock. Has been since the moment I walked into our dorm room our freshman year at college.

I was terrified. I'd only ever known our little shithole of a town. Suddenly, I was on my own in the big wide world, and I had no idea what I was doing.

And then there she was. This angel wrapped in a college hoodie and a pair of sneakers more expensive than every pair I'd ever owned put together.

But she didn't care that most of the clothes in my suitcase were barely rags or that my makeup was all grocery store crap, and my shampoo had all the sulfates and silicones despite my desire to embrace my natural curls.

It was all I could afford. Actually, it was more than I could afford, but I was determined to change that.

"I got fired," I blurt, unable to keep it in any longer.

"What? Why?" she barks, anger on my behalf piercing through her voice.

"It doesn't matter. I'm better off out of there, right?"

Her expression softens as I sit up. Unwilling to see it, I drop my face into my hands.

I hated my job.

She's been trying to get me out of there since my second month when I confessed as much.

Honestly, I've no idea how I didn't admit to how much I despised it on day two. But I didn't want Tate to think I was failing before I even gave it a chance. And there was no way I was going home so soon.

Mom had expected me to drop out of college. Hell, there were times she came close to being right. Especially when the twins' dad finally got fed up with her shit and left, leaving them at her mercy. But I refused to be a statistic. Another failed attempt to get out of the down-and-out town I was forced to grow up in.

"What happened, Lori?"

I suck in a shaky breath as I prepare to tell her the truth.

"Clive pulled me into his office and—" I hiccup again as I fight to get the words out.

"And?"

"Heaccusedmeofstealingandfiredmeonthespot," I say so hysterically it comes out as one long word. "Can I get you a drink or anything?" I ask, hopping to my feet and out of her reach as quickly as I can move.

"Wait. He fired you for stealing?" Tate asks, with a deep frown marring her brow.

"So, no drink?" I ask, still hoping to deflect.

"Lorelei," she snaps, getting fed up with my bullshit.

"I didn't steal shit, Tate."

The tone of my voice makes Tate's eyes pop wide open. "I know that," she states firmly. "That is not in question. I want to know why the fuck he would accuse you of that? You're the best member on staff that asshole has had in years."

I shrug, unable to come up with any kind of reasonable answer.

I've no idea why he thinks I was stealing. I haven't so much as taken a fucking pen from that place.

"This is bullshit," she spits, reaching for her purse on the floor and pulling out her cell.

"What are you doing?" I ask in a rush when she begins scrolling.

"This is unfair dismissal, Lori. That asshole isn't going to get away with this. Our legal team will sue him for everything he's?—"

"No," I cry, snatching her cell clean out of her hands.

"Lori, we can't let him get away with this."

"I'm not letting you get involved. Nor am I letting Warner Group, or Callahan Enterprises, for that matter, pay for a legal battle on my behalf.I hated that job. I wanted to leave. And now, I don't have to go back."

"You can't leave it at this. What if they report it?"

I swallow as the weight of that possibility sits heavily on my shoulders.

But so what if they do report it? I didn't steal anything, so they don't have a case. It'll be dropped, and I'll be free to get another job.

Right?

I stare at Tate, silently begging her to let this go.

I just want it all to go away.

The cheating boyfriend, the asshole boss. All of it needs to just get out of my life.

I deserve more than this.