03 – The Next Time He CheatsPoltergeist Girl
“Sold! To Belmont Real Estate! Congratulations.” The area erupts into clapping.
My eyes never leave Georgie as Mother storms off and I sink hard into the seats we never used during the auction. She has destroyed everything. As the gavel of the auctioneer echoes, my rage flares to life.
“What in the fucking hell have you done?!” I rise to my full height like a phoenix of righteous wrath. “You have destroyed your father’s company, you dumb fucking cunt! I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve never been fucking good at business. I don’t know why your father insists on you being the one in charge of auctions. Obviously, you’re too dumb to handle them.”
I lean in to dominate the conversation and prevent her from retreating to her fucking monster who is hastily talking on his phone near the payment table. He’s probably already ratting her out to dear old daddy. “All you fucking care about is your petty vengeance. There. You got it! You happy? We’re all out of a job now. How you could fucking think I would ever marry you, is beyond me. You’re not worth my time.”
I cannot stop the words spewing from my mouth. Not all are true. She’s fucking brilliant, and this was the best power play I have ever witnessed at an auction. Especially where it concerns Mother. I need Georgie to hurt the way I do, to make her suffer for being so fucking perfect. Without another word, I storm off.
By the time I reach the front of the house and shove out the door, I see my mother’s Ferrari peeling out of the drive. That bitch left me here. There is no fucking way I am going to get a ride from Billy Fucking Coeh back to the office after cutting down his precious Miss G. I run my fingers through my hair, and I look around for a solution. I yank out my phone and order an Uber. I ignore the looks of the losers leaving the auction. I know Georgina will be much longer securing funds. My phone has not chirped about the transaction yet, which makes me curious. Did she call her father and usurp my authorization being needed?
If I go back to the office this angry, I might do something I regret, like quit. Mother is already pissed, and if I ruin her perfect plan further, I will be cut off completely. My father’s too much of a pushover to stand against Mother. I pull up Google Maps to see what’s nearby for a stiff drink, and this hole-in-the-wall place called 666 is the first on the list. It’s only five miles from Haven Hill. “Change of plans, pull in there,” I motion to the bar fast approaching and I tip him a C-Note for breaking the rules.
There is a moment where I doubt my choice as I stand in front of the door. I see the bikes lining the outside of the bar, and this building looks as though I might get tetanus by looking at it. It’s too late now, as the Uber driver speeds off, so I push open the heavy metal door.
Inside the bar, I confirm this place’s shithole status. It definitely caters to Neanderthals and hookers. I could not care less about the decor, or curious looks as I storm to the bar. The bombshell behind the bar is curvy and petite. Her V-neck T-shirt swoops far enough down I get lost in her ample cleavage.
“What’ll you have, sugah?”
“Whiskey, double, on the rocks.” I order as I slide onto a barstool. It’s Tuesday, at eleven in the morning, but my fiancé, no strike that, my ex-fiancé just destroyed our lives. “Add a vodka chaser, would you?”
The bartender raises a brow, but doesn’t question my choices. She pours the drinks.
This place is dead as a doornail. There are a couple of hot girls hovering around the jukebox, and a drunk is lounging in the corner booth.
I roll my eyes at the God awful choice in music the girls pick and watch the bartender who is staring at the jukebox like she wants to take a hammer to it. Her attention turns back to me as she sets the drinks in front of me.
“You want to talk about it?” She drawls, then moves further down the bar to resume working on chopping the fruit for her garnishes. Her gaze is on the food, but she’s watching me from the side. Her easy-going manner is likely from years of listenin’ to drunks spill their guts to her. She’s a pretty little thing, but the ring on her finger looks like it’s been there awhile, and I’m not interested in complicated.
I throw the Vodka back in one fell swoop. “You ever seen a thirty-five and a half million dollar house?” My voice cracks from the manic level of fear raging through my system still. I hiss as my throat burns from throwing back the whiskey too fast.
Not waiting for her to answer me I turn to better survey the bar. While I called it a shithole, it’s in pretty decent shape. The scent of tobacco and citrus fill the air. The tables are clean, and the floors are swept. The pool table the two girls are practically fucking to get my attention is in good order. Maybe I misjudged this place.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“I just did, and it’s going to fucking ruin me.” Defeat heavy in my tone as I focus away from the bartender to the two girls at the pool table. I watch as they exchange a knowing glance and the one closest to me leans over the pool table far enough I see she’s wearing a thong.
I toss a C-Note in the bartender’s direction and push off the bar with a shrug. “Give me three beers, whatever the girls are drinkin’.”
“Never know, Might turn out just fine. Why would it ruin ya?” The bartender is trying to keep me from making the mistakes I am going to enjoy with these two, but unless she plans to let me vent my frustration on her perfectly round ass, I’m not listening anymore.
I saunter over, the easy smile plays over my lips as I study the two girls. Their bad red dye jobs, exposed roots, and casual grunge are all I need to know about them. The banter came easy to my lips as we play another round of pool. They “let” me help them with their shots. The curve of their hips feels good, the warmth of their skin matches the burn of the alcohol. I laugh and enjoy the inane flirtation, then we stumble out of the bar together as the lunch crowd starts to wander in.
We pile into their topless Jeep, one of the girls running her hand over my silk clad leg. The other girl drops into the wheel well as she treats me to some Southern hospitality only this kind of girl knows. By the time we reach their place, the three of us are pulling each other from our clothes.
Their perky breasts and flat stomachs keep my attention away from the inevitable doom as I work the pair until they finally lay exhausted on the bed, sheets a mess. My head clears enough for me to glance out the window, realizing I’m only a couple blocks from home. Taking one last look at the sleepy pair of perfect curves laying tangled together I drop another pair of C-notes onto the small end table where they left their keys.
I quickly walk the few blocks to my apartment, invigorated by the impromptu cardio from the girls. My brows twitch as I near my apartment door, noticing it ajar. Inside it looks like World War Three had been fought, and lost, by my personal possessions.
Rage wars with grief as I survey the damage. I pull out my cell to call the police and start filing an insurance claim when I noticed there fifty-seven notifications on my phone. It has been on silent since Mother picked me up from the office. Dread washes over me as I tap the message bubbles.
The messages come from Tracey first, followed by Amber, then Carrie, Rochelle, Tyler, and Jason. The messages are a mix of concern, and taunting. One, after the other, the images of the smoldering rubble that is my baby flood the tiny screen I am white knuckling. I spent more money than I should have to get that car imported, and now it’s a Wall-E box of trash. The only relief is there isn’t one from that raging blue-haired cunt Georgie calls a friend, who also happens to be the head of HR at Belmont Real Estate. Nor is there one from her father.
Grief for losing my possessions gives way to fury and I forget about cleaning up, leaving me reeking of stale sex and booze as I order a cab to take me to the office. The longer it takes the cab to arrive, the more furious I get. I’m a guided missile, and my target is none other than Georgina Belmont.