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Even irritated I can’t help but ogle his backside as he stands and pulls on his boxer briefs.
‘I can’t rationalize my actions last night.’ He pulls the ring from his finger and holds it before him like it’s something Mike Hunt coughed up. ‘For me, of all people, to act so recklessly with…’ He takes a long slow breath through his nose as if so overcome by disgust he feels sick.
I do the same with my ring. Once off, I squeeze the ring in my fist while fighting the urge to junk punch my previously favorite appendage of his.
* * *
Thomas
I’m going to vomit.
I eye the bathroom door for a brief moment before deciding I’d rather not add to my chagrin by being sick in front of an employee. My wife?
So while my mind tries to make sense of fragmented memories of last night, I take long, slow, deep breaths in through my nose to quell the urge to regurgitate the bottle of poor choices I drank last night.
‘I ask that you simply consider that my assets are not solely my own.’ In through the nose. ‘Any damage to me or Moore’s is damage to my mother, sister and brother, and therefore, in turn, Bell.’ Out through the mouth.
Alice frowns, the muscles in her jaw flexing and I wonder if she’s fighting nausea, same as me.
Giving her time to process and calm her stomach, I pull on my shirt one sleeve at a time. The buttons are missing and it smells of alcohol, sweat and irreparable damage.
I make a note to have it burned.
So though I’m overheated from alcohol poisoning and feelings of withdrawal from whatever opioids my mother thrust at me last night, I grab my sweater, noting its outstretched shape and pull it on over the top to cover the gap of skin between my shirt’s two sides.
The soft cashmere grazes my injured eye, which has a heartbeat of its own this morning, and I pause, needing a second to swallow back bile.
I deserve to be sick. I deserve this pain, I think to myself as the roiling in my stomach levels out. I’m as much sick over my actions as I am from over-imbibing.
This is something my father would’ve done.
Self-loathing crests the wave of unhelpful emotions as I grab my jeans. ‘I’ve put Moore Inc. at risk. If anyone were to get wind that the heir to Moore fortune got black-out drunk and married an employee…’ I pause, Alice’s sharp intake of breath making me realize I’d been voicing my self-recriminations out loud. ‘If you keep quiet about this, I’ll see to it that you are well compensated.’
As if waking from a stupor, she rears back, clutching the covers to her chest as if I tried to snatch them away instead of remaining as far away from the bed as possible as I dressed. ‘I am not stupid enough to not know the differences of our stations, but just because I’m a mere employee and beneath an heir to a fortune doesn’t make me some whore out to steal your millions.’ Her long lashes flutter rapidly. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, I’m not going to tell anyone.’ She clears her throat and I have an odd feeling she’s trying not to cry.
This is one of the many reasons I don’t have relationships. The fears I unknowingly voiced were practical business concerns and yet she’s made them personal.
Unsure of how to respond to her, I pull on my jeans.
Alice straightens in the bed, the sheet falling down the sides of her body, revealing the curve of her hips. ‘An annulment.’ She exclaims this as if she thinks she’s found a winning lottery ticket, the excitement in her voice pulling my eyes up to hers. ‘With you being a man with such assets, I’m sure you have a dozen or so lawyers at your beck and call.’
I ignore her sarcasm, mulling over her idea. ‘Yes, I do.’
She rolls her eyes with a huff. I shouldn’t think this, especially after last night, but childish Alice, with her lips pursed, her arms crossed and her naked silhouette visible is adorable.
My body, which should be solely focused on not vomiting and extracting myself from this potentially detrimental professional situation, reacts.
‘I’ll call my lawyer.’ I turn my body, hiding the reaction by slipping on my shoes. ‘Until then, not a word to anyone about this.’ Not waiting for a response, or allowing myself one last look at Alice, I exit the bedroom.
I’m not trying to be dramatic, it’s just that I’ve reached my limit and I know there’s a trashcan in the other room. Grabbing it on my way out of the suite, I manage to make it down the hall and inside the elevator where I’m alone, before heaving the contents of my stomach into my makeshift bucket.
My luck runs out when the elevator doors open before I reach the lobby and an unsuspecting family is met with a waft of puke. Thankfully they decide to wait for the next available lift.
Fucking Vegas.
I was right to hate this place before ever stepping foot in it. It’s the ruin of all good men. Not that I was very good to begin with, but at least I had rules. Boundaries I never crossed. Like having sex with employees. Let alone marrying them.
A stab of unease that has nothing to do with last night’s consumption hits me. After all my hard work and sacrifices to oust my father from ruining the company, it would be an epic typhoon of irony that in one night my degenerate choices would be the thing to sink Moore’s.
