This Is Me (Cover Girlfriend, Book Three)

Episode Ten

Terri

*Hours Later*

I rest my head against the window as Mr. Rickerts maneuvers his car towards Rickerts; try not to give in to the fatigue that begins to weigh on me. He's always busy; another dinner, or party, or. Something.

I'm ready to sleep. For a year.

Because of him I haven't been able to sit down once in order to begin my sketches for the portrait he wants. I don't even know if I'll be able to paint it without being consumed with my own guilt.

Not a single call. Text.

We've returned to the static silence broken only by his stay in Italy, but I'm grateful to have at least given Lincoln the closure he deserves.

"I appreciate you not speaking in front of everyone. But I do want to know."

Know... what?

I turn my gaze to Mr. Rickerts'; questioning. A lot had been bantered about this evening, and my drunk self had connected with the open warmth of Aliya (oh my God! Aliya Wilson is my friend -fangirl-), despite her husband's oppressive presence, constantly tamed by his wife.

A glance my way seems to confirm I need further elaboration, "What was Linc guilty of?"

Too exhausted to fight him, or conjure up a polite answer, I speak the absolute truth, "Assuming we were going to have sex after he saw us mashing faces; deciding to go out and find a replacement for both of us."

Validated in his low opinion of me, considering how often I had stepped out on him when we were together. Though why he'd assume Mr. Rickerts is interested in me is anyone's guess.

Quiet passes for a few minutes, and I wonder if I should have kept it to myself.

"Oh," so soft I almost miss it.

*The Next Morning*

The man has zero respect for privacy, and it's beginning to annoy me.

Okay; long past annoyance.

So this time when he barges into my room at an unGodly hour of the morning, and I'm still in bed naked? His eyes glaring down at me as he demands why I'm not ready for breakfast? I'm done pandering.

My limbs glide from between the sheets and the mattress as I stand to my full height in front of him with my arms crossed under my breasts, and give him my most deadpan expression.

Instantly, he flushes. Doesn't even look; eyes locked to mine.

"I'll be waiting," his last words before he storms out of the bedroom; shuts the door quietly behind him.

A small part of me dies inside. Because despite knowing he's not into women? It still stings to see and feel it firsthand, surrounded by that scent of his that makes a girl weak.

He didn't even look!

I drop my arms and follow him out; cross the hall and step into the bathroom. I don't close either door.