“Okay, first of all,” Stacey interrupted. “What were you doing talking to that Dick anyway?”
“It’s a long story!” I said a little too fast, feeling terrified of Stacey.
If anybody hated my ex-boyfriend with a fiery-passion enough to burn him to the ground, it was Stacey. It was a mark of her loyalty to me and really touching, for the most part. But right now her glare was crushing my soul.
“I have all day. And more if needed,” she said looking at her watch.
“He wants to be friends.” I shrugged.
“Oh, does he now?” She folded her hands.
“Look, Stace, if I told him to go fuck off, it would seem like I am still affected by what he did to me, like I still cared. And in all honesty, I don’t. Yes, he hurt me a lot and yes, I had the hardest time getting over it. But I am over it now and I feel that the best way to move on is to not make a big fuss about it.”
“Do you have to fraternize with him though?” She frowned.
“No, but it’s easier than fighting him off. I have been intending to avoid that coffee with him for as long as possible. But that does not mean Zayden can tell me who I can or can’t talk to! His attitude is what makes me actually want to hang out with Rick.”
“Aria, it doesn’t help to be bitter,” she told me, stroking my arm. “But you’re right…as much as I have been approving of Zayden all this time, I don’t think it was right of him to talk to you as though you’re an object in his possession.”
“I am though, according to that fucking contract, that’s exactly what I am,” I said, fuming. “He has stripped me down to the level of his office desk. It’s like all of the sudden, I have no agency, no independence, like I signed my life away to him, and he’s ready to remind me of it every step of the way.”
“Oh Aria.” Stacey hugged me. “That sounds bad. You should not feel objectified in any relationship. If it’s a power-play, it’s not a real relationship. Definitely not a healthy one. I can’t believe I am saying this, but I think you need to break it off. I know he is helping your mom out – and he was really nice to you yesterday, I spoke to him on the phone—“
“You and everyone in that bar,” I scoffed.
“If I had known about all this I would have told him stop calling back and turned your phone off. It just seemed sweet at the time, like he was concerned about you.”
I thought about that for a second. “I don’t doubt that he is. Concerned, I mean. But I think he does not understand the concept of boundaries and is controlling beyond belief. It’s starting to feel way too suffocating.”
“Then get out of it,” Stacey repeated. “We will figure something out for your mom. Maybe I can take out the loan in my name? My dad could help co-sign it. We’d just have to get him really drunk one day—”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Stacey. I’m sorry for fighting with you the other day. And no, I got myself into this mess, I’ll find a way to get myself out of it. But it was extremely sweet of you to offer. You’re honestly doing more than enough by just being there. I couldn’t love you more for it.”
We both sat for a long time hugging each other. By the end of it, I had decided for sure that I wanted to break things off. I was not used to being objectified and doing a man’s bidding, and whatever he was doing for me was not worth my dignity.
Zayden and I had to be over.
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Chapter 8
Zayden
To my utter horror, I had gotten the dreaded “surprise” visit from my mother a few days after Aria had stormed out of my office. I already had a lot to worry about: Aria had called out of work all week, making me increasingly anxious. If she hadn’t made those drunk calls on Friday night, I was ready to show up at her apartment unannounced and give her an earful. How could she have done that to me? A whole week? What was I even paying her for, if she could simply choose to disappear whenever she damn well please?
On top of that my mother decided to just show up, no warning, and thought that would make me happy. Likely story— she very well knew how I would react to the visit— yet she was my mother and I had to at the very least try to not be a complete monster. Right now she was going on and on about my chef’s inability to cook the steak to the perfect medium-rare. She was a terrible cook herself, but loved to criticize everything other people did.
“My, my, how hard is it to get a simple steak right?” She frowned at the dinner table, while I wished, cringing, that the chef couldn’t hear.
“I think it’s delicious.” I shrugged and took a huge bite visibly savoring it. “Sean’s the best cook I know.”
That had the desired effect of making her wince. “How can you say that? When your own mother is sitting right across you?”
“Fine, if it’s all bothering you so much you can just take over the kitchen while you’re here and I’ll send Sean on a paid vacation. He deserves it.”
She gasped. “What is wrong with you, Zay? Why do you insist of treating the help as though they are equals?”
“Because they are,” I snapped. “I have my job of running the bank and Sean has his of cooking for us. I don’t see how one is any less than the other.”