Boom (14 page)

Because she wanted to get her hands on him.

There were still loose threads that had to be tied up when it came to her relationship with Jackson. That was still a priority. But in her heart of hearts she knew—as she had known for a while now—that she and Jackson were done. The mind-blowing orgasm that Quinn had given her had simply put the exclamation point on that.

With her hair still damp from her shower, Mia sat near the fireplace in the great room, got the fire going and unplugged her phone. That was when she discovered she had nearly seventy text messages and almost as many missed calls. Her jaw dropped along with her stomach as she stared the number. There was no way she could have had that many people reach out to her in the few days that she’d been without a phone. Not unless something dire had happened to shake up her life, like her apartment building collapsing or a death in the family. Getting her butt stranded in a luxury mountain resort didn’t warrant seventy freaking messages.

A flood of anxiety nearly drowned her as she opened the text app. If it had something to do with her aunt, or even her father…

The first text she saw was from David Brockman, her old law school professor and the man who’d helped her put together the papers she now had no choice but to deliver to Seattle in order to be free. She hadn’t heard from Professor Brockman since she’d dropped out to support Jackson two years ago, so she couldn’t imagine why he’d reach out to her now.

The text was simple, but it had her brows coming together.

Don’t forget I have copies of those papers I notarized for you. I’d be happy to send them along for you, if you’d like.

Her mind flew to the envelope still in her purse. Why the hell would her old professor feel compelled to bring them up now? It was almost as though he’d had a psychic moment.

Weird.

The second text was from Veltina Eldridge, a friend of her aunt’s and a sweet lady who often dropped by the office with her toy poodle, Killer in one bejeweled hand and a cardboard tray of skinny vanilla lattes in the other. Veltina was on her third husband—the first she’d buried, the second she’d divorced, and the jury was still out on how the third one was going to go. Her very last text read,
Also,
I’ve trained Killer to go for the crotch, if you feel you need to use her.

“What the hell?” Baffled, Mia went to the beginning of the text thread, and her anxiety twisted deeper.

Your aunt told me you might not see this because of phone problems, but I just needed to let you know that I love you, doll, and I’m in your corner.

And then, an ominous follow-up.

You deserve better than that horrible, spineless thing. He deserves a kick in the crotch for treating you like this.

And finally, the comment about Killer being trained in the art of the infamous crotch-attack, but by that point Mia had a good guess what had gotten everyone in a texting uproar.

Jackson.

Going back to her list of text messages, she searched until she found Daria’s name, then clicked on it and went to the beginning.

OMG, OMG, OMG, are you okay???

The next text made things a bit clearer.

Just saw what that un-fucking-believable douchebag POS posted on his Facebook wall. Call me so I can hear your voice.

Then…

Srsly, are you okay??? Why aren’t you answering? I’m going to call your aunt, hon. SRSLY.

Evidently Daria had followed through with her threat and had indeed called Deb. They must have had quite a chat, because the next text had a lot more information.

So Deb hasn’t been able to get a hold of you since you told her you were still in fucking Montana after being diverted there. STILL? Holy shit, you’re STILL there. Where is Montana, anyway? Do they have phones there? Since you’re not using them, I’m assuming no. FYI, Deb’s ready to call the state troopers to locate you since that was the last she heard from you, so CALL HER as soon as you get this. She’s worried you’ve done something stupid over the douchebag fuckwad, or maybe have gotten eaten by snowbound cannibals. I’m not worried about any of that, but I AM worried about you. Why aren’t you answering?

Then, the last one.

Montana. WTF.

With nothing left for it, she touched the screen a couple of times, and had the Facebook app open in moments. Ignoring the boatload of notifications and PMs, she went straight to Jackson’s Wall and scrolled down.

And froze.

Engaged.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She stared at the announcement, then at the accompanying photos. The same blonde woman Jackson had been out to dinner with, and holding, and necking with like a horny teenager, and kissing by a fucking Ferris wheel.

Engaged.

He’d announced his engagement to her online. Some woman named Jill Barrington.

Wait.

Seven months ago he’d landed a job at Barrington and Associates.

Aha, Now it all made sense. He was marrying his boss’s daughter.

How cliché.

And how like him, unabashed social climber that he was.

She stared at the image for what seemed like a year, but she didn’t really see it. Her sight had turned inward, analyzing what was going on. Of all the things she knew she should be feeling, the one unexpected and prevailing emotion was
relief
. True, allowing Quinn to give her an unbelievably awesome orgasm yesterday had severed that final mental tie she’d had to Jackson. But until that moment, with Quinn’s hand working at her until she screamed like she was being murdered, she hadn’t fully accepted it.

Seeing Jackson’s engagement announcement however, was something she’d needed. Quinn had been right; Jackson hadn’t freed her, choosing instead to selfishly hold her back until he’d secured someone new to take care of him. And even then that weak excuse of a man hadn’t freed her. He’d simply announced he’d replaced her without telling her a single word about it.

Again, just like him.

To be fair to Jackson, she spent the next ten minutes searching her voicemail, email and text messages, looking for an official note from him stating that he was breaking their engagement, that he wished her well, and that this was goodbye.

There was nothing.

She was pretty sure she knew why. He thought he was being clever. But all he did was come off as what Daria said he was—a total, epic douche.

Sadness curled through her, not for the loss of their relationship, though that was there, along with a sense that she’d wasted three years of her life on a man who hadn’t deserved them. What was sad was that she had wasted those years on someone who was so obviously unworthy of her. She deserved better.

She didn’t deserve the backseat.

Peace settled into every nook and cranny with that realization—a realization that may not have been looked at in just that way if it hadn’t been for Quinn. Other people seemed to think that as well, considering how many dozens of furious responses Jackson had gotten on his announcement on her behalf. That vast show of support, coupled with the many messages sent her way made her chest swell in gratitude. The people in her life—the people who genuinely cared—saw her as worthy of something better as well. That outpouring of love filled her with so much warmth it was amazing all the snow in Montana didn’t melt away.

With that newfound peace flowing in, for the next quarter of an hour she devoted herself to answering as many texts and private messages as possible. But there were some people who deserved to hear from her in person.

“Oh my God, I’ve been so worried about you!” Daria’s voice came through loud and clear, and Mia was positive her friend would have been heard by anyone within a ten foot radius of her. “What the hell’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m still at Whiteout Mountain Ski Resort and Spa, stuck in another ferocious blizzard and until yesterday, without a phone cord to charge my dead phone. But I’m fine, I swear,” she added when the other woman let out a whooshing sound of relief. “In fact, I’m better than fine. I’m having the best time I’ve ever had in my life. Word of advice—if you have to be stranded, try to do it at a first-class ski resort with a hot tub, fireplace and an unlimited supply of bacon.”

“Bacon?”

“Long story, but trust me, Whiteout Mountain is
divine
.”

“So, if you’ve been out of communication, you might not know about… uh, about Jackson.”

“Oh, I know all about Jackson’s romantic online engagement announcement to that Jill chick,” Mia said, sorry now that her unintentional silence had stressed poor Daria out. Her friend’s internal drama engine ran hot even when things were calm. This latest development had to have been wigging her out in the worst way. “Your texts had me checking out what had happened, so I know all the gory details. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“Some heads-up,” came the muttered reply. “That douche posted his engagement announcement day before yesterday for all the world to see. That puckering little asshole didn’t even mention your name.”

“He might not have, but I saw a lot of other people mentioned me when they tried reminding Jackson that he already had a fiancée. I thought that was sweet.”

“I was one of those people and so was your aunt, but we both got unfriended and blocked, along with most of the people who know both of you. Everyone knows he’s now engaged to two women—one who put him through law school and one whose daddy will ensure he’s got a foothold in Seattle’s legal community. Fucking social-climbing butt stain.”

Mia sighed, the relief giving way to a kind of wistful sadness. “He really kind of is.”

“How are you? Are you okay? I mean, I know you can’t be
okay
, but… how are you?”

“I’m weird,” came the honest answer. “I can’t decide whether I’m relieved to finally be free of my engagement and can now be at peace by looking at this as a learning experience, or sad that I spent so much time on a man who ultimately wasn’t worth it. Or,” she added as an afterthought, “pissed off at myself.”

“Pissed off at yourself? For crying out loud, why?”

“There was something in me that needed Jackson to give up first. It’s almost like I needed his permission to leave a relationship that wasn’t working for me, which is nuts.”

“
Permission
? Girl, kick that thought to the curb right now, you hear me? You don’t need permission to do any damn thing you want to do, least of all from that no-good, lazy-ass, pay-my-way-‘cause-I’m-a-spoiled-little-bitch shithead like Jackson Hackler.”

And that was Daria in a nutshell. She might not have been a redhead, but she sure as hell had the temper for it, God love her. “Okay,
permission
is definitely the wrong word, and I’m sorry I used it. I just needed him to let go first, even though I wasn’t happy, because I can’t stand the thought of not being loyal. I have to know I’ve tried everything to make sure I’ve stayed connected with the people in my life. I need this because I know what it is to be left behind.”

“I get that, and in some respects your devotion to the people you love is one of your nobler traits. Except for now. Jackson was never worthy of that kind of devotion.”

“That’s why I’m pissed off at myself. Deep down I began to realize that Jackson wasn’t worthy of it, but there was still something in me that needed for him to let go first. I mean, what the fuck was I waiting for? For him to treat me better? If he’d truly loved me, I never would have had to wait for that better treatment to come rolling around. It would have already been there, surrounding me at every turn, like the way…”
Quinn treated her
. She bit her lip, knowing that comparison was completely whacked. Aside from the practical fact that Daria didn’t know Quinn, it was also insane to think there was a deep emotional response there—on Quinn’s side or on hers. Quinn had merely been an attentive, hands-on host.

Very hands-on.

Very.

Oh, yeah…

“Mia? You still there?”

She blinked and dragged her wandering mind back to the present. “Yeah, sorry. Look, I know how to stand up for myself in the professional arena. I can verbally kick anyone’s ass up around their shoulder blades if that’s what it takes. But when it comes to people I care about, I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Yeah, I am, because instead of dropping Jackson like a hot rock months ago when he started posting pictures of his new woman, I did
nothing
. I was so wrapped up in giving him as many chances as possible, that I forgot to give myself a chance—a chance to find something that could be so much more fulfilling than what Jackson had to offer. Something so much more
amazing
.”

“It’s not too late for that, Mia,” Daria said, her tone both intense and brimming over with compassion. “It’s never too late for that.”

A faint sound behind Mia brought her head around to find Quinn padding toward her, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, a faint curl to a corner of his mouth. She took a breath to whisper good-morning to him, but the words never left her throat as he reached for her phone to pluck it from her hand.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Mia’s going to have to call you back. She
has
found something more amazing, and right now that something is gonna fulfill the shit outta her.” With that, he turned off the phone and tossed it onto the couch.