Easy To Lose: A Boudreaux Universe Novel Read online

  Easy To Lose

  S.A. Clayton

  Contents

  Easy to Lose

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  The Boudreaux Universe

  Note From the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About S.A. Clayton

  Other Books by S.A. Clayton

  Easy to Lose

  A Boudreaux Universe Novel

  By S.A. Clayton

  Easy to Lose

  A Boudreaux Universe Novel

  Copyright 2020 by S.A. Clayton

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyright materials in violation of author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design: Kari March Designs

  Editing: Chelle Olsen

  Published by: Lady Boss Press, Inc.

  For Kristen

  You saw something in me when I was still trying to figure out if I was cut out for this business. This book wouldn’t be possible without your friendship and I am grateful for it every single day. I hope it makes you proud.

  Chapter 1

  Morgan

  Four Months Earlier

  “Where’s this elusive fiancé you’ve been hiding from us?” Claire jokes, placing a party hat on top of my head and ignoring my eye roll. I can feel the anger start in my fingertips as I grip the glass in my hand, tighter and tighter. Aaron promised he’d be here. He also promised that he’d make an effort this year.

  And yet… He’s not here.

  As I look across the room, I see a group of people making their way into the space, and for a split second, I hope he’s one of them. But as the last person enters, and it’s not my fiancé, I wonder if he’ll show up at all.

  “Why is this thing on my head?” I ask, taking a sip of the champagne someone handed me when I walked into the room. The space is gorgeous, which I knew it would be since it’s one of my favorite restaurants in New York City. The place is filled with gold and silver streamers, and there’s confetti on every table. To be honest, it looks like New Year’s Eve threw up in here, and I fucking love it. Even though it’s July—a full six months after the actual holiday—I still smile when I look around.

  “Morgan, it’s your birthday. You’ll do as I say since I planned this whole thing, and you should be grateful!” I smirk at her, knowing she’s right and loving her for setting this up. “But enough about the party, stop changing the subject!” she says, smacking my arm.

  I haven’t known Claire long, but she’s quickly become one of my closest friends. On my first day at the Bloomingdales head office, she selflessly warned me about a rogue coffee machine that spat coffee every time you pressed a button, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

  “I’m not changing the subject. I’m just refusing to answer it,” I admit, quickly glancing at my watch and feeling the pit in my stomach start to expand. It’s already after nine o’clock, and the party started almost two hours ago. He should be here by now.

  I look at the platinum ring on my left hand, wondering where he could be. He knows that tonight isn’t just about my birthday party, it’s about finally introducing him to my friends—something we’ve talked about for months.

  “I’m just saying, it’s after nine, and the party is dwindling.” Her gaze leaves mine to move around the room, watching as people say their goodbyes. “Maybe you should call him? See where he is.” I nod absently, taking my phone out of the back pocket of my skin-tight black jeans and going out onto the restaurant’s terrace. Once outside, the noise of the city blocks out the din of the party as I press Aaron’s name and listen to the phone ring, and ring. And ring. After a few more tries, I take a deep breath and head back inside. The worry demons inside my head run rampant as possible scenarios play out. Has he been in an accident? Is he okay? Is he dead somewhere, and I’ll never find him?

  Yet an annoying little voice residing in the back of my head thinks he’s perfectly fine, simply being the Aaron I’ve slowly started to dislike. It’s been a gradual change, and at times I wonder if I’m overthinking his behavior. But then he does things like this, and I go back to being pissed.

  “No luck?” Claire asks as I make my way back into the room. I shake my head, putting my phone into my pocket, trying to shake the uneasy feeling crawling all over my skin. I look around and notice that most of the guests have headed home. I’m not naïve to the fact that we’re older now and staying out past ten isn’t exactly a good thing for most adults, especially when you have to work the next day.

  I take off the party hat, set down my champagne glass, and take Claire’s hand. “I think I’m gonna head out.” I’m trying to stay strong but the look in her eyes tells me she sees the unshed tears wanting to fall and knows I need to be alone. So, she just gives me a hug and a sad smile before letting me walk out the door.

  Aaron and I met while I was on a business trip in Connecticut last year. We were staying at the same hotel and saw each other every morning before we went our separate ways. We started having breakfast together, and that turned into lunch and then dinner. Eventually, when it was time for us to go home, we promised that we would stay in touch.

  I can’t lie and say the long-distance relationship didn’t have its challenges—sex being the biggest one—but we made it work. Then I got the news about Bloomingdales wanting a new head buyer and knew it was my shot. And the fact that Aaron was also in New York was the icing on the cake.

  Everything was falling into place, almost like it was meant to be.

  But after he proposed a few weeks ago, everything started to change for some reason. He’s almost never home on time, he works constantly, and our sex life has taken a dive into the gutter. I try not to overthink it because one should never believe the voices in their head, but tonight, those voices are a lot louder than normal.

  Walking up to our brownstone and standing in front of the door with the keys in my hand, I freeze. The cool summer breeze brushes across the exposed parts of my skin, sending a shiver through my entire body. I don’t know what makes me pause, but for a split second, I wonder if I should stay at Claire’s house, talk to Aaron in the morning, and let myself cool down. Because if he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere, he might be soon if I find him in this house when he should have been with me.

  I open the door, noticing that the kitchen light is on down the hall. Not necessarily uncommon, but it still makes the anger boil a little faster inside my veins. He’s home? Probably fucking sleeping while I was waiting for him at my own birthday party. The
man is dead.

  I set my purse on the dining room table to my right and make my way down the hall. I think about calling his name but decide against it. Instead, I head into the kitchen to get myself a glass of wine. I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and take it out to see a text from Claire, telling me she hopes I had a good birthday despite Aaron’s lack of tact. I smile and text her back, saying that she made the day better just by being by my side. I smile at the heart eyes emoji she replies with. I’m just about to send one back when I enter the kitchen and stop dead in my tracks.

  Because there, standing buck-naked in our kitchen, is my dear fiancé with a leggy brunette, her legs wrapped around his hips, moaning his name as he pistons into her like it’s an Olympic sport. It takes a second for my brain to catch up to my eyes, but when it does, the anger that I felt earlier boils over and starts to turn into blinding pain. But I push the hurt down and focus on the rage. It will get me through this.

  “Ahem!” I say, clearing my throat, crossing my arms over my chest and jutting out a hip. It takes a second for Aaron to hear me, but his whole body locks when he does.

  “Fuck!” Aaron sputters as his eyes meet mine, and he oh-so-graciously stops fucking the woman wrapped around him.

  “Why are you stopping, baby…that felt so good!” The brunette moans as she reaches for him. But his eyes never leave mine, and before long, her head finally turns my way, her eyes bulging with surprise. “I thought you said she would be out all night!”

  I roll my eyes at the cliché in front of me, but inside? Inside, I’m dying. The girl that was so excited about finding a guy who loved her for her and not the size of her hips? That girl is devastated that her dream is now a nightmare.

  Before I can stop them, the tears start to fall, trailing down my cheeks, streaking the makeup I worked hours to perfect. My fingers angrily wipe them away as I turn and make my way to our bedroom. Or is it only mine now? Or is it his? I have no fucking idea what to do in this situation. Do I stay and talk it out?

  No.

  I shudder at the thought of talking about this night. Ever. So I resign myself to packing up whatever I can fit into a suitcase and calling Claire. In the back of my mind, I know the sensible thing to do is leave. Not pack everything, just go. But I can’t. All I want to do is pack up everything I can possibly cram into this damn suitcase so I don’t have to come back here tomorrow and see his face.

  “Morgan!” Aaron calls from down the hall, and I just start throwing things into the bag, not worrying about folding. I need to get out of this house. I head into the bathroom and gather everything that’s mine. My eyes catch on a glint from the ring on my finger, and suddenly I’m on the floor in front of the toilet, food and booze making a second appearance. This was not how tonight was supposed to go.

  After I gather myself, I get up off the floor, rinse out my mouth, and eye the ring again. Before I think better of it, I toss it into the toilet and flush, watching the future I thought I’d have go down the drain. Just as I gather my things and head into the bedroom, the door bursts open, and I do everything I can to avoid looking in Aaron’s direction. I just continue going through drawers and throwing shit on top of the bed.

  “Morgan stop. Let’s talk about this…” His voice is calm, and before I can think better of it, my eyes land on him. The regret is instantaneous. His shaggy brown hair is a mess as if someone’s been running their fingers through it for hours.

  Her fingers.

  The dark brown of his eyes looks right through me as I feel his stare down to my bones. He’s always had a knack for making me surrender with just a look, and I have to actively stop myself from caving because his eyes have always been my weakness. His shirt is still missing, and his jeans hang loosely from his hips, unbuttoned and barely zipped. But what gets me are the lipstick stains on his perfectly carved chest.

  “Talk? You seriously want to talk to me, looking like that?” I point at the offending marks as he rolls his eyes, taking a step toward me as I take one back. “No. you don’t get to do that anymore. You lost the right to come anywhere near me when you stuck your dick in her!” I scream, pointing at the door, referring to the girl that I hope is long gone.

  “Morgan, we can fix this.” I shake my head. He’s clearly delusional.

  “No. I’m done. Seeing you with her after you promised to spend the rest of your life with me? I’m never going to un-see that, Aaron. Never.”

  “Don’t be melodramatic. We can get through this. I just needed one last night of bachelorhood before we got married. That’s all. It’s common to get cold feet, right?” I can’t help but laugh. That is by far the most self-centered thing he could have said. And by the look on his face, I can see he meant every word, too.

  “‘Cold feet’ does not give you permission to stick your dick in any waiting snatch you can find.” I feel the tears start once again, and take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I need to do. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” I throw the rest of my stuff into the suitcase and zip it up, carrying it out of the room and down the hall, hearing his steps following mine the entire way.

  “Morgan, stop this. If it weren’t for me, you would still be a sad, lonely, fat girl who’d never even had a guy go down on her.” I stop in my tracks, staring at the front door, and the first steps to my life away from this nightmare. “You know you need me. You know that, without me, you are nothing.” The words cut deeper than I want, but I straighten my back, turn my head, and look straight at him.

  “I’m leaving.”

  I don’t look back again as I step outside and slam the door behind me. My steps don’t waver as I walk to my car and get in, but when the door shuts, and the silence surrounds me? I start to crack. The solid veneer I created the moment I saw Aaron with that woman crumbles and

  I finally let the tears fall, wondering what my life has become, and what the hell I’m going to do now.

  Chapter 2

  Morgan

  Present Day

  It’s fucking sweltering. Something I seem to have forgotten as I set the last box on my living room floor and look around my new house. Growing up in Miami, you get used to the weather. But being away for ten years? It seems you forget that the only seasons are hot, hot as hell, and hot with a side of hurricanes. Am I going to miss the leaves changing in October? Of course. Fall was my favorite part of New York City. Will I miss the winter? Hell, no.

  “You all set?” my dad asks from the doorway. I turn and smile as he watches my mom putter around the kitchen, putting away all my dishes and cutlery. “Diana, honey, I think Morgan can do that herself.” Mom just rolls her eyes and goes back to taking each plate, rinsing it in the sink, and then putting it away just the way she likes. I think we all know that I’ll change it all when she leaves, but knowing she’s happy right now while organizing my kitchen? It makes it all worth it.

  “Dad, you know she’s not leaving until it’s all done.”

  “I know.” He sighs, coming over to wrap an arm around my shoulder. “I was just hoping to catch the end of the game.”

  “You better not be complaining about missing that football game, James Lawson!” Mom yells from the kitchen, and Dad just puts his index finger to his mouth, telling me to keep quiet.

  Laughing, I go back to the front door and out to the truck to ensure there’s nothing left.

  “You know we’re happy to have you home, honey,” Dad says, leaning against the side of the truck. I nod, knowing he and Mom are ecstatic that I decided to move back. “I want to kill that bastard,” he grumbles almost too low for me to hear, but I do anyway. I hide my smile as a warm feeling fills my chest.

  “Me, too,” I whisper as our eyes meet, a small smirk tracing the edges of his lips. “But it’s over, and I’m determined to leave all of that behind me. That’s why I’m here…and because I was offered a job.” Dad laughs lightly as he takes the last bag out of the back of his truck, and we head inside once more.

  “I always did like that Cha
rly Boudreaux. She always seemed to have a good head on her shoulders, especially for someone with that much family money.”

  “Dad!” I say, swatting his arm, hating that people always look at the Boudreauxs with dollar signs in their eyes when they are some of the nicest and most welcoming people you will ever meet. Granted, I’ve only met them a handful of times, but from what I’ve seen, the money is second to taking care of their family.

  “What? They have money, lots of it. And for some people, that changes the way they treat others. I’m just pointing out that it hasn’t changed her.” I give him a sideways look and walk into the kitchen just as Mom puts the last of the plates away.

  “All done, Mom?” She turns and gives me her signature smile that she passed down to me, along with her blond hair and a dusting of freckles. She’s petite, something I did not inherit, and only stands about five feet tall. I, on the other hand, got Dad’s height, along with his build. A curse growing up, and something that still lingers on the periphery, no matter how hard I try and embrace the body I was born with.

  “Yeah, sweetie, I think we’ll leave you to do the rest.” I give her a small smile, relieved that I’ll have some time to myself. “You are always welcome to come over. Anytime.” She kisses my cheek, hugging me too tightly, but I absorb it all since it’s been so long since I was last home. “I left some food in the freezer. All you need to do is put it into the oven for an hour,” she whispers as Dad takes her hand and leads her to the front door.