Dating The City's Biggest Playboy

Natasha Whitmore's pov The heel snapped right off, as I stumbled hard, catching myself against the cold metal arm of a bus stop bench as the city blurred around me with tears. The rain had started.... needling drops that clung to my lashes and turned the sidewalk into a slick black mirror. My right shoe hung crooked, the thin stiletto dangling by a strip of leather. I yanked it off and hurled it into the gutter. It landed with a pathetic splash. “f**k you, Ryan Cole,” I whispered. Then louder, because the empty street didn’t care. “f**k you and your perfect smile and your impossibly good c**k! You cheating jerk!.....” My voice cracked. I pressed the heel of my hand hard against my chest, as if I could shove the pain back inside before it spilled out in front of strangers. I sank onto the bench. The metal bit through the thin fabric of my pencil skirt. My other shoe was still on. I didn’t take it off. I just sat there in the rain crying like a pathetic lose with one foot bare, toes curling against the wet concrete, and let the memory slam into me again. This morning in his office. I’d been smiling when I walked in with a stupid, hopeful smile. I was holding the contract folder clutched to my chest like a prize. Because of six weeks of late nights, three ridiculously expensive flights, a hundred carefully worded emails....all of it leading to this. I wanted that position as director of operations. I wanted the promotion in writing. I’d even worn the red blouse he once said made me look “dangerous in the best way.” I held the door knob, surprisingly , it had not been locked. He always locked the door to his office. He was just a germaphobe and didn't like people invading his space unnecessarily. The first sound I heard was her laugh. it was soft, breathless and familiar in a way that turned my stomach before my mind caught up. Then followed by the wet slap of skin. "Is that a moan?" I muttered, but pushed away the thought. I thought I was imagining things. I froze in the doorway. Her legs were wrapped around his waist. Black lace still hooked around one ankle. His tie hung loose. His hands gripped her hips hard enough to leave marks. Her head was thrown back, dark hair spilling over the edge of the desk, and she was looking at me when she came. My best friend Sarah Woods was being f****d by my own boyfriend. Ryan’s eyes opened but he didn’t stop and he didn’t pull out. He just stared at me over her shoulder while he finished, jaw tight, like I was an inconvenience that had walked in at the wrong time. The folder slipped from my fingers. Papers scattered across the carpet like white surrender flags. I don’t remember walking out. I remember the elevator doors closing on the sound of Sarah’s soft, satisfied sigh. I remember the security guard asking if I was okay and me smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. I remember the street, the broken heel, the rain. Now I sat on the bench and stared at my bare foot. A blister had already formed on the side of my big toe. Good. Something that hurt on the outside for once. A sob ripped out of me before I could stop it. “Eight years, Ryan.” My voice cracked on his name. Rain ran into my open mouth. “Eight f*****g years. I was twenty when I met you. Fresh out of university with nothing but a second hand laptop and a stupid dream. We applied to the same company on the same day. Do you remember that?" I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, rain kept pouring on me endlessly. "You held my hand in the waiting room and whispered that if one of us got in, we’d both make it. We landed those jobs together. You as the rising star. Me as the girl who stayed late every night fixing the numbers you forgot.” I yelled. I dragged both hands down my face, smearing mascara into wet black streaks. My shoulders shook. “I cooked for you when you had the flu. I sat through every investor dinner smiling like the perfect girlfriend while you talked over me. I put that apartment in your name because you said it was ‘smarter for taxes.’ I waited. God, I waited.” My voice rose, raw and breaking. “Every Christmas I thought the ring was coming. Every birthday. You’d look at me with those soft eyes and say, ‘Not yet, baby. I want it to be perfect. I want the right time.’ The right time.” I laughed, a wet sound that turned into another sob. “There was never going to be a right time, was there? You just needed me useful. Loyal. Stupid enough to believe you.” I rocked forward, forehead pressed to my knees, arms locked around my middle. Water dripped from the ends of my hair onto the concrete between my feet. “I turned down two other offers because you said we were building something. I let Sarah move into our friend group because you said she made you laugh. I defended you every time someone called you a player. ‘He’s different with me,’ I told them. ‘He’s just careful.’ Careful.” The word came out like a curse. “You were careful enough to f**k my best friend on the desk I helped you choose. Careful enough to fire me over the phone while I’m sitting in the rain with one shoe and a blister.” My throat closed. For a second I couldn’t breathe. Then the tears came harder, silent at first, then loud enough that a woman walking past actually slowed down before hurrying on. “I loved you,” I whispered to the empty street. “I loved you so much it made me small. And you took every single piece of me and handed it to her with a smile.” I lifted my head. Rain plastered my hair to my cheeks. My bare toes curled against the wet ground, the blister stinging like it agreed. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I pulled it out with shaking fingers. Ryan’s name lit up the screen. For one stupid second my heart lifted. Maybe he was calling to say it was a mistake. Maybe he’d.... I answered with shaky hands. “Natasha.” His voice was calm. Businesslike. The same tone he used when firing underperformers. “I need you to clear your things out of the apartment by tonight. I’ve already spoken to building security. Your access card will be deactivated at six.” I opened my mouth. Nothing came out except a thin, broken sound. He kept talking. “And don’t bother coming into the office tomorrow. HR will email the termination papers. Conflict of interest. You understand.” Conflict of interest. Eight years. I had bought that apartment with the bonus from the merger I closed for him. Put it in both our names because he said it was “practical.” I’d cooked in that kitchen. Cried in that shower. Planned a future on that couch. “Ryan...” My voice was a rasp. “Please. Just...” “Sarah’s moving in this weekend.” A pause. Almost gentle. “Don’t make this uglier than it has to be.” The line went dead. I lowered the phone. Rain slid down the screen, distorting his contact photo....the one where he was kissing my cheek at last year’s company gala, both of us laughing. My hands started shaking so hard I almost dropped the phone. I curled forward until my forehead touched my knees, arms wrapped tight around my middle like I could hold the pieces in. A sob tore out of me, raw and ugly. Then another. People walked past. Someone muttered “drunk.” I didn’t care. I rocked slightly, bare foot scraping the concrete, the remaining heel digging into the back of my other ankle. Every breath scraped. My chest felt too small. My throat burned. They had taken everything in one morning. My phone lit up once again, but this time. It was a post by Sara. It was a picture of him with Ryan, it seemed she was so eager to finally show off their dirty little secret affair. My eyes went straight to the caption and it read, "Finally...I said yes. My new boyfriend spoils me rotten."