Love Her or Lose Her: A Novel (Hot and Hammered, 2)

For the first time in Rosie’s life, she was considering getting drunk at work.

In the perfume-sampling business, there were customers called puff princesses. They went down the entire line of little glass bottles, spraying each of them into the air and sniffing as the particles fell around them in a fine mist. Puff princesses were the worst. They made a mess, they stunk the place up, and they never, ever bought anything.

Usually during a shift, Rosie came across one or two of these types of customers, but today would land itself in the record books, because she’d had to endure no fewer than a dozen puff princesses. Someone had to be playing a practical joke on her. It wasn’t even dinnertime and she’d already lost her sense of smell. Rosie could vouch for the science that suggested a person’s other senses were heightened when one of them stopped working. Because there she stood in her uncomfortable heels, bottle in hand, smile plastered to her face—and she could count every speck of gray in the marble floor. Could hear every conversation taking place among the maze of glass cosmetics cases so clearly, the browsers might as well be hissing in her ears. If she squeezed the green bottle in her hands any tighter, it was going to shatter.

Her marriage was over.

For a second time.

Friday evening was darkening the sky outside the department store and Rosie hadn’t heard from her husband since yesterday’s ill-fated therapy session. All day, she’d been expecting him to show up and demand she cut the shit and come home. But he hadn’t.

He wasn’t going to, was he? Lord, that possibility terrified her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rosie caught sight of Joe the security guard making his rounds. Without thinking, she set down the bottle of perfume and clicked on high heels in his direction. Rosie’s expression must have matched her mood, because when she called Joe’s name, he turned to her with wariness etched into his craggy features.

“Hey there, Rosie.”

“Hi, Joe.” She forced a smile, but it felt fractured. “I’m just curious. When was the last time you saw my husband?”

He shifted. “Now, Rosie . . .”

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

“This morning.” Joe coughed into his fist. “He came by this morning to drop off my envelope. Looked like hell, as a matter of fact. Are you two having a spat?”

“Something like that,” Rosie muttered, spinning on a heel and returning to her post only to find two puff princesses in hoodies going to town. Her husband was still conducting his protective measures behind the scenes, but he wouldn’t just call her. The last thing she needed to deal with, on top of her twice-broken heart, was a couple of lookie-loos. “Excuse me, ladies. Do you need—”

They jump-turned and flipped off their hoods.

“Surprise!”

It was Bethany and Georgie.

Rosie exhaled a laugh, even though her shoulders remained full of tension that wouldn’t quit. “What are you guys doing here?”

“I have the shopping bug,” Georgie said with a wince, setting down the pink bustier-shaped perfume bottle in her hand. “Ever since I got the makeover, I’m no longer satisfied with overalls and baseball caps. It’s very inconvenient. I have to wear the right bras . . .”

“And wash your hair . . .” Bethany added.

The sisters wrinkled their noses at each other.

“Anyway,” Georgie enunciated, giving Bethany her back. “We thought we’d pop in and say hello. We have a proposition for you.”

Rosie couldn’t have been happier to find her friends in the store. She needed the mental break and definitely required the laugh to maintain what sanity she was clinging to, but any minute now, Martha would stomp around the corner—

“I’m not paying you to socialize, Mrs. Vega.”

Pressure bloomed behind her right eye and started to pound. The voice of her supervisor was obnoxious any day of the week, but with Rosie’s diminished sense of smell, Martha’s syllables and vowels worked their way under her skin like thumbtacks.

“We’re customers,” Bethany said sweetly, picking up a random bottle without looking and handing it to Rosie. “This one, please. It’ll bring all the boys to the yard.”

Georgie buried her face in the crook of her elbow.

Rosie bit down on her lower lip to trap a laugh, but a snort escaped. And that’s when the avalanche effect happened. That show of mirth gave way to the beginning of hysteria. She’d just been spoken to—again—by her power-tripping supervisor, her marriage had gone from fractured to broken, her feet were killing her, and she’d inhaled enough scents to make her nose-blind.

On top of everything, she’d canceled the appointment to view the space on Cove Street with the realtor that morning. Dominic had said he’d come with her, but upon waking to no missed calls or texts, she’d been too afraid to find out if he’d show up or not. And God, that made her so mad. He was the one who’d asked for a second chance. Not her. She’d been prepared to move on and he’d come barreling back in, claiming they could fix what was broken. Well, he’d broken it all over again, and she was done.

Matter of fact, she wasn’t simply done with her husband. She was done with this job.

She hated this job.

It made her feel like scenery. And even though her confidence was shaky—it was so damn shaky—she needed to pick up and move on before she let herself drop back to that level of complacency she’d been in before leaving Dominic. She might even end up more comfortable with doing something she hated, unable to imagine a better situation. She could barely imagine one right now and that scared her.

A bubbling laugh escaped her mouth. “I quit.”

Martha reared back with a gasp.

Bethany’s and Georgie’s mouths dropped open.

Rosie exhaled in a rush and unclipped her name tag. She started to hand it over to Martha, but the woman crossed her arms, lifting her chin and refusing to take it. So Rosie dropped it on the ground and stomped it into a half-dozen pieces, little shards of plastic scattering on the marble floor of the cosmetics section.

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding someone to replace me. Everyone is looking for extra cash around the holidays,” Rosie said, putting some steel into her spine. “But you will have a problem keeping them. Especially if you keep reheating fish in the break room. That should be illegal. You, Martha, are the Le Squirt Bon Bon of bosses.” She tucked an escaped curl back into her bun. “Shall we, ladies?”

Rosie set down the perfume Bethany had handed her and swept down the aisle of glass cases, flanked by her two friends. At several of the registers, her coworkers stopped what they were doing to give her golf claps and respectful nods. By the time Rosie reached the exit, she’d grown several inches. Next time she came to this department store, it would be to splurge on another dress. No more perfume. No more puff princesses.

God, she was scared knowing she’d receive only one more paycheck and then she’d have to rely on her modest bank balance, but so be it. You couldn’t put a price on self-respect, and she desperately needed to take some back.

The cold October air reached right through her clothes upon hitting the sidewalk.

“Oh my God,” Rosie said, covering her cheeks with both hands. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“I can,” Georgie said, laying a sympathetic cheek on her shoulder. “After what happened with Dominic yesterday, you earned the right to stomp a name tag or eight. Martha is lucky it wasn’t her face, as far as I’m concerned.”

Bethany took Rosie by the shoulders. “Look, that was completely badass, but it was a big, bold move that’s going to come with changes. Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Rosie shook her head, nerve endings snapping in her wrists and fingertips. “No. No, I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin. But tomorrow I’m going to come back better than ever. I have to believe that. I just don’t want to think for a while, you know?”

“Girls’ night out,” Georgie piped up, breathing warm air into her hands and rubbing them together. “It’s the only solution.”

Bethany’s mouth curved into a smile. “Fair warning, ladies. I don’t do any half-assed girls’ nights out. If we’re doing this, we’re swinging for the fucking fences.”

Her sister whooped.

“Manhattan, here we come,” Bethany murmured, eyes sparkling.

A fire built in Rosie’s belly as she listened to Bethany formulate plans. How long had it been since she’d really cut loose? Tonight she’d make up for lost time.

Dominic had just ordered his second beer when Travis and Stephen walked in looking like someone had pissed in their Cheerios.

“Whatever it is,” Dominic said, taking a pull from his fresh Heineken, “I don’t want to know.”

Travis snorted and kicked out a stool, signaling the bartender as he sat down. “Shot, please. Whiskey.”

“One for me, too,” Stephen said, choosing to pace instead of sit down. “Make it a double.”

That gave Dominic pause. Stephen’s idea of partying was adding a second scoop of protein powder to his morning smoothie. His wife, Kristin, ran a tight ship, and since Stephen was trying to prove he was wholesome-family-man enough for her to start popping out babies, he didn’t drink beyond the casual beer. Whiskey meant the world was falling down.

Dominic knew a thing or two about that. He’d gotten shit-faced after the impromptu therapy appointment that had ended in disaster—and he was well on his way there again tonight. Every minute he spent sober, he replayed the moment Armie had told them his marriage to Rosie wouldn’t work. That it was really over. Deep in his bones, he knew that was impossible. But he had no goddamn clue how to prove that to his wife. Worse, if he could go back in time and relive that therapy appointment, he still wasn’t sure he’d come clean about the house. So there he sat. Flawed beyond belief and missing his wife like hell.

The bartender set down two shot glasses and sloshed whiskey into them from a pour spout, taking the twenty-dollar bill Travis slid across the bar. Travis tossed his back, the ex–professional baseball player swiping a hand across his mouth.

“You want to know,” Travis said.

“No, I don’t.”

Stephen leaned against the bar, holding his semi-full shot glass.

“Let me paint the scene for you,” Travis continued.

Dominic frowned. “Are you sipping that shot, Stephen?”

“I like to savor the taste.” To drive his words home, he took another dainty sip, visibly trying not to gag. “S’good.”

“Jesus, man. Just order a Coke.”

“A soda won’t erase the memory of my wife in ice-pick heels and a miniskirt trotting off down the driveway.”

“Christ. I knew this was woman-related.” Dominic eased back from the bar. “Look, I’ve got my own problems.”

“Yeah, you do.” Travis leaned an elbow on the bar and faced Dominic. “Again, let me paint the scene for you. I’m standing in my kitchen, minding my own business. Georgie is in the bedroom and I’m getting ready to . . . you know, go see her there—”

Stephen dragged his hands down his face. “That can’t be relevant to the story, you asshole.”

“It is.” Travis seemed to be fighting back a smile. “I was carrying her a glass of wine to the bedroom—our bedroom, Stephen—when she comes out . . .” His skin paled and he seemed to be having a hard time swallowing. “She’s in this dress I’ve never seen. It’s pure white. White.” He got off the stool and turned, looking back at Dominic and Stephen over his shoulder, one hand indicating his ass. “I could see the shadow between her—”

“Enough.” Stephen held out a stern finger. “Don’t say another word.”

“I’ve never seen those shoes, either,” Travis muttered, sitting back down and burying his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Dominic split a look between his friends, a growing sense of doom starting to mount in his chest. “Okay, so both of your women are dressed up. Where are they going?”

“Out,” Travis and Stephen stage-whispered, twin looks of horror on their faces. “Bethany showed up to both of our houses hanging out of the top of a limousine, drinking champagne straight from the bottle.”

The door to Grumpy Tom’s flew open and Wes walked in, tipped his cowboy hat to the bartender, and ordered a Budweiser. When he saw Dominic, Travis, and Stephen gathered at the bar, he nodded a greeting and made his way over. “You three look like your mamas told you to stop playing video games and take out the garbage.”

Travis slumped back on his stool. “Worse. Our women are on their way to Manhattan in stripper heels.”

Wes slapped a hand on the bar, but cut his laugh off midway out of his mouth. “Hold on a second, is, uh . . . is Bethany with them?”

“She’s the goddamn ringleader!” Stephen shot back. “You know what song she was blasting in the limousine when she showed up? ‘Like a Virgin.’ I’m going to hear it in my sleep tonight.”

Travis snorted. “Who’s sleeping?”

Dominic was barely able to hear his friends over the increasing tempo of his heartbeat. The beating spread to every inch of his body until he was one giant pulse. “My . . . wife wasn’t in that limousine. Was she?”

Travis threw up his hands. “Yes. She was. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Wes inserted himself between them, a look of concern marring his brow. “Was Bethany wearing the stripper heels, too?”

Acid rose in Dominic’s stomach like a geyser, and he leaned forward on the stool, forcing breath in and out through his nose. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. Rosie was supposed to be home safe at Bethany’s. She wasn’t supposed to be leaving town, going to an unfamiliar place. Especially not when their marriage had been declared unsalvageable. Was this a sign that she was ready to shed him like a layer of old skin and move on?

A vein popped behind his eye and throbbed sharply.

All four men were silent for a good minute, none of them watching the ball game that was playing on the screen above their heads. When the bartender poured them a shot on the house and walked away, they each tossed the golden liquid back without hesitation or a countdown.

“Well, boys. I’ll leave you to it. There’s a church lady babysitting Laura for the night,” Wes said, sniffing. “Might go get some grocery shopping done.”

Travis snorted. “You’re going into the city, aren’t you?”

Wes nodded about ten times and sighed. “Yeah.”

“Hold on,” Stephen said. “Is this an option? How come no one said going to Manhattan was an option?”

“I can’t just go chasing Georgie into the city and dragging her home,” Travis said, his expression incredulous. “You know how hypocritical that makes me? I partied for years before I found her and settled down. She’s never had a chance to cut loose. Besides.” Travis crossed his arms over his chest. “I trust her. She even gave me the address where they were going. Wrote it with little smiley-face o’s.”

“I trust Rosie, too.” Dominic’s voice emerged in a scrape. “It’s men I don’t trust.”

All four men growled. The bartender poured them another shot.

Wes sighed as he downed his whiskey. “Guess we’re taking a cab.”

Dominic was in mental hell, wondering where Rosie was, what she was wearing, what she was thinking, whether the night out was just the girls having fun . . . or if she’d needed it. They hadn’t spoken since he’d walked out of Armie’s office and that distance had been harder than a motherfucker. How hard had it been on Rosie?

Christ. He just wanted to give her good news the next time they met. If he was going to come clean about being a selfish prick, he wanted to have a solution to go along with his apology. I’m sorry I fucked up, honey girl. Here’s the money you need for the restaurant. You’re going to do amazing things. He’d been rehearsing those words in his head since officially putting the house up for sale.

Travis dropped a hand onto his shoulder. “Listen, man. You know how I get the inside scoop on the ladies now that I’m going to marry Stephen’s little sister and give her babies?”

“Fuck you,” Stephen muttered.

“Yeah,” said the other two men in unison.

Sensing something bad on the horizon, Dominic’s heart lodged in his throat. “What?”

“I think I know why they’re blowing off some steam.” Travis blew out a breath. “Rosie quit her job this afternoon. Like, told her manager to go jump in a lake and stomped her name tag to smithereens. That kind of quitting.”

Dominic couldn’t manage a decent breath. Panic seized him at the thought of her being harassed or upset. “Did something happen at the store?”

“No,” Travis said quickly. “Bethany and Georgie were there. Apart from her supervisor giving her some attitude, nothing happened. She’s fine. Georgie just said a girls’ night was in order.” He took his time pointing at each of the men. “That’s why we’re going to let them have it.”

Wes sniffed and drained his beer. “Fuck that.”

They all threw some bills onto the bar and walked out.