The Roommate by Kiersten Modglin (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

The truth was, everything I was mad at Elias for, was my fault. Whether or not he’d sent the text message, I’d been the one to sleep with someone else. Whether or not he’d acted stupidly at the party and insulted my client, I’d been the one to agree with the stupid thing. I couldn’t forgive him, but more importantly, I couldn’t forgive myself.

Elias stood from the bed suddenly. “Just think on it, okay?” he asked, his voice strained. “I’m going to go throw up.”

With that, he was out of the room and I was left alone, exhausted and furious, but with no one to be angry with but myself.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sleep came in waves for me that night. On and off, I’d crash into the abyss, then be brought back just as quickly. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t even find the energy to change out of my suit or take off my shoes.

I just kept wishing it had all been a bad dream. That I could wake up a few days earlier and get a redo for every bad decision I’d made.

Around six a.m., the text message I’d been expecting from Stewart came in, and with it, a small glimmer of hope.

My flight lands at 10 a.m. Meet me at the office.

I pulled the covers over my face, wondering just what he’d been told and how harsh my punishment would be. Was I overreacting? Maybe Layla could be convinced to laugh it off…

…even though she’d been humiliated in front of her band, her friends, and more than a hundred people in our industry.

But at the end of the day, how bad was it really?

Elias had crashed the party, gotten too drunk, and said something stupid. That wasn’t exactly a rarity for parties, was it?

Stewart did like Elias. Maybe that would help me out somehow.

Or maybe I could say I didn’t even know what he was talking about.

That was what I’d tried to yell as she stormed out of the room, stopped from chasing after her by her bodyguards. Even if I got her to believe that, who would take me seriously anymore? My coworkers had all watched me embarrass myself beyond belief, ruining a party that was meant to celebrate not only one of our newest clients, but also one of our biggest.

Even if Layla were able to forgive me, there was no way she’d work with us again. I’d have cost the company hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars in the long run.

I lay in bed, stewing over how miserable my life had become, for around an hour after the message came in, but finally, I could take it no longer. I stood up, walking out of the bedroom and making my way into the kitchen to fix myself some coffee. If I was going to function at all, I’d need copious amounts of caffeine to do so.

I started the pot of coffee, listening to the quiet hum of the apartment. Even the world outside was quiet at that time of morning. I rested my back against the counter, running a palm over my face as I tried to wake myself up.

It felt as if the past night was a blur, bits and pieces coming back to me as if I’d been drunk, though I was far from it.

Finally, when the smell of coffee hit my nose, I turned around, opening a cabinet and pulling down a mug. I filled the mug, opened the refrigerator, and added creamer, holding the door open with my hip.

Once it was made, I walked back into my bedroom, drinking it as I dug through my suitcase in search of clothes. Everything was wrinkled inside the bag, but I had very little choice, as I’d torn everything from the closet and drawers the night before.

Once I’d chosen something suitable to wear, I downed the last of my coffee and walked into the bathroom. As soon as I picked up my toothbrush, I remembered using the last of the toothpaste the day before. In the whirlwind of everything, toothpaste had been the last thing on my mind.

I weighed my options: I could skip brushing and just use mouthwash for the morning, I could run down to the store on the corner of the street, or I could ask Elias to borrow some. As much as I didn’t want to have to ask for his help with anything else, the last option seemed the most appealing.

Holding my toothbrush in one hand, I walked across the apartment and knocked gently on Elias’ door. If what he’d said last night was true, maybe he’d be happy to have a small way to make it up to me. Not that this made us anywhere close to even.

“Elias?” I knocked again, when several moments had passed and he hadn’t answered.

Still nothing.

I looked behind me, checking to be sure he wasn’t on the couch or sneaking up behind me. “Elias?” I called again.

Having decided he must’ve run out for something, I clicked my tongue. I didn’t want to go into his room without permission, but it wasn’t like he’d respected my privacy in any way since I’d gotten there.

If I hurried, I could get in and get a dab of toothpaste without him ever knowing I’d been in there.

Without another thought, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. Immediately, I was hit with a wave of familiar cologne. The warm bergamot notes welcomed me, the scent overpowering as if he’d doused the entire room in it. It was my cologne.

I stepped inside the dark room. There was a bed to my left, its blue and brown plaid comforter askew. A computer desk with two monitors and a gaming keyboard with a headset lying on top of it sat against the exterior wall, the dark screens facing me. The room was messy, clothes thrown about here and there, with an overflowing hamper of laundry in front of