Page 134 of Save the Date
She raised one eyebrow, expectantly. “I’m waiting.”
“I guess you were right. I guess this is where you get to say ‘I told you so.’”
“About?”
“Cullen. Us. Everything. You were right about all of it. He doesn’t give a damn about me. He was just using me to get to you. He’s evil, Cara. Evil and twisted, and smart as hell. Scary smart.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“I started putting things together almost as soon as I left here and went to work for him. I’m such a twit. I actually thought he cared about me. I bought everything he was selling—that he’d make me a designer, and I’d get to do my own events. But you saw where he had me at his studio—answering the phone. I never even touched a flower. My actual job was to pour champagne for clients and tweet photos of Cullen’s fabulous creations. And empty his cat’s litter box. When I moved in with him? I had to stay out in the carriage house. I was a glorified house boy. With fringe benefits.”
Cara knew she should have felt vindicated—everything she’d predicted about Bert’s experience with Cullen Kane had come true—but it felt like a hollow victory. He looked so sad and defeated.
“So you broke up with him?”
Bert snorted. “There was nothing to break up. It was like you said. I was just an easy lay for him. He’s got half a dozen guys just like me between here and Charleston.”
“I’m so sorry, Bert,” she said gently. “Truly I am. I feel partly to blame, because he did use you to get to me.”
“No.” Bert shook his head vehemently. “This was all me, Cara. Me falling into my old bad habits.”
“Are you drinking again?” She had to ask it.
“I wanted to,” he admitted. “Cullen did everything he could to make it easy for me. But somehow, I didn’t. Maybe that’s how I had the nerve to walk away. I started going to meetings again Friday. And that helped.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “At least you’ve got your sobriety.”
“Two years, three months, sixteen days,” Bert said. “But that’s not the reason I came here tonight.”
“Tell me you came to ask for your old job back,” Cara said.
His face lit up. “That’d be great, but that’s not really it.” Then he reached into the raincoat and brought out a medium-sized linen bag that he’d shoved into an inner pocket. “This is the real reason I came.”
Cara took the bag and loosened the drawstring opening. An heirloom-quality eighteenth-century sterling-silver epergne slid out onto her lap.
“Lillian’s?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where on earth did you find it?”
“In Cullen’s gym bag. The bastard has had it all this time.”
“Buthowdid you find it?”
Bert laughed bitterly. “House boy take Mercedes to get detailed. House boy empty trunk, think maybe he wash boss man’s stinky gym clothes, score extra points with boss. Instead, house boy find missing shiny silver doodad.”
“Unbelievable,” Cara said, holding up the epergne. “I can’t even process it.”
“I can,” Bert said. “Cullen must have swiped it from the van that weekend after Torie’s wedding.” His face flushed and he looked away, embarrassed. “That’s when I first met him. I’d gone to an after-hours club in midtown with a couple friends, and he was there, kinda window-shopping I guess you’d say. He sent a drink over to my table, but I told the waiter to take it back, because you know, I don’t drink. A few minutes later, Cullen came over. He said he recognized me from Torie’s wedding, talked about what a great job we’d done with all the flowers. He bought cocktails for the whole table, and we sort of hit it off, and after a while… I can’t believe I’m telling you this shit…”
“You went out to the van?”
“Yeah,” Bert whispered. “I think he was kinda into that.”
“Remind me to have that thing steam-cleaned,” Cara said.
***
