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He cringed as he thought about how he’d left things with Ellen.
Who knows? Maybe we’ll meet up at Lair Sade some time.
What a callous dick. What an asshole.
The odds were good she had zero interest in seeing him again after he’d so casually dismissed her with his flippant “see ya around,” not to mention his radio silence in the week that followed.
Marty’s heartfelt words echoed in his mind. “What have you got to lose?”
Only everything.
Right now, it was all theoretical. She might want to see him again. She might not. Did he have the courage to find out? What if he did follow Marty’s advice and reach out, and she told him to get lost?
Ugh. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. Though he’d barely slept on the plane, he was too wired to even think of going to bed. What he needed was some kind of distraction to get himself out of his own damn head.
Pulling his cell from his jacket, he clicked on an unread message from Jake.
Welcome home, boss. I don’t know if you had a chance to see it yet, but I sent an email earlier today with two potential customer leads. Just let me know when you plan to return to work and we’ll get something set up.
Damon thumbed back a quick thanks. Instead of going home, he’d ask the driver to take him directly to the office. He would immerse himself in work until the noise in his head quieted, until exhaustion finally let him crash.
“Excuse me,” he said to the driver. “Do you mind if I change my destination address?”
“No problem,” the driver said, briefly meeting Damon’s gaze in his rearview mirror. “Where to?”
But, instead of giving his work address, Damon found himself saying, “Take me to 1825 Carrington Oaks Drive.”
He stood at her door, his hand hovering over the doorbell, his rolling suitcase behind him. Why had he thought this was a good idea?
Lowering his arm, he took a step back as he tried to decide what to do. He ran his hands through his hair. He probably looked like crap, his clothing rumpled, his cheeks stubbled, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue. He should have at the very least gone home first, dropped off his things, had a shower and a shave.
Hell, for all he knew, she wasn’t even at home. Maybe she’d returned to The Enclave. Maybe she’d signed up for another auction, this time finding a man who didn’t have a crazy work schedule and lingering PTSD baggage. Someone who could actually give her the love and attention she deserved. Someone worthy of her total submission.
This had been a mistake. He would call another Uber and go home. He’d take a sleeping pill and knock himself out. In the morning, he’d return to the office and lose himself in work. He’d leave Ellen to find her happiness elsewhere. It was the sensible thing to do.
With a heavy heart, Damon turned from her door. Reaching into his jacket, he took out his cell phone. Just as he clicked on the Uber app, someone came up behind him.
“Excuse me,” a deep male voice said. “Is this apartment eighty-six? I have a delivery for you.”
A man in a brown UPS uniform stood before him, a large, flat package in his hands.
“Oh, I don’t live here,” Damon replied, taking a step back.
“No problem.” The man set the large package against the wall beside Ellen’s door. He snapped a picture, rang the bell and then turned on his heel, striding away.
Before Damon could react, Ellen’s door opened and she appeared on the sill.
She was wearing a paint-covered smock, her hair piled loosely on her head, escaped tendrils framing her face. She had a smudge of blue paint on her cheek the same dark blue as her eyes.
They widened as she stared at him, her mouth falling open.
Just seeing her was like having a heavy stone lifted from his chest.
“Damon?” she breathed, brows furrowing in apparent confusion.
His name on her tongue was like sunlight. No sound had ever been sweeter to him.
“You have a package,” he said stupidly, nodding toward it.
