It's been a whirlwind, but I wouldn't trade it for anything.
Now I just have to convince Xavier that we're worth fighting for. We'll figure out how to get him traded to Boston, and we'll live happily ever after.
This hotel, charming and luxurious all at the same time, is the setting for our grand finale, closing credit music over our laughing yet passionate embrace.
Except the moment Xavier walks back into the room, I know we're not there. Oh, we might be at the end all right, but there's no happily ever coming after.
I close ClikClak instead of making my second video about not being a sex worker. I jump out of bed, tangling myself in the white sheets and duvet. "What's wrong?"
He all but drops the cardboard drink carrier on the desk, coffee sloshing over onto the glass-topped cherry surface. He lets the bag of bagels drop as well. Xavier doesn't turn and look at me. Instead, he stares out the window, hands balled into fists at his side.
I've spent the last forty-eight hours exploring every inch and nuance of his body, so it's quite obvious that the tension and anger rolling off him in thick waves has something to do with me.
Gently I put my hands on his shoulders. He still doesn't turn to look at me. Ever so slightly, he shrugs me off.
Message received.
But I don't know why.
"Xavier, what's wrong?" I ask again. "Did something happen with Tony or the trade? Whatever it is, I'm sure we can figure it out."
He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. "No,wewon't. There is no we."
I suck in a gasp, his words slicing through me like a razor. I put my hands back on his shoulders and try to turn him to face me. "Xavier, look at me. Xavier, tell me what's going on."
"God, I'm such a fool. You must all see it. Do I have a bloody fucking target on my head? Do I have a tattoo on my back that reads 'world's most gullible eejit' or something? First Tony, then you. Or perhaps it was you, and then Tony. Hell, for all I know, the two of you are thick as thieves and working together to ruin me. Jesus, did Edmund Jones put you up to this? Some elaborate plan to ruin me? He's always been good at playing a long game. I thought you were different. I thought I could trust you."
I'm totally lost as to what he is ranting about. I've never seen this side of him, not even the night he found out that Tony screwed him over. "Xavier, I don't know what you're talking about."
"No, of course not. You don't know anything about lying to me about what you do."
If he believes that whole "an accountant is a sex worker" bullshit, I'm going to scream. "Come on. You know I'm an accountant. You said it yourself. You've seen my spreadsheets."
He turns, glaring. His eyes are cold and hard, like blue ice. "But that's not all you do, is it?"
I open my mouth to defend myself and then immediately close it. Weakly, I offer in defense, "It's all I get paid to do."
"Fucking hell, Ophelia. Or should I say Lia? Lia Finn, is it?"
He knows. He knows about the book.
Oh God, I just wrote the smuttiest chapter ever, and he knows.
I might be sick.
"Xavier, let me explain." I hold up my hands. He's got to hear me out.
"One thing. That's all I had to do was one thing—stay out of trouble. Keep my nose clean.Avoid scandal."
I'm not following him. "What does my writing have to do with you?" I mean other than the obvious not-safe-for-work content and candid descriptions of the male member, possibly inspired by the one I'm so intimately acquainted with. It really is a sight to behold.
Focus, Ophelia.
Xavier whips out his phone and pulls up a screen. "I don't even know how you orchestrated this. Diabolical, really. And the best part is, I didn't see it coming at all. You blindsided me with it. Well done."
I take the phone from him, unsure of what he's accusing me of.
It's the ESPN site. I may not be a sporty person, but even I know what ESPN is. It didn't occur to me where it's located. Or that it would not be unfathomable that one of the guests at my brother's house in West Hartford is employed there.
