“According to him, he did. He does.”
Her posture stiffens. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry, I haven’t spoken to him. He doesn’t know about last night.”
“I don’t care,” she grates out.
“I do,” I say softly. “I wouldn’t allow him to sully such a beautiful memory.” My mind bends to a fragment of the experience. Her breasts pressed against me, so lewd and lush as I slid my hands into her hair.Gold. Amber. Red. So many colors.My fingers tangling in the silky strands as she threw her head back, rocking against me. I can almost hear the soft sounds she made, feel her breathless pleading against my cheek. But this won’t do. “Would you like to hear the messages he left on my phone?” Using my forefinger, I swipe away from the app. “There are quite a few.” I won’t mention the articles in the online press. At least, not yet.
“He called you?”
“Dozens of times after we drove away.” No doubt appealing to my better nature. Sadly for him, I haven’t got one.
She rolls the edge of her cocktail napkin between her thumb and forefinger before glancing up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“He’d ruined your day already.” I give a one-shouldered shrug. “I didn’t want to be put in the same category.” A pause. “Would you have wanted to speak with him?”
“I never want to hear from him again.” Like a statement of fact, there’s no emotion in her answer.
“Then I’ll delete them.” I do just that as she watches me.
“Block his number.”
“If you want never to have to deal with him, you could always return home,” I suggest, picking up the thread of something she’d hinted at yesterday.
“To Connecticut?” She shakes her head. “He’s not forcing me away from my life, from a job and a place I’ve come to love. I’ve made friends. I have responsibilities. No,” she adds more forcefully. “I’m going nowhere.”
“Visa issues notwithstanding.”
“Obviously.” Her answer is casual, but the pinch between her eyes gives her worries away.
I give her a little time to dwell on that as drinks are sipped but not really tasted before I speak again. “I’ve no cause to really know, but he sounded quite convincing.”
“He’s had a lot of practice,” she answers flatly.
“Love, like humiliation, makes people do stupid things.”
“Nothing but being an asshole makes you lie and cheat. Look,” she says, making a triangle of her fingers around the base of her glass. “I don’t care what he does. I’ve decided he can donate my clothes to Goodwill, throw my belongings out of his third-floor window like it’s raining my stuff. Whatever. I’m over it. I just need my purse, my phone, my passport, and a few personal documents. Now, how about you stop telling me about my problems and just say what you brought me here for.”
“Straight to the heart of the matter?”
“Give the man a prize.”
“All right. I want three months from you.”
“Three months of what?”
That scowl. I think I’d bite it before smoothing it with my tongue.
“Of your time, quid pro quo.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Something in exchange for something,” I reply, not so much laying it out for her as annoying her more, apparently.
“I know what it means. I just don’t know what it means in this instance.”
“Your belongings, your phone, I’ll get them back for you—today, if you like. You won’t have to stay with your friend ... or whoever that was yelling at you earlier.” As she’d shut the front door, I’d lingered a moment. Those old mews houses don’t offer much in the way of soundproofing.
