‘What happened to that Stephen guy?’ he asked, when I started to quieten down. ‘Is he the reason you’re so upset?’
‘I told you, he was just a friend,’ I lied, pushing back and wiping my cheeks.
Tim cocked his head at me and sighed. ‘Your family are a bunch of idiots, but we’re not blind. We could all see you liked him. Did he do something? Do I need to gather the posse and go kick some British butt?’
I laughed at the thought of my ridiculous brothers banding together to avenge me, and then I pictured Stephen’s face and the laughter died. ‘No. He didn’t do anything.’
‘Oh. It’s a shame it didn’t work out then. We liked him the best out of all the guys you’ve brought him to meet us.’
‘I know.’ My face crumpled. ‘I liked him the best too.’ I started crying again and Tim gave me another hug.
‘Oh, big sis. Have you tried everything? He definitely liked you too. You’re a genius at working things out; you can’t figure it out with him?’
‘It’s not that easy is it?’ I blew my nose on a napkin he handed me. ‘You better go apologise to Riley.’
‘Oh, whoops, yeah.’ He pulled a face and made me laugh again.
‘I don’t feel like going to the theatre this afternoon.’
‘Okay. I’ll break it to the others. Just, don’t go hiding away from us yeah? I’ll tell them all to lay off.’
‘Thanks.’ I bit my lip on pointing out he was the worst offender anyway.
We went in separate directions and I walked home. The crying had helped some, but my frustration was still there. Sometimes these things hurt because it felt like a failure, and sometimes they hurt because you’d found someone special and lost them. After talking to Beth and Tim, I was pretty certain it was the latter and I had no idea how to fix it. Stephen was the one who called time on us, even if I didn’t give him any reason not to…
I took a shower to wash off how sticky I’d got from the heat outside and the crying and then I decided to try and tidy up. I really had become a slob recently.
After cleaning up all the dishes and clothes, I grabbed a document box to file away my notes and paperwork for Book 8. The document wallet with my character profiles was on the sofa and there were two loose sheets on the arm. I gathered them up, ready to put them away and remembered that these were what Stephen had been holding when I came back in from getting his soup the other night. One was the profile I’d put together on his dad and the other was for the character of James…
Oh crap. This was what he’d read while I was out of the apartment. This profile of a womaniser that read like all the worst things he thought about himself. I hadn’t put James’s name at the top and it had been sitting there with the one about his dad… He thought this was what I thought of him?
And then I’d confirmed it as he was breaking up with me. I sat down heavily on my sofa. Crap. That was one huge pile of negative reinforcement. I squeezed my eyes shut thinking over what he’d said. I’d got hung up on the phrase ‘stick it out’ and not the fact that he said he’d been trying.
Had he been trying to be more than he’d ever given himself credit for? It had certainly felt like it, even if he’d said he couldn’t make me promises. But when you said that to someone, usually it was because you didn’t want to disappoint them. You were going to try but you weren’t sure if you’d succeed, and wasn’t that the same in every relationship?
But now I’d let both his fear and mine implode on us. He thought I had no better opinion of him than a deplorable character in my novel. And he’d spent most of his life thinking he was just like Trevor because people said he looked just like him and was a charmer. How did I convince him that I knew he was more than that? How could anything I say break down that mental block?
If I called him up and just told him that the profile wasn’t him, why would he believe it after what I’d already said to his face? Why would he even answer his cell phone when he saw my number pop up?
‘Show don’t tell’ was a common mantra for writers. Perhaps the thing I had to do was exactly that. I needed something that would prove to him that the character profile was not of him but of James and explain the mistakes I thought we’d made. I felt a little shaky about the idea of putting myself out there to be rejected again but it was like I said to Tim, it was my choice when to risk my heart, and I wanted to take that risk for Stephen.
Chapter Twenty
Nick flew back to England at the weekend and Georgina was back in the office on Monday. As soon as I saw her stride in on her high heels, coffee in hand, I knew I had to deal with the fallout from the yacht – and with the uncomfortable position she’d put me in.
I slipped my phone in my pocket on record and checked on who was in the office. Most of the day-trader team were already there at 8am as usual.
I went to her door and knocked on it, even though it was still open. She was going through her handbag and looked up with her eyebrow raised. ‘Good morning, Stephen. You’re the eager beaver for my attention this morning, aren’t you? Missed me?’
‘I’ve got something important to talk to you about, but it won’t take long. Have you got five minutes?’ This was nerve-racking but I had Nick’s voice in my head, Noelle’s words from when we discussed this, and I knew it had to be done. I couldn’t work until the end of the summer with the situation like this. Whether it was partly my imagination or me making a big deal of something that was small, I needed to deal with it.
‘I’m always available for a quickie for you, Sir Stephen.’ She smiled and tossed her hair. ‘Close the door over, will you?’
‘I’d actually prefer to keep it open, but shall we sit over at your table?’ I didn’t wait for her but went over to the corner of the room by the windows, even though it hardly helped with my nerves.
She pulled up the chair opposite me, her expression more serious now I’d made my strange request. ‘What’s this about?’
All the words I’d just had in my head fled. It didn’t help me a great deal being at the window. I could back out of this and play it safe, let her know about the big trades I’d pulled off last week, and about arranging the meeting with that final client…but then I remembered what she’d said about making it a dinner meeting and I could just imagine her cornering me in a hotel or dragging me into her town car. This had to stop.
