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I glance between the two men before focusing on the lawyer. “I didn’t know you worked exclusively for Caleb.”
Lucas grins. “I don’t. I have other clients. However, until this project is completed, I am solely attached to Caleb.”
“Don’t make it sound too romantic, Lucas,” Caleb drawls. “You’ll give our friend here the wrong idea.”
I shrug, feeling the exhaustion creep up on me as I sip at the latte.
It tastes like crap.
“You need to do something about the coffee here.” I glare at the offensive cup.
Caleb gives me a sharp smile. “It’s your problem now, Oliver.”
Scowling, I take another drink of the murky coffee.
It is the first thing that has to go.
* * *
When the company offered me an apartment, I turned them down. I already have a penthouse in D.C., in the heart of the district.
I walk into the building that will be my home for the next year or so. The ding of the private elevator grates annoyingly, and I try to bury the dread that is rising with every heartbeat at the thought of returning to this place after all these years. Every step across the spacious entryway feels as if it takes too much effort. I ignore the polished marble floor and the decorative embellishments Nyla had once chosen with great care.
My heart tightens as the entryway opens to the main living area, eyes scanning the tastefully decorated room my wife had spent hours arranging. Dropping my briefcase to the ground, I remove my jacket and shirt. The floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the stunning city skyline. Rain lashes the pristine glass, portraying my own inner grief.
Not grief, I muse as I fold my shirt and set it on the cheerful sofa. A muted pain I now carried with me everywhere.
Against my better judgement, I make my way to the bar, grab a bottle of scotch, and head toward the sprawling master bedroom. Standing in the doorway, I kick my shoes off, gazing blindly at the luxurious red carpet that is so plush it feels like walking on clouds.
Our first night here, we never even made it to the bed.
The tightness in my chest intensifies as I take in the Emperor bed Nyla had insisted we buy. It dominates the room, the sheets reminding me of times when I had been my happiest.
I take a step back, ignoring all the pointless furniture, and quietly close the door with soft snick.
I won’t be sleeping there.
Padding over to the living area, I feel a twang of hunger, which I shrug off. The pantry is probably stocked. Ray, the housekeeper, had probably taken care of all the necessities.
I change into sweatpants, the rough cotton an odd comfort against my skin.
It doesn’t take me long to fall asleep on the sofa, but I’m haunted by dreams of a redheaded Scottish woman who kisses me in delight and curls up on my chest to read a book.
When I wake up to silence, I stare at the dark ceiling, my eyes tired and uncomprehending, suddenly missing the familiar weight on my chest.
There’s no one there.
I’m alone.
Nyla left me… and then she left the world.
Feeling the wetness slide do
wn the sides of my temples, I throw the back of my arm over my dampened eyes, willing myself to fall asleep.
Two years later… and the loss still hurts more than the betrayal.
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