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She shook her head at Luke. ‘It’s all fine, sweetie. Let’s get back.’ She cast Serge a frosty look. ‘I’m finished here.’
Serge went cold. What in the hell had just happened?
Had he not been explicit enough in everything he’d offered her? It was a very lucrative deal over and above the sex. What was going on? Was she holding out for something else?
Okay, maybe he’d been a little cocky about it. But he’d been so convinced she’d say yes.
She’d said no. Had she said no?
And now she was with this metrosexual guy who was bristling like a guard dog at him.
As if he’d ever hurt a woman in his life. Suddenly what had seemed simple and straightforward felt like a huge mistake.
‘I have your answer, Clementine,’ he said formally. ‘Forgive me if I’ve offended you. It wasn’t meant that way.’ He wasn’t going to stand there and pressure her in this thug role he was beginning to feel he’d been cast in. ‘Enjoy the rest of your stay.’
His good manners welded Clementine to the spot. All of a sudden the last few minutes seemed to have rolled up into a ball of confusion in her head. Maybe he hadn’t propositioned her. Maybe it was up-front an offer to spend time with him—his best effort to fit her into his schedule. She knew all about seventy-hour weeks. He said he had business in New York City. It wasn’t a pleasure trip for him. Maybe he just wanted to get to know her…
Had she read him wrongly? Was it just an innocent invitation from a very busy man?
Suddenly the entire world seemed to narrow down to that pinprick of vision she had fastened on the spread of Serge’s muscular shoulders as he walked away.
Was she really never going to see him again?
You’ll never meet anyone like him again, a little voice whispered in her head. You knew that yesterday—the moment you clapped eyes on him. You knew that he was special. You knew he had been made especially for you. He was your fantasy come to life.
And maybe you’re his. Maybe he’s feeling exactly the way you do and you’ve said those terrible things to him and you’re never going to see him again.
What had she done?
What had she done?
Her feet were moving. She could see him a long way from her now. She wanted to run but it wouldn’t be any use. She could see him getting into his car. She opened her mouth to call out to him but her throat had closed up, and then she just stopped, dead in the middle of the pavement, as his sports car swiftly rejoined the traffic.
She still had Luke’s mobile. She had Serge’s number. She began rummaging in her bag. What would she say to him? I’ve changed my mind. I want to come. I want to see where this leads me…where you lead me…
‘Clem.’ Luke had caught up with her. ‘What is it, darl? What’s going on?’
It was the reality of Luke’s voice and the memories that came back with it that had her dropping the phone back into her bag, the frenzy of feeling subsiding. Luke had helped pick up the pieces when the Joe Carnegie incident had exploded in her face. She had slept in his and his partner Phineas’s spare room for a week, and he had cared for her with all the kindness and tenderness she had never found in any of the guys she’d dated.
Serge Marinov was no different. She’d imagined him as her hero come to life, but her history told her the odds were against it ever working out.
Her best friend Luke was a reminder that she deserved more.
It wasn’t in her nature to mope. There was work to do, and she was kept busy all afternoon sweet-talking the snooty representative of a high-profile fashion magazine who had been housed in the Grand Hotel Europe instead of the Astoria Hotel.
Try the Vassiliev Building, she thought, even as she twittered on about the incredible history of the Grand Hotel. The painful irony being she only had those stories because Serge had told them to her on their magical date. She must have been convincing because the woman, mollified, agreed to a larger suite in the hotel.
I can do this, she thought, walking through the lobby. She was spending the night with Luke, unable to face even one more night in the fleapit. Her dress was upstairs and she intended to take a long hot shower.
She had a party to go to. Parties she could do. It was men she had a problem with.
As she stepped into the elevator one of the species gave her a covert once-over and she narrowed her eyes, mean as a dunked cat.
She was still feeling prickly as she moved through the crowd at the launch. The fashion show didn’t go smoothly, but it was the hiccups that made it fun. The models galloped down the runway—pretty boys carting luggage, wearing watches, flashing cocky grins at the cameras. Clementine did her usual meet-and-greet, brain switched off, dress switched on. She loved this black velvet evening gown. It was elegant and flattering, and Verado had loaned her a string of diamonds to wear around her neck. She was a walking advertisement tonight, and it suited her down to the ground. She was good at her job and it correspondingly made her feel good about herself.
