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She looked at her watch. “I missed the end of the book signing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not. But it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.”
“What about us?”
“There is no us, Michael. There never was.”
“But we just—”
“We just fucked, Michael.” Stacy adjusted her skirt once more. “You’re a fabulous fuck. I’ll give you that. Whoever you end up with won’t have any complaints.”
She walked away.
He didn’t follow her, and her disappointment that he didn’t irked her. She’d been one last fuck to him. Silently, she berated herself for giving herself to him one last time. She’d been weak, but no longer.
After a quick trip to the restroom to assess her appearance, she returned to the ballroom, gathered her belongings from the book signing, and strode straight to the hotel lobby where her luggage awaited her.
As she walked to the taxi line, Veronica called her name.
“Wait, Stacy!” The younger woman ran toward her. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
“Yes, I am. It was great meeting you, Ronnie. Be sure to send me your work to critique. I’ll be happy to help.”
Veronica paused to catch her breath. “I’ve got to start working out.”
“You look great.”
“Yeah, but I’m in lousy shape. Don’t leave yet. I need to talk to you.”
“What is it? I only have a few minutes. There’s a flight I want to catch on standby.”
“I need to talk to you about Michael.”
“Look, Ronnie, I don’t blame you for what happened. Or Dino. In fact, I’m glad I found out.”
“I know, Stacy. I know you don’t blame us. Though I feel awful about it.”
“Don’t.”
“It’s
just, Dino told me some more stuff about Michael. Stuff you should probably know.”
“I know all about Michael Moretti that I need to know. He used me. Case closed.”
“Stacy, please listen. He hasn’t had an easy life.”
“Who has?” Stacy shook her head. “I’ve really got to go, Ronnie. I don’t want to miss this plane.” She gave Veronica a quick hug. “Keep in touch.”
Before Veronica could say anymore, Stacy lugged her suitcase outside and entered a waiting cab. Veronica rushed out the door as the cabbie drove off.
Home.
Home in her own bed would be the perfect spot for one last cry over Michael Moretti. Then she’d move on.
Chapter Nine
