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She thought she had it all figured out. But now she felt herself second-guessing herself, questioning her wants, her needs, her own desires.
This was not good. It wasn’t her. And she felt herself slowly coming apart. She was starting to feel like her freedom was slowly being taken from her and she was beginning to feel like a caged bird. Trapped.
She didn’t like it. And she didn’t know how much more of it she’d be able to take, before she’d finally come undone. She was starting to lose control—of herself, her life, everything. She felt it. And it frightened her.
Her whole life had been about control. Her control. Her power. Every part of her existence, she’d controlled, she’d been responsible for staying empowered.
Nothing, or no one else had ever been able to take that from her.
And now a man—not just any man, but the man of most women’s dreams—was trying to disrupt the very order she’d spent her entire life maintaining.
Her cell rang. She lifted it from her desk, and stared at the screen.
Speaking of her looming demise.
It was Marcel.
Again.
She shook her head. “No, I can’t do this with you,” she muttered to herself. “Not now, MarSell.”
She let the call roll into voicemail.
It had been three weeks since she’d told him she needed time. Time was relative, no? So she hadn’t been specific in defining the length of time she actually needed. Truth was, she tried not to think about it. But everywhere she turned, he was there.
In the news, on the radio…in her thoughts, on her voicemail, all over her skin, she couldn’t get away from him.
But she needed to.
She had to.
God, help her if she didn’t.
FORTY-FOUR
“Hello, Miss Jansen?”
“Yes, Stewart? Hello.”
“Hi. Mister Kennedy is here to see you. Shall I send him up?”
Nairobia blinked. Pulled the phone from her ear, and stared at it. Why hadn’t he called her first? Well, he had. She hadn’t been taking his calls.
Still, what business did he have to come to her home unannounced?
The gall.
She placed the receiver back to her ear, and sighed. “Yes. Send him up.”
This was as good a time as any. She glanced over at her packed bags.
She had a lot to sort through. She needed to get away. To regroup, and recharge.
Only for a while, maybe a few
weeks or so.
She couldn’t be away for too long. She had businesses to manage. Then there was The Pleasure Zone that she still needed to look after. Business was thriving in such a short time, and it had her thinking of opening one in Europe, perhaps over in Belgium, or France.
