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Charlotte is quick to escape, but I catch up, warning her that she belongs to me. And in true style, she shouts hurtful words in an attempt to protect herself.
I tell her she’s wrong, that I’ve wanted her since the last time I saw her on the clifftop back home, that my life has been full of nothing but regret. Every decision I thought was right led me to a lonely dead end.
Only after I left Samantha, did I start picking up the pieces. I decided Charlotte was better off without me after being told she had moved on. I buried myself in my work, building my empire, never taking a moment to feel the regret that constantly lingered, and here she stands in front of me telling me that what just happened was nothing but lust and curiosity—don’t read more into this.
How dare she assume I’m just like everyone else.
I might have been young and foolish, but I loved her like no other man could. I’ve fucked-up so many times that I’ll admit now, I just need a final chance to make things right.
Until she tells me tonight’s all one big mistake.
You’re nothing to me. I’m marrying him.
I lean against the wall, willing her hurtful words to stop. The lack of her presence is leaving a huge ache inside me, rubbing the self-inflicted wound inside my chest. I need to let her go, just for tonight. Maybe I’m pushing her, but I don’t know what else to do. She isn’t a business deal, and I should stop treating her like one. And perhaps my earlier desire to control her has caused more damage for me than it has to her. She will go home to him, and I’ll spend the night alone. Our worlds have reversed, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it now.
Inside the corridor, I stand there trying to regroup my thoughts, but all I see is her running back home to him.
A door opens, and Reese is standing at the entrance.
“Sir, the lady outside is refusing to leave. How would you like me to proceed with this?”
“I’ll take care of it,” I grit, willing this night to end. “The last thing we need is to be in the tabloids. Are the paparazzi still there?”
“No, sir, I believe David took care of them earlier.”
I pat him on the shoulder, following him to the main entrance of the club.
“Alex, baby, please. It’s been an hour. Let me in,” Samantha whines, looking like a train wreck with her mascara rather questionably sliding down her cheeks.
I grab her arm, forcefully, and pull her aside. “You need to stop causing a scene outside my club. I don’t know what has gotten into you, but I’m putting you in the next cab that drives past.”
“Why won’t you let me in? Please, just for old time’s sake? C’mon, angel.”
Her arms wrap around my waist, latching on like a leech. I’m disgusted by her overbearing affection and the use of the word angel. It triggers an unwelcome memory.
As I try to peel her away from me, she laughs. “Look what the cat dragged back. Is she the reason why, Alex?”
I swiftly turn around and see Charlotte standing at the entrance. Her eyes stare back at us, dull and lifeless. With her hands clutching her stomach, Eric holds onto her arm, pulling her away in the opposite direction.
Removing Samantha’s arms off me, I push her away and run to the cab Charlotte is hopping into. Eric has placed her inside before I can reach the cab, shutting the door on my face. Charlotte is facing straight forward without a single blink, obviously in a catatonic state.
I bang on the window. “Charlotte, please, it’s not what you think.”
Eric opens the window the same time he asks the driver to wait.
“Look, Lex, I don’t know what to think, but Charlie is pretty wasted right now, so I doubt she’ll remember what she saw.”
“I need to talk to her. I need to explain,” I tell him in desperation.
“She’s my best friend, and I don’t want to see her hurt. Just give her time. At least let her sleep this off.” He waves goodbye, closing the window as the cab drives off.
***
Back at the hotel, I sit on the balcony running my hands along the rim of my glass filled with scotch. My phone sits beside me, tormenting me as I so desperately want to call her. I need to make sure she’s okay, to explain what happened, fearing I may lose her again.
As the sun begins to rise, I realize calling her so early in the morning would only parade my desperation. Despite the lack of sleep, my mind refuses to shut down, my eyes betraying me when I attempt to close them. The images of last night teasing me—the look on her face as she moaned at my touch, the pure ecstasy that her body so obviously craved.
In frustration, I press my phone against my forehead, trying to control this obsession with her. Put the fucking phone down. Placing it on the table, I replace it with a scotch in my hand, drinking the last remnants of the bottle.
