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When I received a call from her office just yesterday, I had the foolish thought it would be her. The common sense telling me that she would use her mobile to call non-existent.
And I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s like having a fire lit inside and not being able to snuff it out, but without its instigator it continues to flare, unabating, and hell, I’m confused. Not just confused. I feel like a part of me is missing.
It’s similar to losing Layla, only then I was so tormented by guilt, grief; you name it I felt it. But with Olivia... I don’t know. How is it possible to feel so much for someone and have them deny it? Have them feel the opposite almost?
Damned if I know, but I was wrong, and I do have to accept it because I can’t function like this. Going through life on autopilot when she’s shown me what it feels like to truly live again. To actually love again.
‘Thanks so much for joining me today, Valentine.’
I turn away from Autumn’s balcony and the sun going down on the Eiffel Tower, the warming hues of the picture-perfect sunset doing nothing for me.
‘You’re welcome.’ I smile to mask my thoughts and she returns it, combing her hands through her smooth black hair, shaking it out.
‘I know I’m not the easiest to deal with at times—no, you can say it, it’s fine.’
I merely nod.
‘But having you with me, protecting my back so to speak, I appreciate it.’
‘All part of the service.’
‘I guess, but how about I take you to dinner, an extra thank you? I’m ravenous and you must be after that poor excuse for a lunch. I swear they think if they put out too much of a feast, us supermodels will get fat just from looking.’
I chuckle. ‘It’s fine, honestly.’
She pouts at me, and I recognise the little glint in her eye that’s offering more than dinner. And as much as she appeals—she’s funny, interesting, nowhere near the celebrity bitch the media currently have her pegged as—I can’t do it.
Not when I know my mind will be elsewhere, on someone else.
‘You sure I can’t tempt you?’ She toys with the neckline of her sheer white blouse and I shake my head.
‘I’m going to call it a night. I have a few things to deal with.’
I don’t, but she doesn’t need to know the truth.
‘Fair enough.’
She leads me to the door. ‘If you change your mind, you know where I am.’
She reaches out for my arm, leans in to give me a brief peck on the cheek, her eyes searching mine for the come-on that’s not there.
‘Have a good night, Autumn.’
‘You too, Valentine.’
I sense her eyes on me as I walk to the lift, call it and step inside. When I turn, her door is closing and I breathe a sigh of relief. To be alone. Free to be as miserable as I feel.
Though as the doors open on my floor, I contemplate turning back and going for a walk—the idea of being in my empty suite appeals even less than dinner with Autumn—but I can hear the phone ringing from inside. Strange. It’s late.
Would Autumn really be so desperate to do dinner that she’d call me and ask again? Unlikely.
I let myself in just as it cuts off and I accept that they’ll call back if it’s important. I go to the minibar and pour a whisky just as it starts to ring again. I reach out for the receiver, raise it to my ear.
‘Bonsoir?’
‘Bonsoir, Monsieur Boretti, it is Victor from Reception. There is a lady here to see you.’
‘A lady?’
