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I imagine he expected me to come back to him, like I always had for the four years I was with him, but I didn’t. A very large piece of me loved him for what he’d done for me when we first met, but what we craved from each other only led to pain.
We didn’t speak love the same way. He barely spoke it at all, if he ever did.
That was the second time that Madox showed me how he really felt. He didn’t hide behind a wall of armor and disinterest.
The first time though, I thought there was a real shift between us. Even if we never spoke about it afterward, I know things changed, for me at least. We’d been seeing each other for only a few months when it happened. Maybe that’s why I stayed for four years, even though I never had what I needed to feel truly loved.
He was always in control and private, but on the anniversary of his father’s death, Madox came and got me. When he told me his parents had gotten into a fight over the business and his dad killed himself a few years back, I cried for him while he didn’t respond. The pain in his eyes was obvious, but he didn’t show it. No tears, nothing but the absence of the man I knew he was. He went cold and silent. He told me he needed me to stay with him and I didn’t question it for a second, even though I knew something was wrong. It was the only time he told me he needed me like that.
It wasn’t until we were in bed that he let his guard down, and he held me just a little tighter while he cried silently. He pretended not to, he said he had no right to be upset when there was so much in his life that other people didn’t have. That his father chose to do that and leave him, and at those words, his voice cracked. He tried to get up and leave, but I only hugged him harder, pulling him back into the sheets and against my body, and he let me comfort him.
It didn’t matter that he was suffering, because he was so aware that many others had it worse than he did. I remember whispering quietly and gently in between soft kisses on his jaw, that if you’re having a bad day, you’re entitled to feel those emotions. It’s okay to have a bad day even if someone else is having a worse day. It doesn’t detract from what you feel inside. If it did, you couldn’t be happy for the good times, because someone else always has it better. I told him that it was okay to feel whatever it was he was feeling. That it wasn’t wrong to be upset or hurt. I don’t know that he believed me though.
That was when I said I loved him. I told him I loved him, and that night he told me the same. Neither of us ever said those words again. Four years went by and I convinced myself that he said it back to me out of obligation. Out of pity.
Just from that memory, the emotions cloud my judgment of today and where we stand now.
I have to remind myself that I when I left three years ago, I gave Madox the chance to keep me. And he didn’t take it. The text message I sent him was marked read. He saw it, and still he let me leave.
He never bothered to show me that he wanted me. Madox Reed couldn’t be bothered to show anyone at all that he needed them. It’s simply who he is.
“Sophie!” I hear my name and turn in my seat to see the one and only Adrienne Hart walking toward me with a nude leather bag draped over her arm. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you in person.”
My fingers wrap around the edge of the chair as I stand up to greet her, but Adrienne keeps moving, not slowing her pace at all to sit across from me at the table.
And here I was wondering if I should give her a hug or a handshake.
She doesn’t look me in the eyes as she speaks, slipping off her tweed Chanel jacket. “I trust you found everything you needed last night?” she asks and as I begin to answer, the waiter comes to the table, digging in the black apron hung around his small hips for his pad of paper and pen.
“Just a chai latte, no sweetener,” she orders before he says a word, and my lips slam shut so I don’t cut her off.
Placing one forearm on the table, and the other on top of the first, Adrienne squares her shoulders, making her slender neck look even longer and letting her platinum blonde bob swing perfectly into place before questioning me, “So… last night?”
I have to clear my throat and give her a fake-ass smile as I say, “It was wonderful. I missed the city.” I keep it professional and reach for the goblet of water the waiter left behind for me. There’s a dark ring on the black tablecloth from where it sat. The beads of condensation make my hand slip slightly, but she doesn’t notice.
“I was going to recommend a bar around the corner to help with the jitters from traveling all day, but I forgot to write you… what is it?” She ponders as I take a sip, and I cough up the small bit of water when she says, “The Tipsy Room.”
Fate just wants to fuck with me today.
Luckily, the cruel joke goes unnoticed by Mrs. Hart as she greets two more people, waving them to the table to join us.
This time I stay seated, and this time both of them offer their hands to me. Of course mine is cold and wet from the goblet and I feel the need to apologize awkwardly.
“I’m thrilled to finally meet you; we’ve heard so much about you,” the woman tells me. She’s got to be in her late forties or older, judging by the wrinkles around her eyes, but overall she looks so young. If it weren’t for the crow’s feet, I’d have guessed she wasn’t even thirty.Maybe it’s Maybelline, or maybe it’s Botox.
“Lara Bolton.” She tells me her name before I have to ask. I had no idea anyone else would be here, and I haven’t met anyone other than Adrienne. The second I hear her name, the butterflies in the pit of my belly morph into a hornet’s nest. “And this is Hugh North, he’ll be training you on all of the technical processes at work starting tomorrow.”
“Pleasure,” Hugh says with a charming smile. As Lara takes her seat, she hands him her coat and he takes his time removing his navy bomber jacket, which complements his dark skin.
“It’s wonderful to meet you both. I’ve heard,” I say and gesture with my hand toward Lara, “everything about you.” My pulse ramps up as I think about every article I’ve read. Lara is a restaurant stylist whose talent is to die for. Her designs aren’t just on trend – shemakesthe trends.
“Same to you, Miss Miller,” Lara replies with a grin and then the waiter comes to the table, forcing me to be quiet. Which is probably best at the moment.
Before Lara’s finished ordering, Hugh places a manila folder and a brand-new laptop in front of me. “Your first assignment.”
I’m too eager to wait for anything more, and as I flip through the pages, most of them photographs, Hugh asks me, “What do you think?” There’s an air of curiosity from him I find exciting.
I answer quickly, thumbing through the pictures, “This is an easy fix. It’s an Irish pub, judging by the name of the restaurant, but there isn’t an ounce of green in the branding; no dark woods, the menu is right though—beer-infused cheese dips and all sorts of burgers.” When no one says anything, I continue voicing my thoughts aloud.
