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“Hi, Jules.”
A million memories rose to the surface, far too many for so short an acquaintance, but of course she had invented ones to fill the gaps. Desperate imaginings of what might have been. The timbre of his voice hadn’t changed; if anything, he sounded more lethally dangerous than ever. Needing air, she headed to the back door that exited onto the alley.
“Hiya, Simon,” she said in a singsong. She hadn’t lost her accent since moving to Chicago, though it had become tempered somewhat. Now, it came out of her mouth strong and clear.Rule Bloody Britannia.
She stepped into the alley and tried to catch her breath. The stench of rotting rubbish rose to sting her nostrils like a bad case of smelling salts.
“What do you want?”
“No small talk, Jules?” An ocean between them and he sounded like a gentle whisper in her ear.
“Never our forte, was it?”
“Suppose not. I’ve been thinking of you a lot lately,” he continued. “Wondering how you’ve been. I heard you moved to Chicago with Jack.”
“Yeah, a couple of years now.”What do you want?
“Things are going well here,” he said, though she hadn’t asked. “I’m on my third restaurant and I’ve got a chance at a pilot for a TV show on the BBC.”
During their time together, Simon had done a remarkably poor job masking his envy of Jack’s success. Even now, she could hear his voice lurching on the edge of bitterness, despite the fact he was doing well for himself. Some people are never satisfied.
If Jack knew who Evan’s father was, he would lose the plot in a major way. Knocked up by one of her brother’s closest friends back in London—she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for the grayness that would descend over his face if he knew. He would blame Simon and he would paint Jules as the victim, when that wasn’t the case at all.
After all, she had more or less seduced him.
“Why are you calling after such a long time?”
“You were always a cynical one, Jules.”
Tears welled behind her eyelids at his accusation. That was so unfair. She might have a smart mouth and a jaded manner about certain things, but she had never been cynical aboutthem.
“Maybe I miss you,” he said quietly into the pause, so soft that she almost believed him before the words registered fully. Qualifying it with “maybe” was a typical Simon move, especially in their final days together, when he’d parsed out the affection as if he were using a tincture dropper.
“I really need to go,” she said, knowing she would break down any moment now if she let him continue his devil whispers in her ear.
“I want to see my son, Jules. You can’t keep him from—”
She hung up and slammed the phone against the nearest Dumpster.
Twenty-One
Aristotle might have labeled man a social animal but Tad was feeling far from it tonight, which made it difficult to be charming with his guests and critics.
“Nice turnout,” La Grayson said, her sharp eyes assessing the room before turning sharper still in assessing him. “Very nice.”
“Hopefully they come back when the drinks are no longer free.”
“A good review can do wonders.”
He reached for his good humor, something that seemed to be in short supply these days. “You’ll have to visit us for a full meal. When it’s not so crazy.”
She smiled but it didn’t quite reach her astonishing gray eyes.
“Perhaps we can open a bottle in private?”
“Smacks of bribery.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” She sipped on her Prosecco, letting her eyelashes lift provocatively in a flutter over the rim of the glass. Quite the performance.
