Bonbons and Betrayal: Book 3 in The Chocolate Cafe Series (2 page)

A loud knock on his door abruptly ended the kiss. It echoed throughout the loft-style space like an explosion.

‘Who could that be?” Paul grumbled, annoyed. He kissed Sabrina again quickly, her lips too warm and compliant to resist.
“Don’t move.”

He practically leaped across the glossy concrete floor, pulling up his low-slung gym shorts as he did so. He wasn’t expecting anyone, certainly not at 8 o’clock on a Thursday night.

When he squinted through the peephole, his heart clenched in his chest.

It was Deena.

Ragged, grey skinned and wild eyed, she stood in the unflattering light of his hallway. Had he not specifically told her not to contact him outside of work? Hadn't he made that perfectly clear?

The last thing he needed was this haggard old beast getting in the way of what was turning into the ideal, low maintenance relationship for him. He turned to Sabrina, who was now busily folding the crimson chili shreds into her mixture.

“It’s the neighbor, probably complaining about recycling or something…” He said. Not his best lie, but it would do for now. Sabrina didn’t look up from her work, barely nodding, let alone showing any suspicion. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Paul unlocked the door and opened it only enough to slip out into the hall. Deena’s eyes widened, the pain of seeing him again more than evident.

“What are you doing here?“ Paul hissed. He took her by her elbow and moved her away from the door, pinning her in the corner. “I told you to stay away from me. What part of that confused you?”

With her black hair frizzy from the rain and her face completely without make up, Deena looked more like Paul’s grandmother than an ex-lover. He wondered how he had managed to date her as long as he did. Of course, many men would do much worse if a tenured professorship at the city’s leading university was on the line.

“I needed to see you. I can’t do this Paul. I can’t… I’m broken. I can’t think straight. I haven’t slept in a month; my work is suffering… it’s killing me not being with you…”

Had her hands always been so veiny? Tendons bulged against her brown, age spot spattered skin as she slid them up his chest. Barely able to hide his revulsion, he took her wrists.

“I am done. Listen to me Deena…” The tears had started now, predictably. They began to roll from her blood shot eyes, down the paper-thin skin of her cheeks. “I made it clear that what we had is done. I have moved on and I suggest you do the same.”

She struggled in his grip, trying to lift her arms up to embrace him.

“I can’t,” she said. “I can’t move on. You… you were everything to me; more than my career, more than my children, more than… Oh god, more than my life.”

How was this the woman who only six months ago had been doing the late night political talk shows? How was this the woman who had been essentially the face of the country’s leading computer science program? It was sickening to him, this lack of control.

“Deena. You need to leave.”

“I can’t…” Deena sobbed, her voice becoming louder. “I won’t.” She was practically yelling now, her sobs out of control and noisy enough to echo in the hall. The last thing he needed was Sabrina to hear. Without thinking he let go of one of her wrists and put his hand over her mouth, forcing her up against the wall.

“Listen to me.” He hissed into her ear, squeezing her wrist too hard as his annoyance turned suddenly to rage. “There is nothing here for you. Do you understand? NOTHING you could do would get me back. I don’t need you anymore and to be perfectly honest, you disgust me.”

He felt Deena’s body, much frailer than it had been a month ago when he had said goodbye, go slack against him. Her tears were wet against his hand where it was still clamped over her mouth. He continued to hiss, like the viper he was, into her ear.

“You are going to turn around and you are going to quietly get into the elevator. Then you are going to go back to your sad, lonely little life and you are going to act like nothing ever happened between us. I’m just another professor and you… you’re just another dried up, lonely, miserable old woman.”

With one ear on his apartment door should Sabrina decide to check on him, Paul maneuvered Deena’s almost limp body to the elevator. He pressed the button, the woman practically under his arm, like baggage.

The door slid open noiselessly. Without a thought, Paul took his hand from Deena’s mouth and threw her into the empty elevator. She stumbled forward, slamming into the far wall. Still sobbing, she sunk to the ground.

Deena looked back over her shoulder, her face contorted with shame and loss.

“I love you.“ she said, her voice as ragged as her mind had become. “I love you Paul. I can’t be without you. This can’t happen. I can’t let this happen.”

Standing over her in the lobby, his designer biceps bulged as he crossed his arms. He smiled a cold and awful little smile.

“Guess what…” he said, pressing the button again to signal the elevator to close. “It did.”

Sabrina looked as excited as a child on Christmas morning. Once they had checked in with the bouncer at the gallery door, she practically skipped into the bluish darkness, her head swiveling as she searched the crowd.

“He must be here somewhere,” she said, speaking to herself more than Mac and Louis, who were maneuvering their way through the packs of milling guests, trying to keep up with her.

“Perhaps he’s late,” Louis suggested. He had to raise his voice slightly over the drum and bass music that seemed to fill every inch of the gallery, despite the cathedral ceilings.

Once a church in a part of the city that everyone but the locals avoided, it had been transformed into one of the most coveted venues in town. In fact, the entire neighborhood had been dragged along with it. Hipsters and celebrated artists had taken over the area, shellacking all the dated signs and crumbling architecture with a heavy layer of irony.

It was the place to see and be seen, apparently.

Sabrina looked back at her friends, the pink blush on her cheeks beginning to fade. “He’s not usually late.” she said. “It’s not like him. He said he’d meet us inside.”

Looking at Brie’s beautiful but troubled face, Mac felt a familiar protective urge. Firstly, because it had been years since she’d seen her friend this wrapped up in a man. Secondly because she looked positively lost in the crowd of sleek intellectuals and trendsetters.

Despite Mac’s best attempts to convince her otherwise, Brie had decided to wear the glittering shell headband she had bought for a music festival a few months back. It was practically lost in her ropes of chestnut hair that, as usual, she tied back in a thick, almost waist length ponytail. Mac had tried to convince her to get a haircut too but…

“It’s a big night for him. He’s probably just running a bit behind,” she said. Mac wrapped her arm around her friend’s bare shoulders. Now in the gallery under the lights, Brie’s cream lace vintage maxi dress practically glowed. Was she wrapping her arms around her to comfort her or to protect her? Did it matter?

“I think if we do the sensible thing and make our way to the bar, he’ll probably appear,“ Louis said. “As if by magic. A genie in the bottom of a bottle of Jameson.”

He smiled and Mac was reminded again of how handsome he really was. Like a broad shouldered grey hound, he looked a million miles away from the awkward man who had paced her on the beach half a year ago. His perfectly cut suit enhanced his angular frame; the deep black of the fabric echoed in his thick framed glasses and newly acquired shadow of a beard. Mac would never admit it, but she loved the little grey hairs that peppered the well-maintained fuzz on his cheeks. It made him look distinguished, intimidating, and if she was honest, it was a fine advertisement for just how whip smart he was.

Only Mac knew that if the gallery had a dance floor, any kind of intimidation factor the beard carried with it would be quickly dissolved by his unrelentingly embarrassing dance moves.

“I can’t very well spend my whole life in my Oxford t-shirt.” He had worked hard to justify his sprouting facial hair to Mac for the few weeks it took to blossom. “It’s like a hanging your degree on your wall,” he had decided. “But on my face.”

“Let’s get a drink.” Mac said, making a concerted effort to keep her hands to herself and focus on Brie. Brie agreed and headed toward the bar, but Mac knew her friend well enough to make out more than a hint of nervousness in her eyes. No amount of glittery seashells could conceal that.

The trio made their way through the clusters of people scattered around the floor to the small, makeshift bar in the corner.
There was a line of people waiting as the two uniformed bartenders shook and mixed whatever was the latest in craft cocktails.

Louis leaned forward in the darkness to make out the menu where it was tastefully displayed in front of them.

“Canadian Martini…made with 100% organic Canadians, one would hope,” he joked. “I hear they can be quite mild mannered. We might need something stronger.” He was doing his best to drag Sabrina
out of her obviously growing anxiety. Her head swiveled like an owl stalking mice on the forest floor.

“Paul said he’d meet me for a drink before the award was handed out and that’s in like…ten minutes.” She checked her phone for the hundredth time for a message. In the light that sprang from the phone, Mac couldn’t help but notice the woman in front of them noticeably jump and look over her shoulder. Irritated, Brie flipped between apps and messages “No Paul, no Paul, and nope…not Paul,” she growled. “I really wanted to you guys to meet him beforehand.”

Mac watched, as the woman seemed to struggle to stop herself from turning around and staring. Even in the half-light, Mac could make out a heavy flush on her golden skin. Her eyes even seemed to widen every time Brie mentioned her new boyfriend’s name.

When the woman hadn’t noticed that the people in front of her had already taken their drinks and left, Mac seized the opportunity to interact.

“You’re up,” she said, perhaps a bit too hastily. Still, she was curious. The woman turned to them, examining Brie unabashedly. There was something wild in those eyes that seemed too large for her lean, middle-aged face. She didn’t move but simply stared.

“Are you…” Louis began, motioning toward the two bartenders who were practically pacing with impatience. Louis’s voice was enough to break her trance and she looked sharply in his direction.

“Yes, of course. Sorry…” Even though she was mumbling, it was easy to detect her soft Indian accent. “I’ll just…” She trailed off and turned, clutching her very expensive bag to her chest like a floatation device.

The three of them glanced at each other as the woman hastily moved forward and ordered a glass of red wine.

“What was that all about?” Brie whispered as the woman scuttled out of their way. “Did I do something to offend her?“

“Maybe it’s the shells.” Louis said.

Mac whacked him firmly on the shoulder.

‘’Very funny, Prince Charles,” Brie said. She was about to launch into him further when her phone came alive in her hand, buzzing and tweeting. She audibly gasped and quickly scanned the text. “He’s in the green room in the back.” She said, pure joy radiating out of her. “I’m going to go run and see him. Can you grab me a whiskey sour? Back in a bit…” In less seconds than it took to read the text, she disappeared into the crowd, the lacy hem of her dress quickly swallowed up by the sea of black around them.

Mac was just enjoying her first sips of an ice-cold dirty martini when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Not a gentle one either…more of an irritated rapping than anything else. She turned, half expecting to find a security guard ordering her and Louis out.

Instead, she was face to face with the woman from the bar line. Those haunted eyes seemed to swallow her up and she instinctively took a few steps back.

“Your friend. Does she mean Paul Creed? The same Paul Creed getting the award tonight?” Mac was immediately irritated. Firstly, she had some pretty clear rules when it came to personal space and secondly, the woman’s tone was far from gentle inquiry.

“Yes.” Mac said. The woman’s wine glass was already almost empty. How long had that taken her? Five minutes tops?

“Paul Creed, inventor of Cartistry?” Mac was unimpressed with vagaries in general and she found herself becoming more annoyed with the helpless woman in front of her. All the way through her interrogation, she looked Mac up and down in the most openly critical way imaginable; not that she had anything to criticize.
In addition to her obsessively analytical mind, Catharine Mackenzie had an impeccable sense of style and the kind of income that allowed it to flourish. Her pants were perfectly tailored to fit her slim runners build and the blouse she had bought online was the kind that came with a personal thank you from the independent design firm itself.
Stare away
, Mac thought, crossing her arms defensively.