Sweet Surrendering (19 page)

I was not looking forward to going back and getting the third degree from Sloane, but I had to. I had to go.

Lucas wasn’t in the living room when I went back out. Where the hell did he go? I found a note on the counter.

See you tomorrow, Sunshine.

-Lucas Blaine

There were a few other doors in the apartment, and I didn’t know what they were for, and he clearly didn’t want to say good-bye in person, so I took the note and put it in my purse, right next to the bustier.

The apartment was quiet when I got back and another note greeted me, this time from Sloane, saying that she’d gone in to work for a few hours. I sighed and looked around the big empty apartment.

One of the reasons I loved living with Sloane was that I was never alone. Growing up as an only child had been rough; add to that the fact that my parents had a lot of money, and I’d been extremely isolated.

I got dressed in my favorite sweats, the ones I wore when I was sick, put on some music and grabbed one of my favorite books. It was hard to read with Sloane around, because she was always interrupting me, or reading over my shoulder and asking me what the book was about. It kind of killed the enjoyment.

I had only read about fifty pages when my eyes started closing again and I fell asleep with the book on my chest.

“Hey, Rory.” A hand shook my shoulder gently and my eyes opened to find Sloane peering at me.

“Hey,” I said, sitting up and causing the book to fall to the floor. “What time is it?” The apartment was dark. I must have slept for hours.

“It’s six. Are you okay?” I must look really terrible or else Sloane would be on me for details about the date and the sex and the bustier.

“I think so. I mean, I told him it would only be one night and it was only one night. I just needed to get him out of my system.” Sloane set some bags down on the counter and came to sit on the couch with me.

“And did you? Get him out of your system?” Honestly?

“No,” I said, and against my will I started to cry. “I mean, I feel like I’m breaking up with him, which is stupid because we’re not dating. I’ve only known him for a few weeks. I shouldn’t feel this way after a few weeks, and a few sexual encounters.”

“How are you supposed to feel?” Sloane took my feet into her lap and started rubbing them. One of her other talents was great foot massages, but she only gave them in emergencies. I’d had quite a few when I’d broken up with Royce.

“I’m supposed to be able to move on with my life. To see him at work and not feel butterflies whenever he smiles or says my name. To not think about him and want him all the time. I’m better than that.”

“Better than what? You’re attracted to him, he’s attracted to you. That’s not a sin, Rory.”

“It is when you work together.”

We both sighed at the same time.

“I’m fucked,” I said.

“Yeah, you kinda are. I wish I could help you.”

“You can distract me. Tell me about Fin and Marisol.” Sloane’s eyes lit up.

“Well, I’d say that the chemistry was definitely there. But you know how she is. No kissing on the first date, let alone sleeping with a guy. I mean, I would get her drunk to test it out, but that doesn’t seem like the best idea. But, they did exchange numbers and eye fuck each other for several hours after you left. I think we have a match.”

“Good. Someone deserves to be happy.” Sloane gave me a sympathetic face.

“I’m making you breakup cake.”

“But we weren’t dating.”

“I know, but I think you need it.” Sloane always made a cake when one of us broke up with someone. It wasn’t any particular type of cake, just whichever one was our favorite. She made it in heart-shaped pans, which was more of a sick joke than anything. My favorite cake was German chocolate with coconut frosting.

“It’s too late cuz I already got the ingredients. You sit there and find something trashy to watch and I’ll make us some dinner, okay?” She kissed my forehead and I nodded.

“Hey, I texted you a million times. Did you turn your phone off?”

“Shit, I did. Can you hand it to me?” Sloane fished in my purse and tossed it to me. I knew she saw the bustier, but didn’t comment.

I turned my phone on and was inundated with messages.

“Fuck!!!” It was Sunday night and I was supposed to be at my parents’ for dinner. I had three missed calls from my mother. Oh God, they probably thought I was dead.

“What?”

“I completely forgot dinner with my parents! What am I going to say?” There was no way I could tell them the truth.

“Give me your phone,” Sloane said, and I handed it to her. She hit a button and put the phone to her ear.

“Mrs. Clarke? Hello, this is Sloane. Yes, I’m calling about Rory . . . No, she’s fine, she’s just very under the weather. We went out for breakfast and I think she had some bad eggs or something. She was puking all morning . . . No, she’s sleeping now . . . I think she just needs to sleep it off and get it out of her system . . . Yes, I will. Okay, Bye.” She handed the phone back to me.

“Done.”

“I feel like I should call and explain,” I said, looking at the phone. I hated lying to my parents.

“Call them later. Or tomorrow morning. It’s no big, she was just worried and once she knew that you were indisposed, she was fine.”

“Okay, I guess.” I still felt shitty about it.

“Go back and sit down.” Sloane shoved me toward the couch. I sat down with a sigh and turned on the television, finally settling on a marathon of a show about picking wedding dresses. I knew Sloane would love it. Her running commentary was worth the price of admission.

An hour later, I was inhaling enchiladas with pico de gallo, and a black bean and corn salad, and the German chocolate cake was baking in the oven. Sometimes, you need to eat your feelings.

“Oh my God. I can’t watch. I can’t watch. Tell me they’re not going to put her in a mermaid gown. Tell me this is not happening,” Sloane said, covering her eyes with her hands.

“Oh, it’s happening. Her mom always dreamed of her in the mermaid dress, so she’s wearing the mermaid dress.” On most people, a mermaid dress would look good, but on this girl . . . not so much.

I grabbed another enchilada from the pan and some more salad. Sloane peeked behind her fingers. “Oh thank God. That’s much more suited to her.”

The timer dinged and Sloane raced to get the cake out of the oven and set it on a rack to cool while she made the frosting.

Once the cake was finished, we didn’t even cut it, just used forks and dug in. My internal clock was messed up from the all night fuckfest and then the huge nap I’d taken. Tomorrow was going to be rough.

“Men suck,” Sloane said with her mouth full of cake.

“They do.” I took another bite. I found it interesting that Sloane was so focused on everyone else’s love lives, but was doing nothing about her own, and I was starting to get suspicious, but I was going to wait a little while before I asked her about it.

Besides, I had some more wallowing to do.

I didn’t get breakfast for Lucas on Monday morning, but I got my own. I kind of hoped he would see that as a statement, but maybe he wouldn’t.

In the elevator up to my office I was trying to gain my normal ice-cold composure, but it wasn’t happening. I couldn’t snap the wall in front of my emotions. All because of Lucas Blaine and his stupid magical tongue and lovely penis.

I got out of the elevator and walked right to his desk, my heels clicking on the floor, which helped steady my nerves just a little bit. There was a bag on top, as if it was waiting for me. Mr. Blaine was already typing away.

“Good morning, Miss Clarke. Your strawberry donut and coffee are right there and I’ve already gone through and flagged your important emails.” He didn’t stop typing or look up at me.

“Thank you Mr. Blaine.” I waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t, so I grabbed the bag and my coffee and headed to my desk. I hoped he didn’t see that I’d already gotten my breakfast, so I now had two.

I just had to get through the rest of the day. And then the next after that . . .

I threw myself into work, and it seemed that Mr. Blaine had done the same. All our discourse was clipped and short and without any longing or lusty staring. At least on his part.

He seemed to be doing fine, and that made me feel even worse. Clearly, he’d taken me seriously about the one night thing. We should have done this originally. Then maybe I wouldn’t be in this predicament. Even though it was torture, I left my door open and it took any leftover concentration I had to not look at him as he worked.

His face was so serious all day. I’d never seen him that way, and it was just as sexy as his smile. There was something unbearably attractive about a man when he was on a mission. That was how he’d been last night when he looked at me. Like he was going to possess me. Own me. I’d let him, and I’d done my best to him back.

I tried to block him out, but later in the afternoon he was on the phone and I couldn’t ignore it. He was arguing with someone, and it didn’t look like something work related. I looked up from my desk and saw him pinch the bridge of his nose as if he was losing his patience.

I wished I could read lips, but I couldn’t, and he was too far away and talking too low for me to eavesdrop; but something was definitely not okay. He smacked his hand on the desk and then looked around, as if he was aware that he might be making a scene. I quickly flipped my eyes to some papers on my desk, but I knew he saw me.

He hung up the phone and I could feel his eyes on me. Great. I’d gotten caught. I picked up my phone and dialed his extension. He picked up after one ring.

“Everything okay?” I said. He sighed and he looked defeated. It’s a strange thing when you can see the face of the person you’re talking to on the phone. Puts a whole new spin on it.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I didn’t mean to. It won’t happen again.” He sounded depressed and dejected and I wanted, more than anything, to reach through the phone and put my arms around him.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No,” he said as he shook his head. “Nothing anyone can do.”

“Is it bad?”

“No. Nothing that won’t take care of itself. Don’t worry about me.” His voice was soft and it reminded me of the way he’d spoken the other night in bed.
You’re so beautiful.
Sloane hadn’t asked me to wear any more of her creations, and I was relieved. Wearing them just for me wasn’t as much fun as seeing Lucas’ face when he looked at me in them.

“Okay. Please let me know if I can do anything.”

“Thank you, Miss Clarke. That won’t be necessary.” His cordial voice was back. He was shutting me out again. I should be glad, but it was almost as if he’d slammed a door in my face.

“You’re . . . you’re welcome, Mr. Blaine.” He hung up the phone and went back to work.

Questions swirled through my head and made it hard to think. What had the phone call been about? Was it personal? He hadn’t mentioned anything about his personal life, other than his nieces and brothers. He’d never spoken of his parents.