Part-Time Lover
Page 19
“Hello?”
I flinch at the voice on the other end of the line. “Erik?”
“Sorry, yeah. I answered his phone. I just returned home from a long run and he’s sound asleep.”
“Oh,” I say, my heart plunging into disappointment. “He must have been tired.”
“He’s zonked. How are you?”
I cross the street, doing my best to table my desire to see Christian. “I’m good. And you?”
“Brilliant. Never been better. In fact, I was going to call you.”
“You were?”
“I need your help with something, and I know you’re already helping with so much already, but I hope you won’t mind.”
He tells me what he needs. I like Erik. I care about him. I also want to do right for the brother of the man I love.
I say yes, and he tells me he’ll swing by early in the morning to pick me up.
34
Elise
Erik picks me up in an Uber at seven on the dot. I send Christian a text letting him know I’m helping his brother with a project. But I don’t hear back from him. “Where’s Christian?”
“Griffin convinced him to run six miles or something this morning. He’s insane.”
“Totally mad,” I tease, but a seed of worry gnaws at me. “Is he okay?” It’s odd that I didn’t talk to him last night, but then again, he went to bed early. Maybe I’m reading something into nothing.
“He’s busy at work,” Erik says absently, staring out the car window. His mind is clearly elsewhere, and I don’t know where that elsewhere is. Erik didn’t tell me much. He simply said he wanted a woman’s company to pay a visit to Jandy.
“Do you think she’s going to listen to me? She didn’t seem too fond when she showed up at the match.”
He turns back to me. “I’ll do the talking. I want you there because she has issues with men, due to a poor relationship with her father. I’m now the man on the outside, so I don’t want to set off those subconscious issues.”
“I understand,” I say, though I don’t entirely. But I’m impressed Erik has such a strong read on the woman’s psyche.
“I called her sister last night after I finished my run.”
I arch a brow, curious. “What did she say?”
His jaw is set hard in anger. “Jandy’s story about Lillian being ill sounded dodgy, and I was right on that count. Lillian said she was in a car accident and took a few days off work. She had whiplash. She’s not having hundreds of thousands of euros in medical treatment, like Jandy made it seem.”
“That’s good. It’s good she’s not ill.”
“It also means Jandy is off her trolley.”
“Well, yes,” I say softly.
When we arrive at the café, Erik thanks the driver, and we snag a table inside. A minute later, the woman who confronted me at the soccer field arrives, stopping in her tracks when she sees me. She points. “What’s she doing here?”
“It’s easier for me this way, and I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” Erik replies.
“Hello, Jandy,” I say, doing my best to be civil, though I’m sure she wants to throttle me as much as I want to throttle her.
“Hello,” she says, but her voice is wobbly, and her eyes look tired, as if she hasn’t slept in days.
Erik stands and pulls out a chair. Jandy pauses, regards it, then sits.
Erik takes a deep breath and looks straight at her. “I get that you’re not in love with me. I truly get it. It hurts like hell, but I’m not going to dwell.”
My heart aches for him, and I want to tell him it gets better. Instead, I simply listen.
Jandy murmurs a thank you.
Because listening to her husband talk about his feelings would be oh-so-hard. I resist the urge to slap her—mostly because I’ve never slapped anyone. I’m sure I’d botch it.
“But I need this to stop.” Erik’s tone is crisp and clear. Dominant, even.
Jandy flinches. “What do you need to stop?”
He slices a hand through the air. “All of it. You coming up to me at lunch, you seeing my family at matches, you making up stories about your sister. It has to stop.”
Jandy breathes out hard through her nose. Her top lip quivers. “And you think coming here will make it stop?”
She sounds as if she’s trying to be tough, but her will is breaking.
“I have an offer for you.”
That makes me sit up taller. He didn’t mention an offer.
Jandy shakes her head, worrying her lip, glancing at me. She lowers her voice. “I don’t want to discuss this with other people present.”
“Please,” Erik implores.
She shakes her head and folds her arms.
“I’ll step outside,” I suggest, since outside is a mere ten feet away.
“That’s fine,” Erik says.
I leave and pace on the sidewalk, hoping to hell and heaven and back that he isn’t caving and giving her his share of the company. I text Christian again to see what he’s up to, but he doesn’t respond. I spend a few minutes making sure I’m checked into my flight in a couple hours, then I send a note to my brother, since I’ll see him soon.
Briefly, I contemplate inviting Christian to join me in New York, and the idea sends a thrill through me. I’d love to show him my old stomping grounds. I’d love to take him around the city, to kiss him in Central Park, along Fifth Avenue, and by the Met.
But I resist. He’s clearly busy, and I have work to focus on with Nate and the Luxe. The cliff will have to wait.
Soon enough, Erik steps through the doorway of the café and onto the sidewalk, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
He doesn’t look back at Jandy as she walks along the street, her head tucked down, until she fades into the early morning crowds. He simply walks toward me, a few sheets of paper in his hand.
“You look pleased,” I remark.
He beams. “I am. I struck a deal, and she said yes. Let me go track down Christian so we can tell him everything.”
I’m dying to know everything too.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we walk into another café across the city, and Christian is waiting, drinking a coffee at an outdoor table. He runs a hand through his hair, slick with sweat from his run. A smile seems to tug at the corner of his lips when he spots me, but then it fades. He stands and drops a kiss to my cheek, and I wrap an arm around him, craving a bit of closeness. “Hi.” His voice sounds strained.
“Hi,” I say, and nerves thread through me. Christian seems cooler than usual. I want to ask him why, but Erik has a bulldog puppy inhabiting him today.
Erik clamps one hand on my shoulder and the other on Christian’s, separating us as he chuckles like Santa Claus. “And that kind of show won’t be necessary any longer.” Erik grabs a chair and parks his hands behind his head, clearly pleased with himself.
“What do you mean?” Christian asks as he takes a seat too. I do the same.
Erik’s grin stretches from Paris to Copenhagen. “She sold me her shares.”
My eyes widen.
Christian’s jaw comes unhinged. “What?”
He slaps the papers on the table victoriously. “I was tired of her games. So I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse. I knew when she tracked you down at the match that she was at the end of her rope, so I figured I had a shot at putting an end to this whole ruse.” He gestures from Christian to me, and his smile grows. He is the portrait of a proud man. A man who solved a problem. “The two of you were tremendous. You came through for me, and I can’t thank you both enough. But I’m tired of being the pathetic loser who begged his brother to marry a woman he was merely shagging so I could stay in charge of a company.”
I bristle at the way Erik describes me, especially since Christian and I weren’t even sleeping together till after we tied the knot. “Is that how you described this?” I ask my husband.
He slashes a hand through the air. “No. Absolutely not
.”
Erik waves a hand. He’s undeterred. “You know what I’m getting at. The two of you had a deal. You made a deal for me, and I bloody love you for it. But we all know the score. You like each other. But no one is in love here, so you shouldn’t have to fake it, and now you don’t.” He leans back and swipes one palm across the other. “Problem solved.”
“What?” Christian and I speak the one-word question at the same time, looking at each other, then at Erik.
I straighten my spine, part my lips, and am this close to asking Christian what his brother means with the whole not in love comment, when realization smacks me hard. Erik knows Christian doesn’t love me. Of course he knows. They’re brothers, they’re besties—they know all the things.
My heart crashes to the floor and shatters into thousands of jagged bits. A tear slaloms down my cheek, and I wipe the traitorous evidence away as quickly as I can. Neither one of them notices since they’re focused on each other.
My fingers shake, and I hurt.
I hurt everywhere.
“Why did you do this?” Christian asks his brother in a heavy tone.
Erik slams his fist on the table in excitement. “I needed to be a man and solve my shit. So I made her a ridiculous offer for her shares, and she said yes. I figured she’s realized her gambit failed, and I bought out her shares for more than they’re worth to get her off my back and out of my life. She signed the papers my lawyers drew up, and I’m the majority shareholder again.” He beams again, no clue that his news has cracked me in two. “I now pronounce you ex-husband and ex-wife. Why don’t you let me buy you breakfast, so Elise can be on her way to the airport?”
I sit in stunned silence, unsure what to say to anyone but the waiter. I ask for a coffee, but when I’m halfway through, I can’t take it any longer. I can’t take sitting here across from Christian while Erik prattles on about next steps for the firm and deals he wants to put together. He fires ideas at Christian, who weighs in matter-of-factly, as if he’s ended one business deal and is embarking on another.
Why on earth should I stay? I’m not needed. This is business for them. We don’t need to play pretend anymore.
I stand. “I need to go.” I do my best to erase the sound of tears from my voice, but I’m not sure I’m successful. “Flight to catch.”
“Your trip is today?” Christian asks, curiously.
I nod as I step away from the table so I can hail a taxi. Erik and I say goodbye, then I answer Christian. “Yes, Nate moved it up by two days. I called last night to tell you, but Erik answered.”
“And invited you to go along to see Jandy?” he says, as if he’s putting puzzle pieces together.
I nod, swallowing in the words, because if I speak I will break down.
Christian signals to his brother that he’ll be right back, then he follows me down the sidewalk, his brow furrowed. “Did you know he was going to make the offer?”
I shake my head, forcing myself to speak as evenly as I can. “No idea. He said he couldn’t face her alone.”
“He went in there on his own and did it?”
I take a breath. “He said he needed company, and I said yes because I wanted to be helpful.”
He nods a few times and hums. “You’ve always wanted to be helpful.”
“I suppose.”
He says okay, and I can’t read his expression or tell what he means. Then he speaks quietly. “He thinks we want to be over.”
My heart jams its way to my throat, as a cruel, fresh new realization sets in. Maybe this is fate. Maybe fate is trying to save me from jumping off the cliff. “We can be free now, I guess.”
“Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice sounding heavier than usual.
Tears sting the back of my eyes as a taxi down the block turns on its indicator light, signaling that it’s coming my way. “I want to be happy.”
I thought that was with him, but his happiness isn’t with me. It’s better I know that now, so I can keep moving forward. Absently, I run a finger over the taxicab charm necklace.
“You found it?”
“Diana, the other wife. She was in town. She brought it to me.”
He knits his brow. “That’s who you were seeing last night?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head and drags a hand through his hair. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing her.”
“I planned to. I didn’t have a chance yet.”
“Listen.” His voice is heavy. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”
I nod as the green car wedges itself along the curb next to me. “I’m sure we’ll have paperwork to file.”
He grabs my arm. “I’m not talking about paperwork. I’m talking about us.”
The cab driver honks, and that’s my cue. “Of course.” We need to define the terms of the untangling just as we did the entanglement. “I should probably focus on my new account, though, when I’m gone. How about we work out all that stuff when I return?” I paste on a cheery grin as I grab the door handle.
He grabs it too, reaching for my hand. “Let me ride with you. Let’s talk now. I can’t let you go on this trip with this hanging between us. Even if we don’t need to be married, I still want you in my life.”
Wanting me in his life isn’t the same. It’s not the same as what I want.
I want him. I want him as my husband, my Friday-night lover, and my business partner, all rolled in one.
And since I can’t have that, I don’t know if I can handle anything at all, even if the thought tears me in two.
I bite the inside of my lip. I can’t break down now. I can’t, and I won’t. “I can’t talk right now,” I say, pushing out the words so I don’t let loose a rainstorm.
The driver honks his horn again.
Christian lets go of the handle. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” I mutter, but I know we mean it in different ways. He’ll miss the sex, and I’ll miss the everything.
When I get in the cab, slam the door, and reach a respectable distance from him, the tears flow freely. Hard, heavy tears.
This isn’t how our part-time love affair was supposed to end.
35
Christian
Terms.
Deals.
Financing.
I spend the day enmeshed in them, working in the air-conditioned conference room at a bank. Translating money words all day long is literally the only thing that keeps me from thinking non-stop about everything that went wrong this morning.
There’s no space to think about yourself when you’re translating, and maybe fate was looking out for me, giving me this assignment on a day when I desperately need to keep my gray matter occupied so I don’t dwell on the complete U-turn my life took at a café this morning.
But once the day ends, and the client arrives at a tentative deal, thanking me for helping him converse, I’m free to go.
And my thoughts free-fall the second I leave the office building, the heat of the late afternoon slamming into me cruelly.
I drop my shades over my eyes, unknot my tie, and walk down the avenue. I weave through the throngs of businessmen and women in their suits and heels, chattering on their mobiles, dragging on their cigarettes.
I shove a hand through my hair and walk.
A few blocks later, I glance at the street sign on the building across the way.
I didn’t mean to head in this direction.
I meant to head . . .
Hell, I don’t know where I am or where I planned on going.
I don’t have a sodding clue.
I thought I’d be seeing Elise tonight.
I thought I’d be working with Erik today.
But I’m doing none of those things, since Erik doesn’t need me, and neither does Elise.
I’m back to bouncing between random gigs, filling the time, keeping busy. I like keeping busy, but I don’t enjoy feeling aimless. I head to the river and slump down on a green-slatted bench.
>
All I need is a bag of bread chunks to feed the pigeons, and I’d be a right pathetic sight. Come to think of it, why should the fucking pigeons suffer?
I pop into a nearby boulangerie, grab a baguette, and rip off chunks for the birds.
Some lady tuts at me, shaking her head, and muttering something about not feeding the pigeons.
I don’t care.
I toss chunk after chunk at the birds, and let me tell you, they love me. They think I’m the bee’s knees.
One of them hops up on the bench. “You’re a bold little bastard.”
He stabs his beak against the bag.
“Demanding, aren’t you?”
I grab another chunk and chuck it across the pavement. He flies off and returns a second later.
I make my way through the bread as I stare at the boats cruising along the river and cyclists whizzing by on the path.
When it comes to signals from Elise, the signs seemed bright and clear today. Now that I’m finally away from the bankers, I review them, talking to the daring pigeon, who waits determinedly at my feet.
“First, she didn’t mention she was seeing the other wife last night. That’s kind of a sign, right? That maybe she doesn’t want to tell me things that matter.”
The pigeon stares at me.
“Then she said we were free to end things. She wants to be happy. Ending this makes her happy. Obviously, right?”
The pigeon doesn’t answer.
“And to top it off, Elise has made her intentions apparent from day one.” I heave a sigh. It’s stupid for me to linger on why we ended. We were only ever an arrangement.
I stand, brush my hand over my trousers, and toss the final chunk of bread to the pigeon. He wolfs it down then flies away.
Figures.
He got what he wanted.
I walk in the other direction, away from the fading sun, but as I meander, a clucking sound echoes nearby. I glance up at the branches of a tree. It’s the pigeon. At least, I think it’s the same one. He’s following me.
“I don’t have any more. I told you,” I tell him.
He’s undeterred. He flaps behind me as I walk, stopping in branches along the way.