by Zara Cox
‘Content? You think downstairs was about me being content?’
I stopped him before he could carry on, my gaze shifting to stare pointedly at the phone. ‘I’d rather not do this with someone eavesdropping.’
A muscle ticced in his jaw, but slowly, he lifted the phone to his ear and coolly recited his coordinates to my pilot. Then he disconnected the line, tossed the phone onto the bed and fixed determined eyes on me.
I pre-empted him before he opened his mouth. ‘I’m not going to change my mind, Jensen.’
‘We have at least an hour before the chopper gets here. Are you planning on not talking to me in that time?’ he taunted.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
I hurried to the closet where he’d placed my weekender. Snatching whatever personal items I could locate within easy reach, I mentally dismissed taking things like my toothbrush and the toiletries scattered around his bathroom. They were easily replaceable.
Plus, moving around meant I didn’t have to acknowledge the hard, painful knot in my belly that grew tighter with every second.
‘Why the sudden hurry, Graciela?’ Jensen asked, his voice deep, throbbing with challenge.
I didn’t want to look his way, but, God, I couldn’t help myself. His arms were folded as he lounged against his bedroom wall, his stance deceptively calm. But his eyes gleamed with purpose that stated he wasn’t about to let me leave with a dismissive wave and a hollow promise.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about you, attempting to shut the door after the horse has bolted. What happened downstairs was unsettling, I know, but—’
I forced a laugh, one so false it grated my throat. And made his face tighten with irritation. ‘Unsettling? Why, because I shed a few tears? Don’t make it a bigger deal than it was, Jensen. Sure, I was due a little...catharsis, but it was hardly life-altering...’
My words trickled away when his face grew tighter, the warmth leaving his eyes. ‘That’s the second time you’ve attempted to dismiss something significant as nothing—’
‘Because it was nothing!’
His arms dropped, his jaw rippling as he took a slow breath. ‘It wasn’t nothing. What happened with your mother was shitty and traumatic. You shame yourself by trivialising it now because you let your guard down. Did you forget what you promised me?’
My thundering heartbeat threatened to drown out everything. ‘I warned you people break their promises all the time.’
An emotion that closely resembled bleakness filmed his eyes for a moment before he blinked it away. ‘Yes, you did. But I chose to believe you when you said you’d be truthful about whatever you were feeling. About what happened between us.’
‘And you think I’m not?’
His pointed look spoke volumes. ‘I know a little bit about denial and the people who practise it, Graciela. My mother was an expert at it. And you are so fully immersed in it, it’s any wonder you can fucking breathe,’ he scythed at me, cold fury drenching his features.
The searing accusation, and the caustic acknowledgement of its truth, made me turn away from him before he saw his effect. I silently willed my pilot to hurry before I did something foolish, like beg Jensen not to be disappointed in me, to help me see myself the way he wanted to see me. But that was a road fraught with even more disappointment. After all, wasn’t what I’d predicted already unfolding before my eyes?
Zipping the bag, I lifted it and blindly headed for the door.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
I forced a shrug. ‘What’s the point? You seem to have me psychoanalysed inside and out.’
Without asking my permission, he stepped forward and took the bag from me. But he made no move to leave the room. His presence surrounded me, his beautiful masculine scent invading my every pore. ‘And you’re just going to take it?’ he jeered.
Fear and frustration shook through me. ‘Jensen...’
He exhaled, long and loud. Then he jerked towards me.
‘Min elskerinde...’
The fury and mockery were gone, his voice low. Gentle. Coaxing.
‘Stay. Take a day, let’s sort through this.’
With every fibre of my being I wanted to scream yes.
My heart dropped to my stomach, acceptance that our agreement was officially over, that I was no longer his mistress, or he my sub, blinding me with pain so acute, I nearly gasped.
It if hurts this much, then why are you leaving?
Because what I wanted didn’t matter. Because...
You’re not enough. You’ll never be enough.
My mother’s words echoed and re-echoed in my head. And the heart I thought had shrivelled to uselessness after being steeped in years of pain and bitterness started to bleed.
‘I’d stay if there was something worth staying for,’ I forced out. ‘It’s been fun, but we both know that was all this was ever going to be.’
Gentleness evaporated and the cold scorn returned. ‘Bullshit. Cut the lies and say it like it is. You’re going to board your chopper and run away because you’re scared.’
He waited, eyes fixed on me as a minute ticked by. Two.
I remained silent, holding my tattered emotions inside because I was terrified of opening my mouth. Petrified I would scream that, yes, everything he said was true.
With a tight curse, he left the room and jogged downstairs with my bag. I followed, mourning the sight of my bag propped beside the door. Avoiding the taunting images of a Graciela who apparently lived inside me but wasn’t strong enough to reach for what she wanted, I perched on the farthest end of the sofa, staring into the fire and fighting the tears that threatened.
Stealthily, I watched Jensen prowl around the room, tugging on his thick coat and boots. When the ominous sound of a helicopter approaching shattered the silence, he strode to my bag, picked it up and opened the door.
A chill wind blew in, but it was nothing compared to the cold seizing my insides at the thought of leaving this rustic cabin. Leaving Jensen.
‘You’ll hear from me shortly,’ he said, his voice stony.
My heart leapt, then the true meaning sank in. He was talking about the project. The work I’d given just fleeting thought to over the past three days. ‘My assistant will put you in touch with the editorial team.’
His jaw clenched and he shook his head. ‘You’re not fobbing me off on your assistant. You hired me. You’re going to deal with me. I won’t have my time wasted going back and forth with subordinates who’ll feed me second-hand information. I’ll be in London next week with the finished project. We’ll meet, then hopefully we can be rid of each other.’
His words were firm, forceful, any hint of the earlier pleading and deep craving gone. I wanted to step back in time, accept the extra day, see where it led. But I already knew the outcome. Two more broken souls. More anguish that would keep me up at night. I couldn’t take that. Not any more.
And yet, I couldn’t make my feet move. Couldn’t step off his frozen porch and climb the chopper patiently waiting thirty feet away.
‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ he pressed, his voice harsh.
I swallowed, forced my head to nod. ‘Yes. Elsa will check my schedule and let you know.’
His lips tightened, assailing me with an urge to see him smile one last time that was so unbearable, I turned and hurried out onto the frozen tundra, my feet sinking into snow, towards the pilot who alighted and came to escort me.
Jensen handed him my bag, then stood, feet braced, cold eyes boring into my back as I climbed aboard.
He didn’t back away or go inside as the rotor blades churned up snow.
Even when his white jacket was pelted with snow, he didn’t leave. He stood there, his glorious hair whipping around his face, jaw set as he stared up at the helicopter.
Unable to help myself, I stared back, my eyes watering as he blended into the blinding white landscape.
Only when the chopper banked steeply did I look away, my heart already thudding with deep dread at the enormity of the misery that awaited me.
CHAPTER NINE
‘OH, MISS MORTIMER, you’re back! I wasn’t expecting you till later this morning...’
Elsa’s surprise registered hollowly in my head as she entered my office. I heard her stop a few feet from my desk, but didn’t turn from my position at the window.
‘Can I get you anything? Your usual coffee?’ Her voice trailed hesitantly when I continued to stare at the window, glaring miserably at the view I didn’t want to see.
It was the wrong view. For starters, London was wet and dreary and had been since my return two days ago, the rain unable to make up its mind whether to turn to sleet or mizzle.
I wanted a white-out, thick snow covering everything in sight and cutting off the world.
But more than anything, I wanted the man who I’d been snowed in with. As much as I appreciated her, Elsa’s presence was just another reminder that I was half a world removed from where I wanted to be.
I forced myself to turn around, to paste a half-decent smile on my face as I sat at my desk. ‘I came in a little early.’ Understatement of the year. I’d abandoned sleep at two a.m., my queen-sized bed suddenly feeling like a wide, endless ocean of misery, determined to swallow me up.
The longer I’d lain there, staring at the ceiling, the deeper my despair and panic had taken hold. With the business day beginning, I’d decided to call it quits where sleep was concerned, and get a head start on my work.
In hindsight, I realised leaving the perfectly adequate loneliness of my Mayfair mews house to place myself in the operating hub of the Mortimer Group empire wasn’t my finest decision.
Because the more the hive of activity moved around me, the deeper my loneliness had steeped.
The inter-family group email that someone industrious had set up a while ago was the first of many joy-shrivelling emails waiting to pounce on my vulnerable state when I fired up my laptop. Every single one of them involved some family member crowing about their personal success.
Apparently Gideon and his wife, Leonie, Damien and his new wife, and Bryce and Savannah were planning on spending the holiday season cruising the Mediterranean on the family’s yacht. The invitation had been extended for anyone who wanted to join, of course, but last thing I wanted was to be a fifth, sixth or seventh wheel.
There was another email from Bryce, mildly berating me for my unavailability, and informing me of his engagement to Savannah. Apparently he’d tried to call several times in the last few days but had been unable to reach me to give me the good news.
Even while my heart had soared with happiness for him and Savvie, the depth of my despairing loneliness intensified. When we’d met up in Singapore a few months ago at the opening of Savannah’s flagship lingerie store, he’d looked just as miserable as I felt. But evidently, he’d worked through his differences with Savvie.
Christmas was less than two weeks away. The thought of spending it with my dysfunctional collection of back-stabbing, acid-tongued family members filled me with dread.
...run away because you’re scared...
My fingers shook over the mouse as Jensen’s words struck hard and deep.
I’d been burned more than a few times, but...had some of that been of my own doing? Had I deliberately held myself up to the flame, just to see if I’d burn? For once, would it hurt to see what happened if I stepped back? Perhaps feel warmth instead of flames?
Before my courage deserted me, I pushed away thoughts of Christmas in a cabin in the wilds of Alaska and fired off emails to Gideon and Bryce, tentatively accepting their invitation to join them for New Year. I could always change my mind later.
‘Give me five minutes, I’ll grab your coffee,’ Elsa said.
I shook my head. ‘I don’t want coffee, thanks.’
Her eyes widened at the uncharacteristic refusal. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’ She didn’t need to know that I only wanted coffee from one person. I didn’t even care that Jensen hadn’t given a shit about achieving the optimal temperature for his coffee. He’d served it with a blinding smile, a mouth-watering, naked torso and eyes filled with the desire to please his mistress that touched my soul.
Elsa frowned. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything? Maybe tea?’ she said hesitantly, anxiety filming her eyes, as if she was afraid I’d say yes and confound her further.
‘No, thanks. Do you have any messages for me?’ I said, striving to keep my voice calm.
She looked down at the leather binder she always carried and back up at me. ‘Nothing that can’t wait—’
I held out my hand. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
She passed it over. I flipped it open, my heart racing as I perused the three neatly typed sheets containing my packed daily schedule. There was nothing about a meeting or call with Jensen Scott.
Bleak disappointment thudding through me, I handed back the binder, aware Elsa was staring at me.
‘Is there something specific I should be looking at?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Well...your first meeting is at nine. I’ll give you the usual ten-minute heads-up.’ She started to walk away.
‘Is Larry in? Do you know if he’s heard from Jensen Scott?’ I blurted before I could stop myself.
Elsa turned around, her eyes flaring with interest at the mention of Jensen’s name. I tightened my fist in my lap, attempting to breathe calmly so as not to give myself away.
‘Larry left for Jo’burg last Thursday. He’s taking his annual leave before he starts the next project. I emailed you about it last week.’
‘Can you liaise with his assistant and let me know the minute Mr Scott gets in touch?’ I said briskly, partly because I didn’t want Elsa to linger, and slip into one of her girly chats about Jensen.
It worked, my solemn mood filtering through to her. With a nod, she left my office. My hands shook as I laid them back on the desk.
Jensen had said he’d be in touch next week. It’d only been two days, for heaven’s sake. And yet it felt like a lifetime. I turned back to the window, irritated the rain was still falling, that it hadn’t turned into snow while my back was turned.
I was still standing there, fighting a losing battle with dejection, when Elsa returned with the promised ten-minute warning.
Get your head back in the game.
But my performance was perfunctory at best, only years of experience seeing me through the busy day. The magazine I was so passionate about, nurtured from an often disregarded five-page newsletter into an award-winning mechanism for charity, had lost its lustre. And I wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or shocked at my apathy.
In between meetings, I rabidly refreshed my inbox, hoping for an email from Jensen.
It didn’t arrive.
I held my breath each time Elsa entered my office with a message, each time a new email hit my inbox and I experienced a bolt of excitement, only to deflate when it wasn’t the one I yearned for. By Friday afternoon, I wanted to hate him for sticking to his word. For cutting me off so clinically.
But how could I when nothing had changed for me, except the searing sense of loss every time I thought about him? How selfish did it make me to long this desperately for a moment of joy on what should be a conclusion to a business transaction for the sole purpose of alleviating my loneliness?
An email pinged and my heart leapt. It wasn’t from Jensen, but Bryce’s name caused a different sort of excitement.
I know you’re thinking about joining us on the yacht for New Year’s, but do you fancy Christmas Day with us as well?
My fiancée insists you join us if you don’t have plans.
I would love to see you too.
Bryce
I read and re-read it, unable to stem the expanding hope in my chest.
In a moment of weakness a year ago while in New York, I’d had lunch with Savannah, and blurted out my desire to reconnect with Bryce. Her store opening had been the perfect opportunity to fly to Singapore to attempt to salvage things with Bryce. I’d come away with a suitcase full of exquisite lingerie and a growing hope that my relationship with my brother would be rekindled.
I fought back tears that sprung out of nowhere, daring to accept that things weren’t so hopeless with my brothers after all. I was dashing away tears when Elsa knocked and entered. She looked flustered, her eyes a little too bright. ‘Umm, sorry to disturb you, but Mr Scott’s just turned up. He says he has a meeting with you, but—’
I jumped up to my feet, despite the sudden nerves and the memories of our parting. ‘Where is he?’
‘I’m setting him up in the conference room, but you have an appointment in fifteen minutes.’
‘Cancel it,’ I blurted.
Her eyes widened as I rounded the desk and headed for the door. ‘Which of the conference rooms is he in?’ I asked, my heart slamming against my ribs.
‘Conference Room Three.’
I nodded, pleased. It was the most secluded one, the one with the best soundproofing. Which we wouldn’t need, of course, because this was purely a perfectly civil business meeting. A last meeting before we parted ways.
If you are so unaffected, then why is your heart racing? Why are you shaking?
I ignored the taunting voice, walked with measured strides to the door.
‘Umm... Miss Mortimer?’
‘Yes?’ I answered, impatience and anxiety ramping high. ‘Was there something else?’
Elsa nodded at my face. ‘You might want to fix your make-up.’
I grimaced and reversed direction, tossing my thanks over my shoulder as I headed to the private bathroom adjoining my office. When I saw my reflection, my jaw dropped in shock. I looked a mess. No wonder Elsa had been casting me concerned looks all day.