Page 56 of Resisting Mr Black
I irritably flick through the channels, but nothing pierces my brain because my thoughts are too distracted by Art and his bloody lies. I was right. He is too good to be true.
The first thing I clap eyes on as I arrive for work for next morning is the grey Aston Martin, parked up outside the front of the hotel as if nothing could possibly be wrong. My hackles immediately rise.
He’s clearly alive and there isn’t a bloody mark on the thing, debunking Lucy’s explanations for his absence. I glare at the car as I stalk past into the hotel, convinced of the real reason its owner stood me up last night. The thought twisted round and round in my mind all last night and it makes perfect sense. The thrill of the chase is over. He’s spun me his lines, had what he wanted from me, and now he’s backing away because it was just a bit of fun while it lasted. The print was probably just an elaborate gesture to smooth the path for his exit. Does he really think I’ll hate him less because of it? I’ve been such a silly cow.
I berate myself under my breath as I walk over to the reception desk.
Lucy shoots me a nervous look. It must be clear from my expression that I’m in a bad mood. “He was here when I arrived at eight.”
He was keen enough to get to work this morning but couldn’t be bothered to text me back. He’d better watch out.
I arrive in my office, dump my handbag on the floor, and turn on the laptop. No sooner has my bum hit the seat than the office door swings open, and he strides in.
An evening’s worth of pent-up anger bubbles to the surface. I want to give him the silent treatment like he’s given me, but I need to say something before I explode.
“Get out.”
A thick, heavy tension descends on the room as he takes a seat in the chair opposite. I can feel the weight of his stare from across the desk but keep my eyes focused on my laptop screen.
“Sophie, about last night, please...”
And that does it.
“Why the fuck didn’t you text me?” I snap.
I throw him an icy stare and immediately wish I hadn’t. A smart white shirt encases his broad shoulders and the top couple of buttons sit open revealing a golden triangle of flesh and faint brush of dark hairs at the base of his throat. He looks as good as ever and it’s going to make this a whole lot harder.
The crease line on his forehead deepens as he drags his fingers through his hair looking remorseful. “I’m really sorry. Something came up.”
Is he for real?
“I didn’t hear from you all day yesterday and then you stood me up. Is that all you’ve got to say?” I bite back.
If this is the extent of his feeble excuses I’m not going to sit and listen. I stand up and head for the door.
“I’m very busy. I haven’t got time for this and frankly I don’t want to listen to your lies.”
“Sophie, please.” There’s an edge of panic to his voice as he moves with lightning speed to stand between me and the door. He brings his hands to rest on my shoulders and stares into my eyes. “I’m not lying to you. I was busy with business yesterday, and last night I just couldn’t get away.”
Couldn’t get away from what? With whom?
That’s not nearly enough information for my liking. From somewhere, a steely resolve kicks into place.
“Too busy to send a fucking text. Are you serious? I know what this is. You’ve had your fun, is that it? I’m just another woman you’ve managed to charm into bed. Now it’s time for you to move onto the next doting woman in the Art Black fan club. It was just sex. I get it,” I snap, hating the words flying out of my mouth.
His eyes turn deadly serious as the frown line on his brow becomes crevice-like. “Is that what you think you are? I’m not just… it’s not just about the sex. I’m really, really sorry about yesterday. I was busy with work last night and I just couldn’t get out of it.”
He’ll have to do better than that. Theo fed me enough lies to last a lifetime and I bought them all until the end when I realised what a cheating scumbag he was.
“What did? What came up that was so important you couldn’t even text me?”
“I can’t tell you yet, but I will.”
“Were you with another woman?” I shoot back.
“Absolutely not.” His thumbs stroke the tops of my shoulders through my blouse. “You said you trusted me, and now I’m asking you to trust me again. I’ll tell you, in time. I should have messaged you. I’m sorry. I’m still not used to… this.”
“To what?”