Текст книги "Lies Unspoken "

Автор книги: Lisa DeJong

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“What are we doing?” he asks in a low voice.

I slip my hand lower, wrapping my fingers around his swollen cock. His breath hitches, his fingers digging deeper into my skin.

Standing on my tiptoes, I bring my lips to his ear. “This is me saying goodbye, Blake. I’d say fuck you, but she already did.”

My hands fall away from him as I step out of his grasp. I never had the strength to do this with Derek—put a painful, sharp period at the end of our relationship. I gather the silky dress from the floor and stalk off to my bedroom without another word.

I don’t look back. I can’t let him see me fall apart.

He doesn’t come after me or call my name. All I have left to do is lie in the bed I made for myself . . . the one he tore the covers off for me.

“LILA!” REECE PRACTICALLY SQUEALS, coming around the corner of my cubicle. “Why didn’t you answer when I called you yesterday? I’ve been dying to hear about the benefit.”

I bury my face in my hands, trying to hide the disappointment I know shows as clear as day. Friday night with Blake was possibly one of the best nights of my life—most memorable anyway. Saturday night—the part after the benefit—was a perfect view straight into hell. It’s a bad memory, permanently burned in full color into my mind.

“I’m sorry. I spent the day in bed,” I answer, finding the courage to uncover my eyes, exposing my dark circles from lack of sleep. I spent the morning telling people that I wasn’t feeling well. If I keep at it, it’ll probably become true. Karma is a spiteful little bitch.

“With Pierce?” She sounds so enthusiastic about it, I almost want to lie, go with her fairy tale. Tell her he carried me up the stairs to sooth my aching feet, then slowly undressed me and made sweet love to me until the sun came up.

Shaking myself from my thoughts, I say, “No, Pierce drove me home Saturday night. The closest we were was a dance . . . I promise.”

“You’re kidding me. He didn’t invite you to his place? I bet he has a huge penthouse, with an amazing view and a king size bed.”

“I didn’t exactly give him a chance.”

Her brows wrinkle as she takes me in. I’m a mess; I don’t need a mirror, or her, to tell me that. “Have you had lunch yet?”

Looking down at the clock on my computer screen, I notice it’s almost one. “If you’re inviting me, I guess I can peel myself away from this desk for a few minutes.”

“You can, and you will. You’re losing weight, I swear.”

I roll my eyes. Life has been so busy since I’ve moved here that it’s become normal to skip meals, especially on days like today when I don’t feel much like eating. “I’ll choke down a banana.”

“You’ll do more than that. A sandwich and a banana. Let’s up that and make it a fried chicken sandwich.”

I log off my computer and grab my purse from under my desk. This is going to suck. It’s why depressed people close themselves off; they’d rather not talk about any of it. She’s going to push—ask me what I wore, what he wore. She’s going to want to know what it was like when he dropped me off . . . did he try to kiss me. And if she even thinks about asking about Blake, I’m a goner.

We make our way to the cafeteria, discussing our current work projects instead of men. Our passion for doing our best no matter what is the one thing we have in common.

We keep conversation to a minimum while we pick up our lunch, but all bets are off when we’re seated at our usual table in the corner.

“So, you haven’t mentioned Blake. How is he?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“He’s Blake.”

She sighs. “Start talking.”

Quadruple shit. “He’s a jerk.”

“You’re going to have to give me more than that,” she says, slipping a grape between her lips.

I inhale a deep breath, looking around to make sure no one is listening. “Okay, so I thought I could do this whole . . . I don’t know what you call it . . . no-strings-attached relationship. I forgot that I’m a woman, and we can’t control our feelings.”

She nibbles on the edge of her sandwich, watching me intently.

“And he does things . . . says things. I just can’t keep sleeping with him without getting more out of it. I mean, I spent Friday with him, and it was amazing. Like beyond anything I’ve ever imagined, but when I told him about Pierce and the benefit, he couldn’t commit. So here I am.” I throw my hands up in defeat. That’s what I am I’ve decided—hopelessly unlovable. Derek didn’t even want to marry me after spending seven years together.

Her eyes look like the grapefruits I passed in the lunch line. “He didn’t care that you were going with Pierce?”

I think back to the other night . . . the look in his eyes, his words. “I wouldn’t say that. But I did find out they know each other.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep, and they hate each other.” The scene in the hall replays in my mind. Definitely no love lost between them.

“Well, that is interesting. Do you know why?”

“Not really. Except they worked together once.”

My mind wanders to that and the parts of this weekend I left out—the parts that make me not want to care about Blake or how Pierce knows him. Men keep fucking up my life little by little.

“Lila.” I lift my gaze to Pierce who stands next to our table with his hands stuffed in his slate blue suit pockets.

“Hi,” I answer, feeling every bit a high school girl when a hot guy sidles up during lunch. I even tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. Nice, Lila.

“I hate to interrupt, but when you’re done with your lunch, can you join me in my office for a few minutes?”

Reece’s legs bounce against mine under the table. If I say no, she’ll haul me out to the parking lot and beat me until all my sense returns. “I’ll be up in a few. We were just finishing up here.”

He smiles, one side of his mouth lifting higher than the other. “I’ll be waiting. Enjoy your lunch, ladies.”

We both watch him walk away. In fact, the whole cafeteria watches him in hushed silence. Pierce Stanley doesn’t hang out in the cafeteria. Ever.

“You’re one lucky bitch,” Reece finally says when he disappears through the door.

“He just wants to talk.”

“Call it what you want. I’d do anything to get that man alone in his office.”

“Reece?”

“Yeah?”

“You need your pipes snaked.”

She scrunches her nose. “What?”

“Sex. You need sex.”

She blushes. “Some of us don’t have men falling at our feet like you.”

I laugh. “They don’t fall at my feet. They sit next to me on airplanes and invade my apartment.”

“Whatever.”

We spend the next ten minutes talking about Tuesday girls’ night. It sounds like I’m doomed for a sad love story on the big screen. It’s probably a good thing after what happened last week at the bar. I need controlled, safe, and drama free.

When we’re done, we climb in the elevator together. I can tell by the way Reece fiddles with her purse strap that she’s dying to ask me more. It’s probably better if she doesn’t; it wouldn’t be appropriate with the other occupants.

They’re still on when it comes to a stop on her floor. “I’ll call you this afternoon,” I say, reassuring her that she won’t be left in the dark. My life’s become just another romance novel to her.

“I’ll be waiting,” she replies, waving as she exits. I wait until she’s out of the elevator then rest my head back against the wall. I need to catch a break—from men . . . from life in general.

Before my mind carries me too far, the elevators dings at the twelfth floor—Pierce’s floor. I straighten up, smoothing out my skirt as I step off. The receptionist sees me right away, nodding down the hall toward Pierce’s office. I guess he really is expecting me.

I concentrate on the click of my heels on the marble floors. From the front desk to his office is exactly forty-three steps. Enough time to let all the possibilities of what he could want run at feverish speed through my mind. I felt comfortable around him the other night, but we’re back in the office. Expectations are different. Personalities shift. I’m not sure who I’ll get when I open the door.

I knock twice.

His mellifluous voice rings through the thick wooden door. “Come in.”

My trembling fingers grip the knob tightly, but I wait a couple seconds to turn it. Getting in is easy. Dealing with what awaits me inside isn’t so much.

He isn’t sitting behind his desk like he usually is. He’s every bit a masculine statue standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to me. “How was lunch?” he asks.

“Good,” I answer, not quite sure where to go since he’s not even looking at me.

“How was the rest of your weekend?”

“Uneventful,” I lie, weaving my fingers together, slowly bending my hands back and forth.

When he finally looks at me, the expression on his face hints of disappointment. The kind that makes me wish I hadn’t come up here at all. “You’re a woman of many words.”

“Sorry. I’m a little out of it today.”

In three strides he’s behind his desk, wrapping his long fingers around a tumbler half full of amber-colored liquor. He lifts one finger, signaling for me to take a seat. I do as he asks, watching him drain the last of his glass.

This Pierce is different than the relaxed one I enjoyed the company of the other night. This one intimidates me.

He sits back in his oversized leather chair, staring at me intently. “You don’t look so good, no offense.”

“Rough weekend.”

“I take it things didn’t go well after I dropped you off?”

“You could say that.” He’s crossing the line of professionalism again. The one I wish we’d never stepped over in the first place.

“Did you ask about her?” I wonder why he can’t just say her name, but I’m not as free with my line of questioning as he is.

“Not that it’s really any of your business, but we got in a fight before I had the chance.”

He sizes me, running his forefinger along the top of his empty glass. “That doesn’t surprise me. He tends to fuck things up.”

“Why don’t you just tell me?”

His skin pales. Pierce Stanley likely has very few sore spots, but I’ve hit one. “It would be better coming from him.”

Still, I push. “Will you at least tell me why you hate him so much?”

“Let’s just say we had a similar interest at one point,” he replies, narrowing his eyes.

I dig deeper. “Work related?”

He shakes his head. I’m young and naïve, but I’m not stupid. This all has to do with a woman . . . one likely named Alyssa. Whatever it is, I don’t want to get caught in the middle of it.

“That’s not why I called you up here anyway,” he says, changing the subject.

“Is there another benefit you’d like me to accompany you to on short notice?” I tease.

He smiles. “No, but I’ll make sure you get the invite first next time. By the way, I have some good news. Do you remember Wade who I introduced you to the other night?”

I nod, listening more intently.

“He wants me to bid a project in New York, and he requested a fresh eye—your eye, to be exact.”

I stare at him, dazed. There’s no way he asked for me. I’m as green as they come. “I don’t understand.”

Pierce leans forward, forearms resting on his desk. “He wants us to fly to New York on Wednesday. We’d arrive early, see the site and then fly home Thursday.”

“Do you really think I’m ready for this? I—”

“You’re ready, Ms. Fields,” he interrupts. “Your mentor showed me some of the stuff you’ve been working on. I like what I see.”

Successful businessmen. New York. First big project. It all spins like a wheel in my head. This is what I’ve always wanted—what I went to school for—but having it within my grasp scares the shit out of me. Failure is a feeling we get from not accomplishing something, but when it’s our dreams that go unrealized, it’s something far worse that burns us inside.

“It’s settled then. I’ll pick you up at seven Wednesday morning.”

He’s so sure of himself, leaving no room for argument. “Okay,” I say quietly.

“Good.” He relaxes back in his chair. “I want you to put together a mood board for a new boutique hotel. He likes modern and planet-friendly. Remember that.”

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I ALWAYS MAKE THE WORST decisions when I feel as if my life is unraveling. When I feel as if I have no control, I grasp for any thread of power I can get my fingers on. Most of the time, I end up regretting rash decisions. It’s impossible to anticipate the consequences when my mind is surrounded by dense fog.

What I’m about to do might end up being one of those decisions I’ll regret when I wake up in the morning.

I open the door to Charlie’s, hurriedly stepping inside to escape the cold December weather.

The bar isn’t anything like it is on the weekend—maybe it’s because it’s Monday or maybe it’s the snow. Charlie stops what he’s doing as soon as he notices me. I never come here when I’m not working; I don’t even want to be here when I’m getting paid.

“Did you get fired from your boring day job? Coming to beg me to give you more hours?” he teases. I had to tell him about my job at Stanley to get the night of the benefit off. He’s been waiting for me to quit ever since.

“What are you talking about, Charlie? They’d never get rid of me.” I slide onto one of the empty barstools away from the other patrons.

“Bad day at work?”

“More like bad week in life.”

He leans on the bar in front of me, watching me curiously. Charlie’s not a bad guy . . . just a little rough around the edges. “Can I get you something to drink? Alcohol solves all problems.”

I should say no, tell him what I came here to say, and leave, but alcohol sounds pretty damn good right now. “Vodka water with lime, please.”

“You got it.”

He leaves me alone to make my drink, giving me more time to process everything that’s happened recently. It’s probably not a good idea—giving me time to reflect. It leaves me feeling rejection, confusion, and sadness. Why do I keep doing this to myself? I shouldn’t let myself get hung up on men who are complicated, who I know are just going to leave me in worse condition than when they found me.

I need safe, reliable, and romantic, which just sounds boring as hell.

“Here you go,” Charlie says, placing my drink on a napkin.

“Thanks.”

“You look like you might need a couple.”

“That’s actually what I need to talk to you about. Do you have a few minutes?” I ask, feeling a little nervous. I’m not a quitter so this has been wearing on me.

He glances around the bar and smiles. “It’s pretty busy, but I can make time for you.”

His good mood leaves me feeling even guiltier. Charlie the asshole would have been so much easier to quit on. “My boss informed me that I need to go to New York later this week, which means I’m not going to be able to work on Thursday.”

He nods, but I think he senses there’s more because he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s becoming obvious that I’m not going to be able to keep two jobs . . . not with the demands of my new job.”

He nods again.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me . . . giving me this job when I first got to town. I can work the next two weekends on Friday and Saturday to give you time to find a replacement.” I keep rambling. It’s safe to say I suck at this.

“Are you done?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“Look, Lila, I knew when I gave you this job that you wouldn’t stick around forever. You’re a bright woman who has dreams and all that other shit you all move here for. I get it,” he says, staring at me with softness in his eyes that I’ve never experienced from him.

I release the air I’d been holding in my lungs. “Whew. I thought you were going to yell at me.”

He laughs, tossing a bar towel over his shoulder. “Nah, I learned to control myself when I was locked up.”

My eyes widen unintentionally.

“Relax. It was almost fifteen years ago. I’m a changed man.” He winks, and then continues, “If you can work this Friday and Saturday, I can cover the rest. There was a young lady who stopped by earlier to fill out an application . . . another dream catcher. And I always have Dana.”

I thought about Dana a lot this afternoon when I was tossing this idea around in my head. It’s as if I’m abandoning her, but I know if I asked her, she’d tell me this is the right thing to do.

“Thanks, Charlie.”

“No problem. Just don’t forget me when you’re rich and famous.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s probably not going to happen, but I promise not to forget you anyway.”

He starts walking to the other end of the bar where a customer is waving his empty glass in the air. “See you Friday.”

I polish off the rest of my drink and head out before I can talk myself into having another.

After pulling my jacket tightly around me, I start the short trek toward home. It’s just before seven, but darkness has fallen, the sky only painted by the light dusting of snow falling in front of the streetlights.

This is usually my favorite time of year—all the Christmas decorations—especially the bright lights. Dad went outside the day after Thanksgiving—a few days before I left for Chicago—to put lights around the house. I kind of miss staring at them while driving up to the house at night . . . I miss home.

The only thing holding me back from my peaceful place is the uncertainty with Blake. Will he be home when I get there? If so, what kind of mood will he be in? We just left things—me pissed off, him with his head spinning.

On my way up to the apartment, I make a list of all the things I need to pack for New York to take my mind off what might await me. It’s useless because after each skirt, shoe, etc., Blake peeks through. That’s how it’s been all day.

When I reach the door to the apartment, light filters underneath, preparing me for what I might find on the other side. I brace myself against the wall, letting my mind get used to the idea. It doesn’t take long to realize that thinking about it is just making matters worse.

I take a deep breath and turn the knob, relieved to see that Blake’s not here . . . not where I can see him anyway. After stepping out of my boots and throwing my coat over a dining chair, I disappear into my bedroom to put on some comfy clothes. Nights like this call for sweats and thick wool socks.

When I emerge to find something to eat, I’m in my comfort zone. It doesn’t take long to get knocked right back out of that by Blake who stands with his back to me, looking into the open fridge.

Hoping he didn’t hear me, I slowly walk backward through the doorway to my bedroom. It’s too late, though. The memories have surfaced. The thoughts I’ve tried so hard to bury come up for another breath. And then he glances over his shoulder, looking straight into my eyes.

“I know you’re there,” he says, catching me off guard. I kind of expected him to ignore me even if he did hear me. It would be easier on both of us.

“And . . .”

He shuts the fridge, rubbing the back of his neck. “The fridge is empty.”

I’ve only been to the store once since I moved here, and I feel kind of guilty. Then I remember everything that’s transpired between us over the last few days, and I’m not sorry. “Go out and get something to eat then. Don’t hurry back.”

I start to walk away, but his voice stops me. “Is that how it’s going to be now?”

Now I’m pissed—white walls turned red. “You did this, Blake! If you don’t like it, that’s too damn bad!”

He looks down at the floor then back at me. “You’re the one who left with him.”

Blake, who comes off as the most confident person I’ve ever met, looks lost. Torn. Mentally obliterated. I can’t deny that I still feel things for him. After everything we’ve done, it would be hard not to.

I walk to where he stands. He needs to hear me. He needs to feel every ounce of pain he’s caused me. He stands in front of me, the vision of every man I should run from. “I came back for you. I was with Pierce, comparing everything he did to everything you did to me. I picked you.”

His expression crumbles, but it’s not enough. “If your goal was to hurt me . . . if you wanted to see how easy it was to break me, mission accomplished, Blake. You can move on to your next plaything now.”

I wonder if my words are cutting deep enough. In a way, I want to hurt him more than I wanted to hurt Derek. At least he was honest. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He brushes past me without another word, without waiting to hear my reaction. My eyes stay on him as he grabs his jacket from the chair and walks out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

I almost wish I’d just left it alone, because in the end I think I hurt myself more than I did him. I watched him fall apart, but I’m the one who shattered.

Needing some added comfort, I order a veggie pizza from the place near Charlie’s, and pour myself a big glass of wine. I try to chase Blake out of my mind, and when nothing else seems to work, I pick up a book. I can’t concentrate on the pages. It’s just a bunch of words I’m not really taking in. I keep drifting for there really is no distraction that can peel me away from him.

Nights like this should be relaxing. I should use the time to find myself, to figure out what I really want. But there’s no guarantee I’d get it, so what’s the point.

A light knock sounds at the door. Pizza—that will make everything better.

I open it and immediately regret not using the peephole.

Pierce smiles at me, and for once, I can’t match it. Smiles have been as rare as warm days in winter since the night of the benefit.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, straightening my messy bun. Not a conventional hello, but not much about my life is conventional anymore.

“I still owe you dinner, and I was in the neighborhood.” This is the first time I’ve seen Pierce in jeans. He wears them just as well as a suit. His thick gray sweater highlights his eyes.

“You should’ve called first.”

He shrugs, hands buried in his jean pockets. “You would have said no. This was a better bet.”

I chew my lower lip. He’s right. He’s always right, and I hate it. “I ordered a pizza a little while ago.” I pause, weighing my options. “You’re welcome to stay. It’s not like I can eat the whole thing myself.”

He peers over my shoulder into the vacant apartment. I know what he’s thinking. The same thought flashed through my mind when I saw him standing on the other side of the door.

The thought of Blake coming home and seeing us petrifies me, but I don’t think he will. He hasn’t been gone long enough yet; it wouldn’t fit his pattern.

“He’s not here.”

“I guess you twisted my arm, not that you had to try too hard,” he says. I step back, allowing him to enter. He’s wearing his usual cologne. It’s seduction in a bottle.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” I ask, pulling a glass from the cupboard.

“Red if you have it.”

He watches me from the other end of the counter. I feel self-conscious—completely underdressed. At least I’m still wearing make-up.

I hand him his glass. “What are you really doing here, Pierce?”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Pierce, I don’t—”

“No,” he says, coming around the counter. “Don’t. I like spending time with you. I’m not asking for anything else.”

I close my eyes tightly and bring my wine glass to my lips. Maybe this is what I need . . . someone to take my mind off everything. “Well, I hope you like veggie pizza.”

His smile is back. “It’s not so much about what you eat . . . it’s the company you keep while doing it.”

Before I can reply, there’s another knock at the door. This better be the pizza this time, I think to myself. When I open the door to a deliveryman holding a brown box, I feel just a slight sense of relief. I hand the guy some cash, and bring it to the kitchen, quickly making us each a plate.

“Can you tell me a little bit more about the New York project?” I ask when we’re seated at the table.

“I didn’t come to talk about work.”

“Humor me for a few minutes, and then we can talk about whatever you want,” I say, popping a portabella mushroom into my mouth. They’re the reason I love this pizza.

“Wade wants something unique, something that will draw in the young and rich.” He sips his wine, never taking his eyes off me. “I can’t stand the guy, but I can’t walk away from this project either.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to be on a stage that size yet,” I say, honestly. It’s been eating me up; I hate failure or even the threat of it.

He leans in, gently brushing his thumb across my cheek. His touch is soft—comforting. I can’t turn away. “The only thing that’s going to hold you back is self-doubt. Don’t let it.”

“It sounds so easy when you say it.”

“That’s because it is.” He drops his hand, and I have to admit I want it back.

We talk a little bit more about the project while we finish our pizza and the whole bottle of wine. Any reservations I had when I first opened the door are gone. This is natural, easy.

“Were you planning on sitting here alone all night?” he asks when the plates have been cleared.

“It’s what I do: eat, drink, and read.”

“You deserve more,” he says, softly.

“It’s not that easy.”

“What’s the real reason you moved to Chicago?” he asks. I could speak lies and half-truths, but he’ll see right through them.

I hesitate, nervously folding the corners of my napkin. “To run away from the past.”

“What was his name?”

“Why are you so perceptive?” I inquire.

“This isn’t about me.”

This is forbidden territory. A tall wall I’d never dare climb. But wine makes me more apt to accept a dare. “His name is Derek. We dated for seven years, were engaged for one. One day he decided he could live without me.”

Pierce studies my features, taking in every word. “He’s going to regret it. Maybe not now but someday.”

I nod. Months ago, I wished he’d come crawling back to me with a heartfelt apology, but I don’t even care anymore. I’ve moved on . . . I just don’t know if it’s a better place yet.

“How do you feel about him now?” Pierce asks, resting his elbows on the table.

“I’m over it. I think it started to unravel long before he ended it anyway.”

He shows his two sexy dimples. They’ve probably gotten him out of a lot of trouble over the years. I could see them getting a girl like me into trouble. “At least I stand a chance.”

“Pierce?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes I wish you would’ve called me sooner, or that I had called you right away.”

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“Because I would’ve fallen for you first.”

He shuts his eyes, but they quickly find me again. Brow furrowed. Jaw set. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

There’s nothing to say to that. Pierce should be my choice whether he touched me first or not. He’s gorgeous and smart. He could make me happy if I let him, but he’s the right guy at the wrong time.

Maybe it’s not too late.

“It’s getting late,” I say, standing to clear the dishes from the table.

He follows, grabbing the empty glasses and bottle. “Let me help you with these, and then I’ll get out of your way. You filled your dinner obligation, so you’re off the hook for now.”

I look back over my shoulder.

He winks.

Being with him like this would be so easy.

After everything is put away, I walk him to the door. Honestly, I don’t really want him to go.

“I’m looking forward to New York,” he admits.

“Me too.”

He surprises me, gripping my chin between his fingers. I stare up into his eyes, watching them come closer until his warm lips brush my cheek. I close my eyes, relishing in his sweetness until he lets go. “Goodnight, Lila.”

“Goodnight, Pierce.”

And as I watch him walk down the hallway, I wonder what could be . . . if maybe my heart has been wrapped around the wrong man.

No one ever said love was easy. If it were, it wouldn’t be worth it.