CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“I just want to die.” I sob into Janice's arms. Wrecking sobs. The kind that leave your throat dry and your chest sore.
The pain I'm feeling inside is almost unbearable, and I feel like it's my own fault that I'm going through it. If I hadn't jumped to conclusions about the contract. If I had just stayed in the restaurant and taken the time to talk to Lucian, then maybe things would have turned out differently.
“Hey now, it's going to be alright. This is a good thing.” Janice strokes my hair.
“How is this good?” I pull away from her, sniffling. “My heart is in a million pieces and I don't know if there's enough glue in the world to put it back together again. I can't believe I was so stupid.” I rub my eyes, smearing my makeup.
“Now probably isn't the best time to tell you that I told you so, but it will be coming later. You wait for it.” She points at me with a smirk, trying to be playful, though it's entirely inappropriate at the moment.
“God, Janice, I hate that I overreacted. I feel like I should call him.” I grab my purse off of the coffee table and dig through it for my phone.
Janice puts her hand on my arm to stop me, her brown eyes meeting mine. “Don't. You're emotional right now. Give it a day. You need to cool down and collect your thoughts.”
I know she's right, but I can't stand the thought of leaving things the way they are between Lucian and I. Even though I still don't want to be his submissive, I feel like this can be fixed somehow. I have to be able to fix it. I was so mean to him. The memory of me bringing up his dead wife makes me start crying all over again. What a horrible person I am.
“Hey. You stop that right now.” Janice slugs me lightly on my shoulder.
“Ow.” I rub it, scowling at her.
“I know what will make this better.”
“Lots and lots of chocolate cake.” I pout, hoping that my misery coupled with the not so subtle hint will coax her into baking a cake for us.
“No.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
“What then?” I wrinkle my nose, disappointed.
“You should go to Flesh and fuck around with another Dom. That would really tick him off.”
My mouth falls open from the suggestion. “Janice Elledge!” I lightly backhand her knee. “For one, I'm not a slut. And for two, I'm not vindictive like that. I want to make things better between us, not worse.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugs. “I'm just saying that my Dom is going to be free on Sunday night, and he's really good.”
“How do you know he's going to be free?” I quirk an eyebrow at her.
“Because I'm switching to a different Dom.”
“Why?” My eyes widen in shock. “I thought you liked your Sir.”
“I do like him, but I think I'm ready to kick things up a notch, and he doesn't do a lot of the stuff I want to try.” She tilts her head thoughtfully.
“Well, I'm still not interested. If things don't work out between Lucian and me, then I don't want anything to do with the lifestyle ever again.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“That's a pity. It can be really fun.” She grins.
“To each her own.”
“Indeed. Well, I need to get to bed. You should try to get some rest too.” She pats my shoulder and stands.
“Yeah. Easier said than done.” I look up at her, a bit sad that our talk is over. I know she needs sleep though, and so do I. It's going to be another long day tomorrow. A day that I'm sure will be mostly spent thinking about Lucian.
***
Despite our conversation from the night before, there are no new emails from Lucian in my inbox. Perhaps he has decided to abandon the project after all. With all the low blows I threw at him, I wouldn't be surprised. We left each other angry, and that's never a good thing.
Now that I'm at work, I'm back in the mode of thinking that I should have just gone along with whatever Lucian wanted until his interior design contract was over. That would have been using him though, and I know it's not right. I'd like to think that's not who I am, but I'm not so sure anymore. This is the first time in a very long time that I feel like I've lost my identity. Lucian has screwed me up so badly that I don't even recognize the face staring back at me when I look in the mirror anymore.
Perhaps the fight was a good thing. Maybe I should be happy about it. Not long ago, I wanted to get away from him, and now it seems that I have.
Hours of no actual work makes me dwell on last night's conversation for most of the work day. There's an intense feeling of guilt inside of me that won't go away. At the very least, I need to apologize for some of the things that I said to him.
Right before lunch, I break down and send him a text message. “Hey, I just wanted to apologize for last night. I feel so horrible about some of the things I said. I do care about you greatly, and I was just upset. Please forgive me.”
After sending it, I cringe at how mushy and desperate it sounded. Whether I'd like to admit it or not, my heart doesn't want to let him go. I'm in love with one of the worst men that I could possibly be in love with, and I feel like I can't do a damned thing about it.
“Trouble in paradise again?” Derrick asks as he brings his lunch to my desk to eat with me.
“When is there not?” I sigh.
“I don't think Reddick is going to finish the contract.” He unwraps his sandwich, sounding strangely solemn.
I know he's thinking about the loss of the bonus. I should probably be thinking about it too, but the only thing that matters right now is soothing my aching heart. Money takes a backseat to that.
“I don't think he is either,” I admit.
“Still not answering your emails?”
“Nope.” I pull my peanut butter and jelly sandwich from my lunch bag, then sadly smirk at the thought that I wouldn't be eating it had I signed Lucian's contract. Too many carbs, too much fat, too much sugar. For some reason, that makes the first bite all the more satisfying.
“Did you at least talk to him about the contract?” Derrick peers at me over his sandwich.
Just talking about this stuff makes me feel emotionally exhausted, but it's far better than discussing what happened between Lucian and I last night. “I did speak to him about it.”
“And?”
“He seemed disinterested.” Just like he seemed disinterested in me when the taxi came to pick me up. My appetite suddenly disappears, and I feel myself slipping back into a deep depression.
“Oh well. I suppose...I don't know what I suppose.” Derrick puts his sandwich down to open a small bag of chips.
“I don't know either. I don't know anything anymore.”
“Hey, are you alright?” He bends slightly to catch my gaze.
“No.” My eyes begin to water.
“That bad, huh?” He gives me a sympathetic look, and I simply nod in reply. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I just want this day to be over so that I can fix things.”
***
By the time I get off from work, Lucian has responded to my text message. It simply says, “Apology accepted.”
Somehow, that still feels so cold to me. Maybe I'm just over-analyzing things, but I can almost sense the dismissiveness in his words. Has he really forgiven me?
I rush home, throw my purse on the bar, grab my cell phone, and head to my room, dialing his number while I walk. To be honest, I don't really expect him to answer, but to my surprise, he does.
“What is it, Amy?” he sounds annoyed, which makes me cower.
“I just wanted to talk to you.” I carefully lower myself down onto my bed before kicking off my heels.
“So talk.”
“Do you have time? You're not busy, are you?” I bite my bottom lip, now feeling guilty for calling him, like I'm bothering him.
“I'm on my way home from work.”
A car horn honks in the background as if to acknowledge that he's telling the truth.
“Are you in the limo?”
“No. I drive myself to work most of the time.”
“It's not safe for you to drive and be on the phone at the same time,” I mumble.
“Hands-free.”
“Oh. Well...” I pause, filling the line with silence. Even though I'm the one who called him, I'm waiting for him to say something. He doesn't though, ever distant. “I really am sorry about last night. I think I overreacted a little.”
“A little,” he huffs.
“I said I'm sorry, okay.” I knit my eyebrows and draw my hand up to my face, feeling the frustration building.
“You're sorry and yet you called to yell at me some more. Nice,” he hisses.
“That's not it. I called because I miss the sound of your voice. I called because I miss you.” Emotions spill out of my mouth like water from a faucet. Everything I'm saying is so raw that it makes me want to cry. I'm baring my heart to him, being vulnerable, ready to take whatever punishment he wants to dish out.
“I miss you too,” his tone softens, and I feel the first twinge of hope that things might be alright.
“Come over. Please. Let me make this up to you. I'll cook and we can discuss things and...I just...I need to see you.”
For a few moments, the line is quiet. I wait with baited breath for his response, my heart pounding in my ears. If he rejects me, I'll know it's over—I know I'll spend the rest of the night crying.
“I'll be over in a few minutes,” he says finally.
“Oh, thank God,” I breathe into the phone, realizing how incredibly pathetic it sounds but not really caring. “What do you want me to make?”
“We can order in.”
“No, I want to cook for you.” Even though I suck at it.
“Don't argue with me while I'm driving. We'll order in,” annoyance returns to his voice with a hint of dominance.
Click.
I set my phone down on my lap and stare at it for several minutes. Lucian seemed reluctant about coming over...and really grumpy too. I hope that everything will be alright.
After taking a moment to recompose myself, I rush to the bathroom to fix my hair and makeup. If I had more time, I would change into something sexy for him—something that would seduce him back into my arms. As it is, I don't want to take the chance of making him wait when he knocks at the door.
I shrug off the gray suit jacket I'm wearing and frown at my blue capris and white button up blouse. Not very sexy at all. More business than casual. Oh well, he's never really cared about what I wore before. Everything is easy access in Lucian Reddick's hands.
Since he won't allow me to cook for him, I go to the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of wine instead, uncorking it and filling two glasses. I quickly take a sip from my glass and then walk into the living room, standing there invitingly with the two glasses for a moment before it dawns on me that I won't be able to open the door with my hands full. Good God, am I ever nervous.
On my way back to the kitchen, the doorbell rings. I break into a power walk to set the glasses down, then I run back to the door, pausing in front of it briefly to smooth out my outfit before I open it.
Lucian is standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. There's an iciness that seems to waft in, radiating from him. Even though he sounded relieved that I wanted to patch things up with him, there's no sign of that now. His eyes bore into me like daggers seeking to destroy my soul. They reach my heart and cause a twinge of pain the second that I realize...
He's not happy to see me.