Page 67 of Pleasure Payback

He paced back and forth in front of a marble fireplace, the phone glued to his ear, listening. After a minute he exhaled sharply. ‘You’re right. This is between me and him. It’s my story to tell and he’ll bloody well listen to me. Why? Because someone intelligent and compassionate has reminded me that this wasn’t my fault. Gideon and I areboththe injured parties here. He needs to hear that so tell him I’m on my way to see him now.’

My heart threatened to melt into a puddle. I held it in place with a hand to my chest as I listened, hope and warmth filling me up.

‘I won’t let him stand in the way of my rejoining the board, Flo. It wasn’t enough that I exiled myself at your recommendation. They wanted me to hunt and gather. I’ve toed the fucking line. And if they’re not bloody satisfied with that, I’m in the final stages of closing one last venture. No, it’s not Fantasy Suites. It’s FantasyRooms. I’m not even going to ask how you know about it. I signed on as consultant but I won’t be for much longer. It’s too good an investment to take a back seat on.’

My heart iced over and dropped stone cold to my feet.

He stopped for another minute, pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a weary laugh. ‘No, Aunt Flo, don’t tell me about your fantasies. And while we’re at it, I’d like you to stay out of this.’

He listened for another moment. Nodded. ‘Thank you.’

I watched as he tossed the phone into the nearest chair and paced to the window, raking both hands through his hair.

I knew I needed to move. Either towards him or far, far away. Fight or flight. But unlike two years ago, the fury building inside me felt different. It wasn’t sharp and evangelic.

It was gloomy and sad and wretched. And when my feet finally moved, I wasn’t surprised when they retreated backwards, away from a battleground I’d unwittingly approached with no armour or strategy.

In my room, I perched on the edge of the bed, holding the numbness inside with the utmost care. I hadn’t fully worked out what would happen if I didn’t. I just knew I didn’t want to let it spill here. It could wait till I got home.

Home. Westport, Connecticut.

Pack. I needed to pack.

I staggered upright, surprised my feet weren’t leaden weight. The sound of rotor blades starting up redirected my path from the dressing room to the window.

Damian was striding purposefully towards the helipad. With detached surprise, I watched him hop into the cockpit next to the pilot. A minute later, the helicopter took off.

I watched until it was a speck on the horizon, until my senses screamed at me that he’d truly gone.

Slowly, my fury sharpened, galvanising my sluggish senses awake. Part of me just wanted to leave. Put him behind me.

Like you did two years ago?

The mocking question sparked my fury anew.

No.

The other part of me didn’t want to retreat. Didn’t want another two years to pass by before I spelled out exactly what I thought of him. I wanted to look him in the eye and tell him I’d fallen in love with him and he’d broken my heart.

I was going to take back control I wasn’t even aware I’d handed over until it was too late.

A sob caught the back of my throat as my brain finally caught up with my heart. The clash was ugly. Mean and dispiriting. Enough to propel me from the breathtaking salon, outside and down the rolling lawn.

I walked until I came to the stream I’d spotted from the chopper, followed its winding path until I reached a natural boundary. Seeing a flat rock, I perched on it, willing my churning emotions to settle. But I knew it was a futile wish. Despite all the self-warnings, I’d fallen hard for Damian, lulled in by our kindred rejection and a wounded soul too damaged to sustain the weight of my love.

But even in the depths of my despair, I wanted to reach out as he’d reached out for me last night. I wanted to heal him.

I gave a hollow laugh, right there on that barren rock, and called myself every kind of fool as time passed in an excruciating trickle, steeping me in my heartache.

By the time the helicopter returned, I’d retreated into a deep state of irretrievable anguish. Which was a blessing in disguise, my brain insisted, as I trudged back to the house.

Margret was waiting when I stepped into the living room. ‘Monsieurasked me to give you this.’ She handed over a note, and, with a curious glance at my pallid face, disappeared.

Every instinct screamed at me to rip up the paper and toss it in the trash. But of course my foolish heart needed to know. I opened it. Read the five short lines.

Final fantasy

The study on the second floor

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