Page 92 of Ten Day Affair
I let out a dry breath. “It was just a fling. I doubt I'll see her again before I leave.”
“Right.” Dorian doesn’t push. It's not because he's being respectful. He's already counting his payday.
I hear him typing something in the background. “Okay. I’ll prep internal briefings on the exit strategy. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Will do.”
I hang up and stare out the window. We’re two blocks from the house now.
Just a fling. I said it because it’s what Dorian expects to hear, and because saying anything else would make it real. But it was never just that. Not after she looked at me like I might be more than what I came here to do.
Javier slows as we pull into the circular gravel drive. The tires crunch softly beneath us. I reach for the door handle, then pause.
Her 4Runner is tucked under the raised stilts of her house, exactly where it stays when she's home.
I step out of the car and close the door behind me. Nothing about this feels like a win.
I toss my phone on the counter and shrug off my jacket, hanging it on the back of a club chair in the living room.
The house is quiet and still. It's too clean. Too empty. Maybe I will leave tomorrow, after all. Being here in this house isn't good for my psyche.
I move toward the bar and pour two fingers of scotch. No ice. No pretense.
The glass is cool in my hand, steady where everything else feels off-kilter. I take a sip, let the burn hit the back of my throat.
I don’t know what I thought would happen. This was always the end here. I knew that as soon as I found out who she was. And I still let this unfold, I let my dick do my thinking.
I close my eyes. I don’t have the right to want any of that.
But still, my mind runs the math anyway. Maybe she would be open to an apology. She saw me try to pump the brakes. I didn't do that for any theatrics, as Kip suggested. I truly thought that if we could buy more time, we could figure out a solution.
The glass hovers at my lips when my phone bounces on the counter. I assume it’s Dorian. It’s not. It's Sam.
Are you home? I’d like to talk.
I stare at the screen.
She’s the last person I ever expected to hear from again. After the way she looked at me in that boardroom, how she wouldn't turn around when I chased her out, like Iwas a stranger she regretted ever knowing, I assumed I was dead to her.
I set the glass down. My hand’s already moving before I think better of it.
I’m here.
I don't give away too much. I can't quite read what kind of talk she's looking for.
A few seconds pass.
I’ll walk over in a minute.
That’s it.
No fury, no ice. A completely neutral text with no context, which somehow makes it worse. I have no idea what to expect.
I set the phone down slowly and stare at the door.
She’s coming and wants to talk.
And I have no idea if she’s here to find some closure or rip my balls off.
