Page 114 of Boss of the Year
Tears pricked at my eyes.Deep breaths, Marie.
“I don’t,” I managed. “I could never hate you, Lucas.”
It was one part of the truth, at least.
It was only then that he released me so that I could slip out of the bed.
“I’m just going to shower and change.” I grabbed some clothes from my bag and headed for the bathroom.
When I emerged twenty minutes later, clean and having scrubbed every trace of him from my skin, but not my mind and heart, the room was empty, a note left on the bed where Lucas had been before.
Gone to meet with the trainer and dress at the gym. I’ll get dinner out tonight after meetings, so please take the night to yourself. Robbie will be in touch.
—Lucas
I stared at the note for a long time.
No comment about what happened between us.
No acknowledgment of our intimacy or even a quick “Thanks for the orgasm, hope you liked yours too.”
Not even so much as anXor anO.
Anger. Lust. Shame. Confusion.
They were all there, along with a hundred other nameless emotions, overwhelming me more with each passing second.
I crumpled the paper in my hand, and just as I was about to toss it in the garbage, my phone rang. I picked it off the bedside table to see my sister’s image on the screen.
“Hey,” I answered shortly.
“Marie! Oh, thank God. Are you okay? I’m so sorry I missed your calls last night. Xavi and I were taking a mini-break with the kids, and we had no service, but we’re back in Mayfair now.”
“It’s okay.” I sat on the end of the bed. “We found a place for the night.”
“Good,” Frankie replied. “Do you still need a place to stay?”
I looked around me. There was no word yet from Robbie, and worst-case scenario, I’d be back in this room with Lucas.
It seemed like both the best idea in the world and also the worst.
Tears sprang to my eyes. Everything was so confusing.
“Yeah.” I fought my tears. “I think I do. In fact, can I come over right now?”
23
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“Hey! We’re in here!”
I stepped out of the elevator into the penthouse flat in the center of Mayfair, where my sister and her husband, the Duke of Kendal, kept a home when they weren’t at their family seat in the country.
The apartment, like every other part of Frankie and Xavier’s life, was stunning. Large and open with panoramic views of London, a chef’s kitchen that was bigger than my rooms at Prideview, plus a dining room and living area that could have fit twenty people easily.
And yet, it was clear that my bookworm sister lived here, not some high and mighty madame who’d never done a day’s work in her life. Instead of priceless art, one wall was filled with photographs of Frankie and Xavier’s family, while another had been dedicated to shelf after shelf of the paperbacks Frankie had been collecting since she was old enough to read. While the furniture probably cost more than my life savings, it was comfortable and clearly lived in. Children’s toys were scatteredover Persian rugs, my niece’s clumsy artwork was pinned all over one wall, and the kitchen still had things like a milk warmer and a drying rack full of baby bottles cluttering its pristine countertops.
