Page 2 of She Devil
The self-important narcissist.
I think that’s why he was so incredulous—and unreasonably malicious—when I called a halt to our relationship. He couldn’t believe I’d had the nerve to dump someone asoutstandingas him.
But dump him I did. And I don’t regret that decision. Even now, ten years later. Especially when I see him flirting shamelessly with every single woman in the room, even the women I know he’s already talked into his bed—including some of my friends, I might add—but still treating me like the scum of the earth.
But I don’t care any more.
I really don’t.
Ironically, it happened to be that exact thought that was racing round my mind when the person sitting to my left—who I think was one of the organiser’s good friends—leaned over to me and whispered, ‘Did you hear about Jamie De Montfort’s father, Cliff?’
Just the mention of that name sent a shiver of unease through me.
‘No,’ I managed to reply, even though my mouth felt like someone had just filled it with rocks.
My dinner companion shook her head sadly, her eyes wide with compassionate dismay. ‘He had another heart attack and passed away a few days ago. Jamie was devastated, apparently, but he was determined to still come and host tonight.’ She nodded towards where Jamie stood proudly on stage, shaking the hand of the director of the children’s charity as everybody clapped. ‘That man is the definition of a true hero,’ she shouted above the sound of the applause, admiration shining in her eyes.
A thin smile was all I could manage as blood thumped in my temple and my stomach did sickening somersaults.
So Cliff was dead. And Jamie had still turned up for this gig. I couldn’t quite get my head around that. Jamie had idolised his father and, even though I had no kind feelings towards him any more, I understood how much he must be hurting right then. The news brought back a flood of painful memories from when my mother had died after a skiing incident, swiftly moving on to remind me of the dread and fear I’d felt when I heard that my own father had been in a near-fatal car accident only a month ago.
Yes, I knew exactly how he felt.
Frighteningly alone.
Especially because he was now the only De Montfort left. The last of his kind.
A wave of something like nostalgia crashed through me—undoubtedly in response to my own tormenting memories—and I had to excuse myself and stumble out of the room to drag some air back into my lungs. I meant to go towards the bathrooms, but there appeared to be a stream of other women doing the same thing ahead of me, so instead I diverted to a nearby office, which was mercifully empty. I didn’t bother switching on the light and strode straight over to the window, cracking it open so that the cool evening air rushed over my heated face.
My heart was pounding like I’d just run a mile at full pelt and my whole body hummed with agitation.
Cliff wasdead.
I wondered whether my father had heard and if so why he hadn’t told me.
I jumped as the door to the room opened behind me, flooding it with light from the corridor.
I blinked at the outline of the tall, broad-shouldered man who stood in the doorway, instinctively knowing who it was even before my eyes adjusted and I was able to make out the familiar features of his face.
‘Good evening, Jamie,’ I said with as much indifference as I could muster. I didn’t want him to see me in this weakened state, and I knew if I gave anything away he’d jump on it immediately. I hoped, once he realised it was me alone in there, he’d just turn and walk away.
But it was not to be.
‘April, fancy finding you here skulking in the dark.’
Irritation clawed up my spine at the disparagement I heard in his tone.
‘I’m just taking a moment out. It’s so hot in there,’ I said blandly, keeping any emotion out of my voice so he had nothing to comment on, hoping he’d soon get bored and go away.
But of course he didn’t. This was Jamie, after all. The man who never passed up an opportunity to torture me.
Instead, he closed the door behind him, throwing the room back into shadow, and walked over to where I stood stiffly by the window.
Right at that moment I was immensely grateful for both the darkness and the cold breeze.
‘Is there a reason you chose to do it in my dressing room?’ he asked, the streetlight from outside casting his face into light relief.
‘I thought it was an empty office. I didn’t realise it was your room,’ I countered, aware of my face flushing with embarrassment at my unluckyfaux pas.
