Entry-Level Mistress - By Sabrina Darby Page 0,54
do this.
• • •
The guard at the front desk recognized me, didn’t ask for my ID or if I had an appointment. I stepped inside the elevator, lifted my hand to press the button, to highlight the thirty-second floor. On instinct, I lowered my hand slightly.
Pressed.
30.
The ride felt longer than usual. Every electric whir and shudder of the elevator felt potent, momentous. The cabin came to a stop. The doors opened.
I stepped into the dim light.
Here was where we had conducted so much of our affair. Here was where I’d betrayed my father and myself. Given Daniel all the fodder he needed to hurt us once again.
I flipped open my phone. Texted him.
Then I made my way to the conference room.
Its emptiness, its familiarity, hurt. My chest ached and when I stepped forward, rested my forehead against the cold window, I urged the sensation to numb everything.
I heard the distant ring of the elevator banks, the opening and closing of the heavy metal doors. The footsteps in the hall could only be his.
I straightened, turned.
Even prepared, the sight of him devastated me. Like the room he was familiar, be-suited and sharp. Handsome.
Yet different.
I watched his eyes sweep over me, saw the flicker of appreciation.
“I was going to call you.” Daniel never made excuses, but his words sounded perilously close to one and the weakness strengthened me.
“Just like I was going to call you,” I returned coldly. I was steel and Daniel was a stranger.
“Emily.” He stepped forward, reached for me but I stepped back. I puzzled over that look in his eyes, as if he were hurt that I was cold, as if he wanted everything to still be the same.
“I saw the pictures,” I said, prodding him. Hesitant to say more, to actually break the last remaining thread of closeness between us. Why couldn’t this all be a lie, a dream?
“A bit embarrassing.” He shrugged, held up his hands as if he couldn’t have helped it, as if he hadn’t planned the whole situation. Suddenly I couldn’t bear the tension of what was unsaid.
“You hadn’t had enough? Had your fill of hurting us?” The minutes the words left my mouth, I regretted the attack. I was making accusations for which I had no proof. Maybe there was an explanation …
Except, he looked ashamed, and that small, physical admission of guilt sent a wave of helpless fury through me. Yet still, he said, “Don’t be mad at me. The reporter called and I just—”
“Don’t be mad?” I interrupted in disbelief, “My dad lost his final chance at bringing back his life. And you expect me to not be mad?”
He looked bewildered and that made him more of a stranger. Daniel Hartmann was never confused. My fury stilled inside me, humming in my chest, as I held it back out of sudden doubt. Maybe Leanna was right and none of it had been planned. The surge of hope nearly dizzied me and then, equally, disgusted me. How weak was I?
Daniel hadn’t planned this the way he hadn’t planned to send my father to jail nine years ago.
Why would he look guilty if he hadn’t done anything? Anger surged through me again. It felt better than the pain. Than the weakness of loving him.
“What does your father have to—”
“The job for Trueworth? You planned this all just to keep my father down.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you? You didn’t use me to get to him?” The confusion seemed to be fading from his face and as it did, bitterness flooded me. Was confirmation of my suspicions worse?
“I didn’t even know about it.”
“You told me you didn’t lie,” I said, the words hard and quiet, controlled.
“Listen, Emily—”
But I wasn’t in the mood to listen, not to excuses.
“Why did you take me to the Hamptons?”
He opened his mouth to speak but I didn’t wait.
“You wanted to show me off, right? You wanted pictures of us, gossip. You wanted to hurt my father in every way you could.”
He closed his mouth, looked down, and I thought I could see guilt in that closed expression. He was stood just a yard away but it felt as if there were miles between us.
“It’s your fault just as much as mine, Emily. If you wanted to keep our relationship secret, you didn’t have to come with me. You’re too naïve, too young.”
Disgust flooded me. He’d said that all along, used it as an excuse to push me away. Naïve, young—he was right; I was both of