my—his—nightstand, a pair of my shoes placed neatly in the walk-in closet, which solves the weeklong mystery of where I’d put them. The oversized T-shirt I’d wear to bed, for at least the first few minutes, has been laundered since its last wear. Laundered, folded, and placed on top of the pouffe in the centre of his dressing room. Like a reminder, I leave it all there, along with my shoes, a spare toothbrush, my travel-sized moisturiser, and spare deodorant. I can’t bear to move them, and I suddenly realise I can’t bear to be here anymore.
I glance around for the sports bag, ignoring the almost coffin-sized bag sitting on the top of the bed covers. But there isn’t another bag anywhere. I unzip the thing flopping to the bed with a huff. This is it, confirmed by the sports shoes and a mask that resembles a teabag. If I don’t put my back out, I’ll be highly surprised, I decide as I pull on the handle and it hits the floor with a thunk.
It’s a short elevator ride down to the executive floor, not really long enough to prepare but long enough to recognise the fizz of excitement.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I mutter to myself. ‘You are not looking forward to meeting Remy Durrand, the man you thought you were in love with. The man you can’t be in love with. Because that fact would make you an idiot—just look at the size of the bag he’s got you towing around!
And now I can add talking to myself to the list of my lovesick maladies.
Madam Bisset barely raises her gaze from her screen as I stagger in.
‘Let me take that.’ Two sets of arms rush to take the bag from me, but not before I drop it to the floor once again. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t even consider how heavy it would be.’
‘It’s not heavy. It’s unwieldy. But I managed, as you can see.’
Remy moves it to the sofa before half sitting and half leaning against the long table, the other man taking a chair at the head of it.
‘Rose.’ I love how my name sounds on his lips; the rolling R, the husk in it. I strive to ignore it as he continues with his apologies. ‘How could I have thought to ask you to bring this,’ he asks himself, all self-deprecating good nature. The man is no good for you, I remind myself. Matterless, the words seem to bypass my brain, my response to the sight of him purely visceral. ‘Thank you for saving me the trip. Everett and I are fencing this evening.’
I try not to imagine Remy in those tight, white fencing pants, mainly because there’s a time and a place for those kinds of thoughts. Fencing has to be the ultimate posh-boy sport, or maybe that’s polo. I can also claim to have had one other boyfriend who fenced, though that was more the stolen goods kind. Needless to say, he wasn’t on the scene long.
‘Cool,’ I answer, starting as I mean to go on. Disinterested. I can’t keep allowing him to seduce me into conversations because the next step is being seduced out of my panties. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t enjoyed sparring with him. Enjoyed. Obsessed over. Left his office feeling confused. What I don’t need, however, is to do it with an audience, as I note his security guard in my periphery. Even if the man was an audience to something that almost happened on that desk.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says again. ‘I should’ve asked Everett to pick up my bag. You remember Everett, the head of my security team?’
‘Hey.’ The apathetic greeting is delivered over my shoulder on my way to the door.
‘Nice to see not quite so much of you.’ My steps falter, and though I think about turning around, I don’t. Rise above, Rose. Rise above. ‘I told you she can’t stand to be in the same room as me.’ The asshole chuckles.
This time, I turn, and I could kick myself because, by his expression, that’s exactly what he planned on.
‘Well, bless your heart.’
The man’s gaze flicks to the other man in the room. ‘That’s like being told to go forth and multiply, right?’ Quaint that he doesn’t want to curse in front of me. In anyone else, I’d probably say it’s good manners.
‘You don’t know me, and I don’t even know you.’ Subtext: I don’t want to know you. I get that he’s here to