all achieved this week,” he continues. “You should be very proud of yourself for putting yourself out there and attending this conference. Success doesn’t just happen; it is a mind-set. And I urge you to put into practice what you have learned and stop and take the time to celebrate the small victories along the way.” He puts his hands in his suit pockets, and he walks across the stage. “You only get one life. So you need to grab it with both hands.”
His eyes scan everyone in the room as he addresses us, and I wait for them to come my way.
Look at me.
“Put your hands together for Tristan Miles,” the lecturer says. “He’s a very busy man, and for him to donate a week of his time is almost unheard of in the corporate world. Thank you, Mr. Miles.”
Everyone claps, and he does a demure bow. My heart begins to race into a panic. He’s going.
Look at me.
He holds his hands up and claps with the crowd and then turns toward the door and takes his suitcase. After one last wave, he leaves without looking back. I stare at the door he has just left through. Not even a goodbye?
I drop my head.
Fuck.
I know that I should have expected this from him. I knew he was a cold, soul-sucking jerk, and yet somehow I’d convinced myself that I was wrong about him.
Seems not.
“Let’s discuss the theory that was bought up this morning, shall we?” the lecturer calls.
I want to run out there and tell him off for being so insensitive.
But I won’t. My dignity will not allow it.
Like a slap in the face, I’m instantly reminded of who Tristan really is and why I’ve kept him at arm’s length. I knew this about him; I knew all along he was a cold womanizer, but for some reason my mind didn’t reconcile it with the man I’ve slept with.
It doesn’t make me feel any better about last night.
I turn my attention to the window and stare outside at the trees blowing in the wind.
I feel . . . like a number, decidedly cheap.
It’s ten o’clock before I head back to my room. I trudge up the corridor. My feet are sore, and I am looking forward to a long hot shower. We went for a drink after the day’s events, and that turned into dinner. They’re all still going, but I’m not really in the mood.
Welcome to the world of casual sex, Claire, where the only rule is there are no rules. I swipe my key and walk into my room and frown. A huge bunch of red roses sits on the table, a small white card carefully pinned on the red ribbon.
ANDERSON
My heart races as I read—it’s from him.
I nervously open the card.
WE HAVE UNFINISHED BUSINESS.
COME TO PARIS FOR THE WEEKEND.
xoxoxox
“What?” I whisper.
I plop down on the bed and stare at the card in my hand.
This is not what I was expecting at all. After mentally throwing daggers at him all day, this is a huge surprise. I read the card again as I consider his proposal.
I can’t go to fucking Paris. I have to get home to the kids.
I get a vision of spending three days in a city I’ve always dreamed of visiting . . . alone with him . . . it could be so fun.
Damn it . . . I want to go.
I just can’t. Stop it, Claire; it is what it is.
I exhale heavily and make myself a cup of tea.
My phone beeps with a text. It’s from Tristan.
Are you back in your room yet?
I smile softly and put the phone down on the coffee table. He’s expecting me to call him to say thank you. I go to the flowers and stare at them. I touch the petals—the flowers have huge heads and a strong perfume. French roses. I inhale the beautiful scent.
So unexpected.
Well played, Mr. Miles. Well played.
I decide to check on the kids, and I call my mother. “Hello, dear.” I can hear her smile down the phone.
“Hi, Mom. How are you surviving?”
“Oh, we’re having a great time. How are you?”
“Good.” I pace back and forth. I am filled with nervous energy. “Are the kids home?”
“No, they’re all at sports training. They’ve been angels.”
“Listen, Mom.” My eyes close. What the hell am I doing? “I’ve been offered an extension conference in Paris for the weekend.” I scrunch my hand up in my hair. “But I don’t think I’ll go,” I