Betrayal (Infidelity Book 1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,81

It wouldn’t have brought Jocelyn back.

One more mile. Just one more.

The calves of my legs protested and my breathing labored, but the clock on the wall told me I had time. That’s what waking before the sun will do. It provided more hours of productive time—hours that others wasted in bed. I will have accomplished a ten-mile run, cleared the demons from my head—the ones that gathered in the night—and still be in the office before half of our employees.

Since Jo, the name I called Jocelyn, I didn’t waste time. I never slept late, never took my mind off the prize—with one exception. One week. My one true taste of what life could’ve been. I’d forgotten what happiness was, and now that I remembered, I wished I didn’t.

Although I still checked my private cell phone daily for any sign of communication, in what remained of my heart I knew it wouldn’t come. The first day and even the second after Del Mar, I’d hoped. Charli had shaken my world, made me forget who I was and what I believed. She’d also made me forget that hope was nothing but a vindictive bastard that took up residence inside and gave a false promise of something outside of your control.

In one short week, she’d made me forget that life was about control. Only I can control my own destiny. For a sliver of time I let myself have hope. With each passing day, I saw my error and worked to put that vindictive bastard back in the steel lined box it deserved.

In hindsight, I should never have allowed myself that luxury. I should have seen the signs. I knew them all too well. Shit, I carried them. They were banners written in a language that only those who share in it can read. There was a sadness and a drive in Charli’s beautiful golden eyes, that I recognized and understood. We never said more, never shared our demons. We played by our rules.

That didn’t mean I didn’t see her ghosts lurking and watching. I saw hers because I knew mine. Just like the companies and Demetri Enterprise investments, I knew the names of my ghosts. My prize for surviving, when Jo didn’t, would be that one day my ghosts would experience a punishment that only I could deliver. If Charli dreamt of the same fate for her ghosts, I understood how she was too focused to remember Del Mar.

Beep, beep, beep.

The treadmill’s speed slowed and the incline decreased. A five-minute cooldown and I’d get ready for the office. As my steps slowed, I tried to think about the screen on the wall—the television broadcasting the latest financial news from the European markets. I willed myself to concentrate on the financial crisis in Greece. Hell, I even thought about what I’d eat for breakfast.

None of it stuck. They were but fleeting thoughts as the scent of Charli’s auburn hair filled my senses—the sweet aroma as she slept, her back against my chest, my chin on her head, her soft curves wrapped in my arms, and her firm ass rubbing against me. Instead of running and pushing my legs for that last half-mile, when I closed my eyes, I was easing into her tight pussy, feeling her warmth as her body hugged me, contracting in warm waves.

Beep, beep, beep.

Fuck!

Not only would my shower be cold again this morning, but my legs wouldn’t be the only part of me getting a workout. Jacking off just got moved to the top of my morning schedule. I should have known. Since Del Mar it had become a permanent staple in my routine.

I’D TEXTED ISAAC, my driver, to be outside of the building at seven o’clock. Traffic was beginning to build and leaving early could save me as much as twenty minutes on the nearly eight-mile drive. It all depended upon the backup on the FDR.

I hadn’t looked at Isaac’s response until I was in the elevator. Every morning it was the same: YES, SIR, MR. DEMETRI, I WILL BE WAITING. That was why I was surprised when I read today’s.

Isaac: “MR. DEMETRI, MRS. WITT INSISTED ON ACCOMPANYING YOU TO THE OFFICE TODAY. SHE IS WAITING IN THE CAR.”

What the fuck?

Mrs. Witt wasn’t my housekeeper as Charli had surmised. Even Deloris laughed when I told her that. Deloris Witt was the head of my security. She wasn’t the muscle. Those were the people she hired. She was the brains. With a CIA background and computer skills that rivaled