Billion Dollar Stranger - Stephanie Brother Page 0,52
to say. What can I say? That I feel something for him big enough that I don’t want to put it aside? Or maybe that when he left, I cried myself to sleep because of how lost we both are? Or even that I want to see him again and to hell with his rule?
It all sounds like too much in my own mind, so it seems impossible that I could relay those things to Aaron. I think about sending him something. He started the whole grand gesture thing with the flowers to my hotel room, so maybe that would be what gets through to him. Somehow, that doesn’t seem right, either.
What the hell do you send to a man who can buy whatever he wants? Nothing my budget can stretch to. It’s getting late, so I call Maya back to ask what she thinks I should do. She suggests emailing him but doing it in a way that leaves the decision in his court. “Men,” she says, “like to feel like they’re in control, even if they aren’t!”
So I set up a new email address and I figure out Aaron’s email address by looking at Holden’s, my contact at AHP. Then I send him a message that I hope will tell him enough without coming on too strong.
I have three days until I fly out to Rhode Island. Three days to prepare what I’m going to say to him if he shows up. And I’ll have to wait and see if he will break his rule again and come to me.
They are the longest three days of my life!
23
AARON
I'm back in Atlanta, sitting at my desk where I usually feel most at home, but my mind is elsewhere. I've been running on autopilot for a week since I left Nicole's little apartment with her scent on my body and her hands on my heart.
Fuck. I can't function.
I'm dying here. Slowly losing my fucking mind.
And I'm angry, so goddamn furious with myself for getting caught up like this.
What the fuck is the point of having a rule if I can't stop myself from breaking it?
Sandrine has been looking at me with pity in her eyes, and it’s pissing me off as well. I know I'm a moody asshole, but I can't seem to stop myself from scowling and snapping. Work is building up, but I keep finding that I'm gazing out the window with my mind lost somewhere other than the view.
I want to know what Nicole is doing. I look at my watch to calculate the time difference, eating my lunch wondering what she's eating for dinner. When I wake unsettled in the middle of the night, I think about her going for drinks with another man who doesn't have ridiculous trust issues and baggage like me. Someone who can give her what she needs. The thought of someone else's hands on her makes me want to put my fist through something.
Fuck. I have to find a way of putting her out of my mind. I need to forget how she's made me feel and get back to the life I had before. I need to drown myself in meaningless sex that makes me feel nothing except an explosive orgasm. The trouble is that I can't seem to find the motivation to look for it.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my flask and take a shot of whiskey, finding the taste strange. I can't even drink my favorite liquor without it reminding me of Nicole.
I click open my email, thinking I'll review my inbox as a way of passing the time without having to concentrate too much. There are around fifty new messages that I know Sandrine will have filtered so that only the ones I have to see are left. I start at the top, reading, filing, and deleting as required. When I'm about halfway down, I notice an unusual name against one of the messages; Whiskey Rose. My heart speeds, thinking it might be a coincidence; that there really might be someone out there with a name comprised of two things that remind me most of Nicole. The subject line is empty, so I click on it hurriedly. I’m a fool for hoping it will be from her. I’m a fool for wanting it to be her with a fierceness that surprises me and is laced with a shiver of fear that is all too familiar.