Love Triangle Six Books of Torn Desire - Willow Winters Page 0,485

feels the same as it has for years. The crisp air and old trees that tower over the park. The black iron and white stone that speak to the history of this place. The dark, narrow alleys and the nightlife tucked away in the shadows of this city are what make my blood heat and my foot tap anxiously on the floorboard of the car.

It’s always given me a rush to come here. There are a number of cities I’m fond of, cities that are playgrounds for the rich and where the best parties are had. Los Angeles, San Francisco, New York City of course. But London is one of the best. There’s something to be said about being away from your normal life and getting to unwind in a city you don’t have any obligations to stay in.

The cabbie clears his throat and his accent greets me as he tries to make small talk. I give him a nod and as many one-word answers as it takes to make it clear he doesn’t need to fill the time with needless conversation. I’m not interested.

I rub the sleep from my eyes, feeling more and more exhausted as we pass the park, the dark green landscape fading from sight and rows of homes taking the place of the public areas.

I’ve felt comfortable here for years. It’s a constant go-to for the PR company and I’ve been sent here to look after clients practically every year. But as the sky turns gray and the rain starts to spit on the roof, the welcoming feeling leaves me, and I’m left empty. Brought back to the present and brooding on how much the past has fucked me over.

The cab takes a left onto Hay Hill and I pass an old townhome where I used to crash. I’ve had so many close calls here. I was too much of a hothead, always looking for a thrill and pushing my luck further and further.

The cabbie comes to a stop before I’m ready. The memories play over and over in the back of my head of all the years I spent wasted. I can still feel the crunch of bone from the last fight I got into not three blocks from here.

“Here we are,” the cabbie says, turning in his seat, but before he can say anything else, I jam the cash into his hand and grab my bags on my own.

“Have a good day, sir,” I hear him call out as I shut the door, the patter of rain already soaking the collar on the back of my neck.

I have to walk with my head down to keep the rain from hitting me in the face. The door opens easily and I drag my luggage in, tossing it to the right side where the coatrack and desk are meant to greet clients. The historical condo is converted into an office space. It’s blocks from the nightlife and blends in with the community. A perfect location for client drop-off.

The high ceilings and intricate molding make the already expensive building feel that much wealthier. It’s all shades of white and cream, without an actual color in sight, save for the bright neon sticky note on top of a stack of papers sitting on the edge of the welcome desk.

Sterile, but rich.

“You were supposed to tell me when you landed.” I hear James’ voice before I see him, his heavy steps echoing in the expansive room.

“I did,” I tell him flatly, not bothering to take out my phone and check. I’m sure I did and he ignored it. That seems to have been his preference for the last two weeks. The air about him has changed; ever since that night, things have been tense between us. Like we’re in a silent war, each waiting for the other to show weakness.

I’m not interested in this shit. The only thing I give a damn about is my Kat. And keeping her safe from the crossfire.

“I didn’t get it,” he says, stopping in front of me in the foyer. He has to tilt his head slightly to look me in the eye since he’s a few inches shorter.

I shrug as if it doesn’t matter, not bothering to confirm or deny whether a text was sent. “Well I’m here now,” I answer him as I slide off my jacket, soaked with the rain from outside and hang it on the coatrack.

“You look like shit,” he tells me and an asymmetric grin tilts my