The Price of Inertia (The Seven Sins #4) - Lily Zante Page 0,42
never noticed it enough to stare at it so much before. Trimming his beard has made a world of difference to his entire appearance and I can’t help but stare at him. I notice he doesn’t look at me even once.
“Shall we go?” Ward says, having only taken a few sips of his drink.
He hasn’t glanced in my direction once.
WARD
I return to my study after the workout and having taken another shower. I run my hand across my face. If feels different now that I’ve trimmed. The hair is less dense. I should have shaved the damned thing off. Maybe next time. I’ll call a barber over to the house and get a haircut too.
The workout was just what I needed. Something to take my mind off things. Something happens to me when Mari is around. I can’t be myself. I can’t be me. I wish we could go back to how things were in the beginning.
She was friendly.
I was civil.
Now we have this awkward empty space between us. The more I try not to think of her, the more she’s in my head. Staying in my study the entire weekend helped, to an extent. Immersing myself in my writing worked. I got a lot done. At this rate, I’m certain I’ll get my first draft done much sooner than I envisaged.
I didn’t look at her today. I couldn’t. She was in the kitchen talking to Jamie but I couldn’t bring myself to stare in her direction.
She has an effect on that I can’t fathom. It’s something I could do without because I have enough people in my head to deal with and I don’t need real life drama.
Mari complicates my life without even knowing.
I open my notepad and reach for my pen. Then I look up, because it’s not there.
My fingers search the desk, lifting papers, moving notebooks and post-it pads out of the way.
My pen is missing.
My frenzied fingers search around the desk, but there is no sign of my pen.
Can’t be.
I had it this morning.
No, I overslept this morning.
I had it last night.
Or did I?
Of course I did. I was up until the early hours making more notes.
Where is the goddamn pen?
I hunt around under the desk, then look behind my chair, at the floor behind me, in case I’ve dropped it.
Fuck.
I need my pen.
I rush over to the couch and find the blanket folded up neatly. I unravel it, expecting the pen to richochet forth.
There’s nothing there.
I search along the couch, underneath it, and all around the coffee table and mantelpiece.
I even look at the coals in the fire.
No fucking pen.
I look around the room. It’s tidy. The plates and boxes and junk food rubbish has gone.
Mari tidied up.
I storm out of my study, holler. “Mari!”
She comes running. Her face is ashen.
“What is it?” She looks terrified. My voice can be loud when I need it to be.
“My pen. Have you seen it?”
“Your pen?”
“My. Fucking. Pen.” It enrages me when my things are misplaced. It’s a waste of my time, of my creativity. The effort expelled in looking for something which should never have been misplaced in the first place, is a fucking time and energy sink.
She looks terrified. “I saw it this morning.”
“Then where is it?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes widen. The whites more noticeable. I almost feel sorry for her. “How do you not know?”
Her eyebrows squeeze together. “Know what?”
“Where my pen is.”
“Because I don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
She lets out a sigh. A veil of confusion clouds her expression. “What do you think we’re talking about, Mari?”
“Your pen.”
“My pen. That’s right. My pen.” I open the door, motioning for her to come inside. “My pen which isn’t there.” I nod my chin in the direction of my desk. She stares at my desk blankly. “Now, what do you expect me to do about it?”
She saw it this morning, she just admitted to it. She was the last person to see my pen. It didn’t vanish into thin air. She has misplaced it, mistakenly, or otherwise. She stares up at me with her doe-like eyes, her mouth slightly open, looking worried.
“I saw it. I’m sure I saw—”
“It’s not there now. Maybe you moved it. Check your pockets.”
“I didn’t steal it.”
“I’m not saying you did. You might have accidentally...” My words trail away as she gets down on all fours and starts to look under the desk. The sight of her on her knees sends a signal straight to my cock.