But Bill’s belief in the bond of marriage ran deeper than that. He might take this out on me forever, but he wouldn’t leave. It wasn’t him. It was part of the reason I’d agreed to marry him in the first place—he was constant and reliable.
I couldn’t blame my infidelity on a bad marriage. I was coming to realize that Bill was far from the perfect husband, but what had happened between David and me was unable to be contained. Before I’d met him, I wouldn’t have classified Bill’s and my relationship as anything but stable. But if Bill didn’t feel like home, didn’t that mean something? I wondered shamefully if being with Bill was still what I wanted.
And if maybe I’d written off the idea of finding a home in someone as unpredictable as David too soon. I’d tried to forget him, but it was impossible. Nobody made me feel the way he did. He’d awoken something, and I would never be the same for it.
Despite the way he’d crushed me on Saturday, I didn’t want him any less. If anything, our magnetic pull intensified with every minute that passed, regardless of whether we were together or apart. I still wanted him. And I wanted him all to myself. No Maria, no Dani.
But that was the effect he had on women. Could I trust that David felt differently about me? Maybe. But the bigger issue was that I couldn’t trust myself when it came to him.
I was an hour through revising an editorial that should have taken me thirty minutes to complete. I'd been stuck on the same sentence for five minutes when I stopped and took out my phone.
I swallowed hard as I stared at the screen. I had to make things right—no matter how painful that might be. Things between David and me had to end. Bill and I could not move forward this way.
Maybe in some other life, we were meant to be. Soulmates, even. I allowed myself a small smile for how he’d turned me into a believer.
I didn’t know how I would end it once and for all, but it had to be done. David’s e-mail told me that it wasn’t over. If there was any doubt between us, I had to put it to rest. David and Bill both deserved the truth.
With unsteady fingers, I crafted my text message.
Me:Meet me at your office in 20 minutes.
21
Iarrived at Pierson/Greer to find David’s whole floor empty. I peeked into his office but remained in the doorway to wait.
My heart leaped when the door across the way opened. Arnaud Mallory, David’s unnerving colleague with a tendency for leering, stuck out his head.
I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping he wouldn’t see me.
“Bonjour, Olivia,” he said.
I opened one eye. “Mr. Mallory.”
“Call me Arnaud. Expecting Dylan?”
I blinked around the room and nodded.
“Such a shame. I’d never leave a pretty girl like you waiting.” I shuddered slightly as his voice crept over me. “Come in. Have a drink.”
“Thank you, but I think I’ll just wait for—for Mr. Dylan here.”
“But no, I won’t have it. Come, come.”
David strode into the office to my relief—except that seeing him again aroused a host of other emotions. Aside from the inexorable need I had to run to him, shame washed over me with the memory of the coarse tree we’d fucked against and his even coarser dismissal.
“I got your text,” he said, stopping abruptly in front of me. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk.”
He gestured behind me. “In my office.” He turned to the empty desk between the two offices and asked Arnaud, “Where the hell is Clare? Find her. She’s not supposed to leave this desk.”
As he shut the door, I inhaled the dizzying, intoxicating scent of his office—spicy, natural but refined. Him, but stronger. I remembered our moments in the confined stairwell. At the edge of the roof in the dark as I’d pressed my cheek against his back. And the first time I’d been alone with him, at Lucy’s engagement party. I remembered, I remembered, I remembered. “I can’t do this,” I uttered to myself, vibrating with fear and nerves.
Just say it. We’re done. Bill knows, and we . . . are . . . done.
David stalked in my direction, relief written on his face. “Thank you for coming. We need to talk about Saturday night. There’s no excuse—Jesus Christ,” he said, coming closer. “You’re shaking. What’s wrong?”
“I can’t do this,” I said.
