“Things are complicated,” I say truthfully, heart plummeting, landing somewhere in my pits of my stomach, at my own admission. Every time I think about it, I can’t stop from seeing the look on Blake’s face, the image of his back, muscles bunched tight, as he walked away from Thomas and me.
I don’t know what the hell had gone on in the conference room with my boss’s nephew, but I do know I never meant to hurt Blake.
God, what on earth is happening? I don’t do feelings, open emotions or vulnerability, and I’ve spent the majority of my life this way, never running into an issue before, so why is Blake’s disappearing act bothering me so bloody much?
As if she’s able to read my mine, Giselle pats my knee with a soft smile. “I get it, C. I’m here if you ever need to talk. Okay? Just us girls.”
Nodding, I return her smile. “Thank you.”
Giselle floats off to speak to another client, leaving me to slip my trainers onto my feet and heft my gym bag, containing my worn heels and a spare jumper in case it gets chilly, onto my shoulder. With a wave, I duck through the door, jogging past the main area of the busy gym, down the concrete stairs and to the street beyond.
Even though it’s almost eight in the evening, London is still delightfully warm, humidity whipping up a frenzy all around. I bask in the bright sunlight, allowing it to give me a spring in my tired step as I hail a taxi.
But it’s not my address I give the cockney sounding driver.
Settling back, laying my head on the rest behind, I allow the air conditioning to blow over my sticky skin. I close my eyes against the golden light bouncing from the dusty windows, cascading a technicolour rainbow of colour over my lap and hope I’m not going to get fucking fired for what I’m about to do.
Strictly speaking, the information clients give us at McAvoy and Fraser are confidential – it’s written in bold in the contract – but I’ve never been much of a stickler for the rules.
Plus, this feels important. At least, to me it does.
Now I just have to hope nobody saw me jotting down the last address Blake gave, into the notes app in my phone.
I open my eyes just in time to see us fly over London Bridge, the pavements on either side filled with tourists and their flashing cameras. Streets whizz by, shops too, the outdoor dining areas of cafes and pubs packed to the brim with patrons enjoying the sunshine.
“Here we are, darlin’,” the cab driver utters, pulling up to a curb in front of an unfamiliar block of apartments, leaving the engine idlingly as he reads my total out to me.
I tap my phone to the card reader, watching it glow green, before I unstick my bare thighs from the leather seat and step out.
Ducking beneath the arm of the helpful passerby who holds the door open for me, I make a dash for the correct floor. When I find Blake’s apartment, I raise my fist, knocking without a moment’s hesitation.
His lockclicks,keys jangling, before his door swings open.
My mouth dries up at the sight of him.
Blake’s upper half is bare, his sculpted abdomen on full display, each divot of his muscles begging to be kissed. The short dark hairs of his happy trail lead down to a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms, hanging low on his hips, showcasing the sharp V lines of his Adonis belt that I itch to trace with the tip of my tongue.
I swallow thickly at the sight of his bare feet, dragging my eyes to his face.
Or at least, I try.
Blake shifts, one of his hands cupping the back of his head, causing his bicep to bulge and stealing my attention all over again.
“Calla?”
Forcibly unsticking my dry tongue from the roof my mouth, I smile. “Blake.”
“What are you doing here?” He frowns. “Is something wrong with the apartment?”
I shake my head, hefting my gym bag further up my shoulder. “No, nothing’s wrong with the apartment. Can I… come in?”
Blake stares at me for a heartbeat before his gaze drops to my legs, bare except for a tight-fitting pair of gym shorts I’d worn to my dance class with Giselle.
I can’t stop the smirk from overtaking my lips.
I guess two can play at this game.
“See something you like?” I grin, twirling in a circle so he can see the full effect. I don’t know what the hell type of magic they make these shorts with, but they make my arse look incredible… if I do say so myself.
