I stare at her, taking in her face as though seeing it for the first time.
This woman never really cared for me. As soon as we got engaged, it was like a switch flipped in her head, and she started to look for a better offer.
Christ, why did I once find her so attractive?
Now as I watch her there’s an unpleasant twist to her mouth that’s cynical and cruel. It’s always been there, but I used to find it endearing. Amelia’s mouth is always soft and smooth, smiling often, even when I’m being difficult and moody around her.
Megan looks up at me, smirking as she sees me watching her.
“Do you know, Meg, I think I’ve had my fill,” I say quietly, and she frowns at me as I drain my glass.
“You’re finished already? But you’ve barely touched your food.”
“I realize that. Let’s tell my mother that we’re friends again, hm?” I lean forward. “Give my regards to Sinclair, and you canlet him know that Barnes and I have come to an agreement, and it’s going to be one of the most successful deals I’ve ever made.”
I place my napkin beside my plate and rise, buttoning up my jacket.
“Thank you for dinner, I do love our catch-ups, but I’m not interested in playing second fiddle. Go find another booty call. I’ll see you at Christmas.”
Her mouth drops open as I turn and walk out of the restaurant. I feel liberated. Free. All the time I wasted pining after that woman now seems laughable.
I’ve had so many discussions with my mother and father, my brothers, Ambrose, about how she broke me, how she was such an important part of my life. Now, sitting across from her while she weaves her devious little webs for her new lover, I feel nothing at all.
How strange the heart is. Fixated one moment, indifferent the next. I pull out my cell as I walk back to my apartment, desperate to call Amelia. I feel, in a strange way, as if I’ve cheated just by being around Megan again.
Was I really planning to casually fuck her to get back at Sinclair? What the actual fuck?
I get into the elevator, putting my phone back in my pocket and breathing a heavy sigh. Whatever this thing with Amelia is, it will pass, just like with Megan, and I’ll look back and laugh at how caught up I was on an escort.
That’s what will happen.
It has to.
Chapter 30
Amelia
It’s earlier than usual the next morning when I walk into Crawford’s office. The tail end of the sunrise is fading ahead of me, amber stripes rippling across the sky against the dark silhouettes of the buildings in the distance.
I stop as I enter, not expecting to see Crawford already at his desk. He doesn’t usually arrive before seven, but today he’s in his chair, facing the window, staring out at the view.
He seems to be deep in thought, and I place the packs I’ve prepped for him by his elbow and turn to leave.
“Which is your favorite art gallery?” he asks. “Barnes said that’s what you were talking about the other day.”
I turn back, frowning at him. He sounds melancholy. “Uh. I have a few. But probably a place called Statesman. It’s tiny, but the guy who runs it has an amazing eye.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
I shrug. “That doesn’t surprise me. It’s really small. He probably sells one painting a year. I never really understood how it remains open.”
Crawford’s eyes are a little glazed, he looks troubled today, and I feel a bolt of need run through me. I want to make him smile or laugh—anything but this thousand-mile stare.
“How did it go with Barnes?” I ask.
He swivels his chair and leans over the desk, looking up at me with a little frown on his face.
“Good,” he replies. “He’s verbally agreed to the deal.”
