After a couple more sips, she turns to me. “So. You now have two hundred and ninety left.”
I snort. “Don’t even think about ripping me off. It’s two hundred and ninety-eight.”
“What we did last night counts asat leastnine, not one.”
“Most definitelyone. I was just getting my money’s worth.”
She gives me a long, hard stare. If she could turn the coffee mug into a knife and stab me with it, she would.
I don’t really intend to do the full three hundred, of course, just enough to give some closure to our past. There’s no way our relationship was so deep that I really need three hundred nights’ worth of sex to get over her.
I stand and straighten my jacket. “The suite’s yours for the day. Relax, use the hot tub and order room service. A limo will pick you up at six.”
Her expression sharpens with suspicion. “Where are we going?”
“Not we.You’re going home.” As soon as I finish saying it, I realize that I’ve referred to my home as hers, too.
Her eyes sharpen—she noticed, too. A multitude of feelings fleet over her face: wistfulness, confusion, curiosity, nervousness. Her tongue flicks out, wetting her lips.
She’s going to bring up something I’m not ready to discuss.I pull back, withdrawing physically and emotionally. “I need to go.”
Before she can react, I walk out and step into the elevator.That was close. How could I let my guard down so easily? It was easy to be vulnerable around her before, but I should know better now.
My watch says it’s only eleven. I should probably headto the office and get some work done. That’s a better use of time than obsessing over my reaction to Fiona.
I text the concierge to send some Epsom salts for her as I stride across the lobby. It’s surprisingly busy, with guests arriving and bellhops carting suitcases back and forth. A huge banner says,Welcome to the Sunny SoCal Super-Signing!A convention crowd.
Across the lobby, a brown-haired woman sits in a cushy ivory armchair next to a small end table, flipping through some glossy fashion rag and sipping a cup of coffee. My heart hammers with shock as I zero in on her. I thought I’d never see her again.
An expertly tailored azure wrap dress fits her like it’s painted on her slim, toned body. Her skin is milky and ageless, without a single line on her beautifully sculpted face. The high cheekbones are the envy of all—I know, because she gave them to me.
She looks up and our eyes lock. Dense lashes frame the soulless blue. A wide smile stretches her crimson lips but fails to warm her expression.
My skin crawls.
Run! And if you can’t run, kill her!
Cold sweat slickens my back as I stay rooted to the spot. My fingers twitch, my pulse throbbing in my head. It feels like I’m eight again, small and vulnerable. My mind replays her twisted face as she held Ares and tried to reach for me and Josh.
“Come back here!” she shouted. “You’re mine! My sons!”
Helplessness slams into me. My breathing shallows. I’ve wondered so many times what I’d do if I ran into her again. I told one of the therapists that I’d grab her and shake her until she apologized for what she did, but the reality…
I loathe myself for my powerlessness, for being overwhelmed by the old panic.
She winks, raising her cup in a mocking salute.
The gesture jolts me out of my trance.I amnotletting her fuck with me.Hands clenched, I start toward her. She rises from her seat. A churning gaggle of convention women and bellhops pass between us. When they’re gone, Mom has disappeared, too.
I stop and shove a hand through my hair.Did I imagine her? Is this a lingering side effect of the drug?
I reach the armchair and look around the lobby carefully. No sign of Mom anywhere—and she would stand out. Zoe Dunkel isn’t the kind of woman you can overlook.
My heart rate starts to settle. Exhaling slowly, I shake my head.Might be the stress.One of my therapists said that mild hallucinations are actually common when under excessive strain. Being drugged to turn me into some sort of mindless fucking machine should definitely count.
I drop my eyes—
On the table before me is an elegant white cup with a bright red lipstick mark on the rim.
