I’d held it together yesterday, but only until I’d stumbled into my apartment where I’d sobbed myself hoarse for the second time in as many days. I’m so fucking done. I might be responsible for gambling my life in Philadelphia for a fantasy that never existed, but Duke needs to be held accountable too. He lured me into this fucking office and resurrected feelings I’d spent all of Sunday night preparing to bury.
My fury turns to hellfire when Noah’s comment flashes across my mind. Duke hadn’t simply lured me from three floors down…
“Did you get me the job here?” I hiss.
Duke matches my fire with ice. “I presented you with the opportunity to come find me. You took it.”
“You call this an opportunity?” I practically scream. “To do what? Hook up behind closed doors while your poor, naïve fiancée thinks you’re counting down the days to your wedding?”
I’m so mad I want to beat my fists against his chest, but he’ll only grab my wrists. Then we’ll be in a whole different kind of wrestling match because that bastard’s eyes still have the power to hypnotize me.
“When I started laying down the groundwork to get you here, I didn’t know Katarina was about to hijack my life and fuck up my plans for us.”
I register that he says us, like we belong together. Like we’re meant to be. I also notice how Duke clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides. He’s fighting the urge to grab me and I’m fighting the urge to let him. We really shouldn’t be trusted in each other’s company.
“I never expected her to still be around by the time I got you here,” he continues.
“Got me here,” I echo, stoking my anger. “A minute ago, you called it giving me the opportunity to make my own choices.”
“You’ll always have choices, Grace,” he says. “I can promise you that much.”
I glare at him. “That’s not the impression you gave yesterday.”
He heaves out a sigh and his hands relax. “Emotions were running high yesterday.”
“Funny, I never noticed,” I answer back, managing to lower my voice so I’m not scratching my vocal cords this time. “So, to be clear, I could leave Chicago right now without risking other people’s livelihoods?” I should be relieved, but it was easier to rage about the situation when I thought the decision to stay wasn’t mine.
“I wouldn’t like it, and not only because I don’t want tolose you,” Duke says, then tips his head to the conference table. “Without your help, I’m guaranteed to fuck up the project I told Rory I could deliver.”
It’s the first glimpse I’ve had of the Duke I remember, the one I cuddled up with in bed to watch a sappy movie. Too many glimpses like that will be my undoing.
“Duke, I can’t…”
There’s a knock at the door. Ed’s been waiting for us to stop yelling at each other before making an appearance. “Would now be a good time to bring in the coffee?”
Duke’s shoulders sag. “Sure,” he says, sounding defeated.
He’s expecting me to reject him. Was that what I was about to do? I wish I was as certain.
Ed struggles to find somewhere to set down the tray on the conference table, so I pick up a pile of papers and clear some space.
He gives me a wink. “Your usual, Ma’am.”
Duke’s coffee remains on the tray next to a freshly-printed document. It’s the non-disclosure agreement.
“Give me a shout if you need anything else,” Ed says, but pauses before he leaves. He quirks an eyebrow and adds, “Although, I’d say there’s been enough shouting in here for one day. Keep it down kids, you’re going to disturb the neighbors.”
Edison might have delivered it as a joke, but it’s also a warning. If he can hear us yelling at each other, anyone passing by could too. He has a point.
I slump into a conference chair. My outburst has drained me of barely-there-energy after another sleepless night. I can’t look at Duke, but I’m very much aware he’s standing over me, watching. I take a sip of my coffee and give my full attention to the papers I’d pickedup.
Project Name: Brimstage Luxury Spa Retreat
Oliver had tried showing me some of his plans yesterday, but I’d been in shock after my reunion with Duke and I hadn’t taken anything in. I flick through the pages and pause on a thumbnail of the property. My jaw slackens. The colonial-style mansion has an eye-watering square footage.
“It was in the Corbyn family for over a hundred years,” Duke says.
I glance up and catch him moving closer. He sees me tense and I hear his sigh as he circles the table to take the seat opposite.
