Page 56 of Painted Truths

Spinning to face me, he pins me with a look as he grates out, "Yeah, right. Try telling him that. What do you think we were getting into it about at the Gala, hmm?"

I will myself to stop my face from falling. Blinking several times owlishly, my mind is brimming with questions I still need to ask Alex.

Squaring my shoulders, I tilt my chin upward ever so slightly and thrust my chest forward as I pull myself up to my still fairly short full stature. This lunch date is souring more quickly than a carton of milk left out of the fridge on a hot summer’s day, and I can’t help feeling as though his actions are to blame, which only incites me further.

“If you thought I was seeing your brother or even suspected it, why would you be dropping expensive roses on my desk every day with intimate handwritten notes or popping flirty emails into my inbox?"

He strides across the office until he's right in my face, glaring down upon me like a vengeful god in all his glory. Every inch of my body vibrates into awareness at his proximity—to the extent that I can almost feel the visceral pull his body has.

His beautiful green and gold eyes take me in for a moment before the fire within him slowly diminishes at whatever he sees on my face. My breathing stalls in my throat when he visibly softens, his eyes filling with a longing I see daily in my own reflection. He reaches a hand around the nape of my neck, and I can't help but exhale heavily in total and utter completion before he pulls me forward to place a gentle kiss on my brow.

Still, with his lips against my skin, he speaks straight to my foolhardy heart. "Because I’m the fucking idiot. Because I stupidly forced myself to stay away, Peaches. And now that you're here, in my world, in my periphery, so close to me, I can't fight the urge to see you, to know you, to want you. If you were to be mine, to be really and truly mine, I'd never let you go."

I’m stunned into silence, my mind racing as it tries to catch up to what this man has just said. For so long now, I’ve dreamt of this being a reality. Of this being my reality.

Prince Charming doesn’t have anything on Henry DeMarco.

We stand in each other's space as time passes irrelevantly. It may have been a minute; it may have been an hour before there's a rap on the door, breaking the spell.

Stumbling backwards, life returning to my frozen body, I reach for the door. He's attacked my senses with his artfully chosen words, and now bumbling Liv is back in full effect.

"Thank… thank you for lunch. It was wonderful. Uh, really… excellent." Awkwardly pointing back and forth between the two of us, like some sideshow freak, as Henry looks on with a smirk playing around the edges of his mouth, I manage to squeak out, "See you Monday, yeah?"

Opening the door to find none other than Andrea on the other side, my heart and my hopes make a quick swan dive. Her plump lips rise upwards into a full-blown sneer as she shoulders past me.

Hard enough that I almost stumble.

"You wanted to see me, Rico." His name is a purr from her throaty, seductive voice, sending a shot of unquestionable envy to my depraved, jealous heart.

Was she his first choice?

Feeling physically sick at the knowledge that she can only be up here for one thing, and I was just filling time as he waited, I race from the floor, hurt and more confused than ever.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Olivia

Hitting the button for the ground floor and praying that no one calls the elevator to see my barely bridled tears, I can’t help one of them sliding down my cheek as I recall the safety of his arms, the sincerity of his words, the sense of belonging. Only for it all to be blown away by the appearance of his fuck buddy.

Heaving out a deep breath, I mumble to myself, “When are you going to get a clue, idiot!”

Alex has warned me several times now, and despite knowing he has my best interests at heart, I’ve still let Henry wriggle his way in.

I begin to relax as the elevator has almost reached the ground floor, when it grinds to a gentle halt on the second floor, and Martha steps on.

“Olivia, my dear. What are you still doing here, honey?”

The sight of a friendly face is too much, and I can’t stop the barrage of tears as they fall unbidden, causing Martha’s face to drop.

Hitting the Emergency Stop button, she gathers me in her motherly embrace and just holds me, waiting for the onslaught to recede, and once it does, we stand there for several long minutes while her arms chase away the worst of the sting.

Once I’ve pulled myself together, mostly, she hits the button again, and we descend to the foyer, where she grasps my hand to lead me out onto the bustling footpath and across the street to a small, hole-in-the-wall pub I’ve never noticed before.

“Mike, can I get two shots of tequila, please?” A greying gnarled old bartender, in a blue flannel shirt, nods as we sit on the bar stools in front of him, the only two patrons in the place.

Turning so that the tops of our knees are touching, Martha takes my hand in hers again. She reaches for the shots Mike has just deposited in front of us, holding one out for me to accept with my free hand.

Gripping it like it’s a lifeline, I put it on my head without pause, only to smack it on the counter with a wince and find she’s holding the other shot out for me, too, to which I pop a brow in question.