"Teaching isn't your calling. You told me you wanted to be a writer."
"Teaching is what I do so I can eat and put a roof over my head."
"I can give you money, enable you to write full-time. Surely you can write a book in twenty-four weeks."
I have to laugh. "It's not quite that sim-"
"Fine, whatever, it takes longer. I'll continue to provide for you until you make enough to earn a living from your writing. How long does it take to write a book? A year? Two?"
Bastard. He's using what I told him in a moment of particular closeness to leverage me.
"I'm not the girl I used to be, and people's dreams change. I'm not going back to you. I can never go back to what we had."
He frowns. "What was so objectionable about it?"
My mouth slackens. "What wasn't objectionable about it?"
"What we had was perfect."
"For you, maybe, because it was on your terms. It was about you fucking me whenever you wanted."
He gives me a look. "Ava. If I'd fucked you whenever I wanted, you would've never left your apartment. Mainly because you wouldn't have been able to walk."
I flush, and an unwanted heat winds through me. God, he used to be insatiable. I often wondered how-and why-he habitually left before the night was over, because his eyes always seared me with undisguised lust every time he walked out.
"I'm older now," I say, hating that my voice seems weak even to my own ears. "I need more than just a good lay to have a relationship with someone … and you can't give the other part to me."
He finishes the last bite of his steak and leans back, ignoring the veggies on his plate. "Okay, let's hear it. What do you need?"
I laugh again. This man. "You think you can make it happen if you know what it is?"
"Of course."
"Well you can't. You aren't capable."
He steeples his hands. "If you're upset about Faye, I already told you it's over, and I don't plan on touching her, ever. As for your issue with Blake, I'll make sure you never see him again."
A realization dawns on me. "You never wanted me to meet your family, did you?"
He eyes me a little warily. "No."
My pulse accelerates, and my hands start trembling. I clench them, but that isn't enough. I jump to my feet. "You bastard! If you wanted to make me feel cheap and dirty, congratulations. You've succeeded." My vision blurs, and I realize I'm crying. I snatch my purse and run.
"Ava!"
I ignore his shout. The door closes behind me, cutting off a string of curses from him. Thankfully there's an elevator waiting, and I rush inside and smack the buttons for CLOSE and LOBBY. When the elevator takes its sweet time, I jam my thumb against the CLOSE button repeatedly. Come on, come on!
The doors finally start to draw together. I hear uneven footsteps, and see Lucas's stark face in the diminishing gap.
"Wait!"
I step backward. The doors shut just in time, and the car starts descending. I sag against the wall behind me.
Tears leave hot tracks down my cheeks, and I dry my face with a sleeve. What the hell is wrong with me? Why cry when I've always known what he thought of me, what I was to him?
I keep my head lowered, humiliated and embarrassed that I'm wasting emotional energy on a man who doesn't deserve it. I climb into a taxi and give the driver my address. As the car pulls away, I see Lucas running across the lobby toward the front doors.
He bellows my name. Although I can't hear it, I can read his lips.
Very deliberately, I turn away and close my eyes. But it can't stop the tears from staining my cheeks or my heart from bleeding all over again.
Chapter Eleven
Lucas
Fuck!
What the hell just happened?
The taxi vanishes beyond the intersection, and I smack a fist into the opposite palm. The doorman looks at me warily. He's probably debating whether he should call the police or the closest mental institution.
He asks something about a taxi, and I wave him off. I don't have the time or energy to deal with the man.
I stare at the road where her cab vanished. My heart says to go after her now, but my head tells me to give her a little space to pull herself together. She isn't going to listen to a word I say until she's calmer.
My teeth dig into the inside of my cheek, drawing blood. Normally I would listen to my gut, but I can't afford to at the moment. I've screwed up one too many times following what's in my heart. The wisest course is to regroup and decide on my next move.
I make a sharp one-eighty and return to my room. My left leg hurts like a bitch, but I grit my teeth and do my best to avoid limping. I need to soak it in hot water and get it massaged or it won't be of any use at all tomorrow.
God how I hate my fucking leg. If I were just a little bit faster, I would've been able to catch her back in Chiang Mai … and here. Then it would've been my decision whether or not I let her go, not hers.