One Night: Promised(141)

‘Decided to stay for another?’ the barman asks, but I don’t answer. I keep my eyes on Miller and back up until my bum meets the stool. Then I lift myself slowly.

‘Yes, please,’ I murmur, placing my bag back on the bar. I’m not sure how I missed him. His table is directly below, in perfect sight. Maybe I was looking too hard. I think carefully, trying to figure out my next move. Good God, I’m beginning to feel the rage burning in my gut.

I accept the Bellini that’s handed to me, then I find my phone, calling him and holding it calmly to my ear. It starts to ring. I watch as he shifts in his seat and holds his finger up to Cassie in a gesture to be excused, but when he glances down at his screen, he shows no emotion or shock at seeing my name. He slips it back in his pocket and shakes his head. It’s a motion to suggest that the caller is of no importance. His actions inflame the hurt, but worst of all, it inflames the anger.

I drop my phone back in my bag and turn to the barman. ‘I’m just going to use the bathroom.’

‘Down the stairs. I’ll watch your drink.’

‘Thank you.’ I take in a long, confidence-boosting lungful of air and start towards the stairs, taking a firm hold of the gold handrail when I reach it while praying to the stair gods that I don’t make a complete fool of myself and stumble to my arse. I’m shaking like a leaf, but I need to remain composed and poised. How the heck did I find myself amidst this hideousness?

Because I put myself here, that’s how.

My steps are precise and accurate, my body swaying seductively. I find it too easy. I’m being watched by numerous men. Coming down these stairs is like the parting of the waves. I’m alone, and I’m purposely drawing attention to myself. I’m not looking anywhere, though, except right at my heart’s nemesis, willing him to glance up and see me. He’s listening to Cassie, nodding and saying the odd word, but he’s taking slow sips of his Scotch more often than anything else. The resentment cripples me – resentment that another woman is getting a close-up of his perfect lips latching onto the glass.

I quickly divert my stare downward when he casts his eyes to the stairs. He’s seen me, I’m certain of it. I can feel glacial blues freezing my skin, but I refuse to stop, and as I reach the toilets, I glance over my shoulder. He’s coming after me. I said I’d make him choke, and I think I have. His face is cut with too many emotions – anger, shock . . . worry.

I escape into the ladies’ and study myself in the mirror. There’s no getting away from it; I look ruffled and a little distressed, and the light brushing of my cheeks with my palms turns into light smacks as I try to slap some feeling back into me. I’m in unknown territory. I don’t know how to handle this situation, but instinct seems to be guiding me pretty well. He knows I’m here. He knows that I know he’s lied to me. What is he going to say?

Deciding that I really want to know, I quickly wash my clammy hands, straighten my dress and brace myself to face him. I’m a nervous wreck when I open the door to exit, but seeing him standing with his back leaning against the wall, looking all pissed off, soon sucks up all of those nerves. Now I’m just mad.

I meet his clear eyes with equal contempt. ‘How were the oysters?’ I ask evenly.

‘Salty,’ he replies, the hollows of his cheeks pulsing from his ticking jaw.

‘That’s a shame, but I wouldn’t be concerned. Your date’s probably too drunk to notice.’

His eyes narrow as he steps forward. ‘She’s not my date.’

‘What is she, then?’

‘Business.’

I laugh. It’s condescending and rude, but I couldn’t give a toss. Business meetings don’t happen on Monday night in Quaglino’s. And you don’t wear satin dresses. ‘You lied to me.’

‘You’ve been snooping.’

I can’t deny, so I don’t. I’m feeling emotion take hold. It’s racing through me now, making up for Miller’s lack of it.

‘Just business.’ He takes another step towards me, closing the distance. I want to move back, distance myself, but my heels are cemented in place, my muscles refusing to work.

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You should.’

‘You’ve given me no reason to, Miller.’ I fight against my useless limbs and pass him. ‘Enjoy your evening.’

‘I will once I can de-stress,’ he counters softly, taking hold of my neck to stop me escaping. The heat of his touch immediately rids my body of the goose pimples and heats me . . . everywhere. ‘Go home, Livy. I’ll pick you up soon. We’ll have a chat before we start with the de-stressing.’