One Night: Promised(48)

I look around for my clothes, but they’re nowhere in sight.

‘Fucking hell!’ I curse to myself. What the hell has he done with them? Logic descends too quickly and I find myself in front of the cabinet, removing the lamp and pulling a drawer open, finding neat piles of men’s clothes. It doesn’t deter me. I pull the next open, then the next and the next, until I’m on my knees at the bottom drawer, staring at my clothes, all neatly folded, with my Converse positioned deftly next to them, laces tucked in. I laugh to myself, pull my belongings free from the drawer, and quickly dress myself.

As I turn to exit, I notice a piece of paper on the bed. I don’t want to believe that he’s left me a pillow note, and I should probably leave without reading it, but I’m just too damn curious. Miller makes me curious, and that’s a bad thing because everyone knows that curiosity killed the bloody cat. I hate myself for it but I hurry over and snatch it up, angry before I’ve even read it.



Livy,

I’ve had to nip out. I won’t be long so please do not leave.

If you need me, call me. I’ve stored my number in your phone.

Miller

x



Stupidly, I sigh at the sight of a kiss after his name. Then I get mighty irritated. He’s had to nip out? Who nips out in the middle of the night? I go in search of my phone to establish exactly what time it is. I find my bag and phone on the glass coffee table, and after turning it on and ignoring dozens of missed calls from Gregory and three text messages advising me that I’m in trouble, the screen tells me it’s three o’clock in the morning. Three?

My phone is spun repeatedly in my grasp as I contemplate what could’ve called him away at this time. An emergency, perhaps? Something could’ve happened to a member of his family. He could be at a hospital or picking up a drunken sister from a nightclub. Does he have a sister? All sorts of reasons are dancing in my head, but when my phone starts ringing in my hand and I look down and see his name flashing on my screen, I stop wondering because I’m about to find out.

I connect the call. ‘Hello?’

‘You’re awake.’

‘Well, yes, and you’re not here.’ I sit down on the sofa. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Yes, it’s fine.’ He’s speaking quietly. Maybe he is in a hospital. ‘I’ll be back soon so just relax in bed, okay?’

Relax in bed? ‘I was just leaving.’

‘What?’ He’s not whispering any more.

‘You’re not here, so there’s little point in me staying.’ This isn’t being worshipped; this is being abandoned.

‘There’s a big point!’ he argues, and I hear a door slam in the background. ‘Just stay where you are.’ He sounds fretful.

‘Miller, are you okay?’ I ask. ‘Has something happened?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Then what’s called you out in the middle of the night?’

‘Just business, Livy. Go back to bed.’

The word ‘business’ spikes unwarranted resentment in me. ‘Are you with that woman?’

‘What makes you say that?’

His question has transformed that resentment into suspicion. ‘Because you said “business”.’ With all of the mind-blanking worshipping, I’d forgotten about the black-haired beauty.

‘No, please. Just get back in bed.’

I flop back against the sofa. ‘I won’t sleep. This wasn’t part of the deal, Miller. I don’t want to be alone in a strange apartment.’ The absurdity of my words makes me physically kick myself. Yes, because I’m happier in a strange apartment with a strange man, who makes me lose all sensibility.

‘The deal was for one night, Olivia. Twenty-four hours, and I’m annoyed enough at having to lose a few of those. If you’re not in that bed when I get home, then I’ll . . .

I sit up. ‘You’ll what?’ I ask, hearing his panicked, fitful breaths down the line.

‘I’ll . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ll . . .’

‘You’ll what?’ I hiss impatiently, standing and picking up my bag. Is he threatening me?

‘Then I’ll find you and put you back in it!’ he snaps.

I actually laugh. ‘Are you listening to yourself?’

‘Yes.’ His tone has calmed. ‘It’s not courteous to break a deal.’

‘We didn’t shake on it.’

‘No, we fucked on it.’

I gasp, scowl, and choke all at once. ‘I thought you were a gentleman.’

‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

My mouth snaps shut as I consider his question. Our first meeting never suggested that he’s a gentleman, and neither did our following encounters, but his attentiveness and manners since I’ve been here have. There has been no fucking, not in any sense of the word.