No answer to his knock again this time. Maybe she was back in the hot tub. “Cassie?” he whispered, slipping into the room.
He could hear the shower running in the bathroom. Hey, that worked, too. As he crossed the room, her phone, which she’d left on the bed, buzzed. He couldn’t help but glance down at it. A picture of Danny flashed on the screen. Had she forgotten to text him the latest update of her continued survival? It was actually kind of cute how Danny looked out for her. He was probably going to have to woo Danny a little bit, too, when they got back to Toronto.
He picked up the phone, intending to carry it into the bathroom to her. The phone beeped and he glanced down at an incoming text.
Gah. Glad it’s over, too. Come home ASAP.
Danny again, who must have texted when she didn’t pick up the voice call.
He could see the end of Cassie’s last text to Danny.
…it was awful.
He shouldn’t. He knew that.
But he did it anyway. He scrolled back.
He made me say please. He made me say his name. It was awful. I felt like a total whore.
What?? These rich mofos, they have no idea, do they?
Well, I’m done. Don’t have to pretend anymore. Can’t wait to get out of here…it was awful.
Air. Jack had no air. Couldn’t get enough into his lungs, and as metallic saliva flooded his mouth, he thought for one irrational moment that he might actually be drowning.
Then the sound of the shower stopped. The absence of noise spurred him to action. He threw the phone back on the bed and made for the door. He had to get out. He had to find something to hold on to.
He had to get back to the rules.
…
The next morning Cassie woke up confused. As the bright sun sliced in through the curtains she’d forgotten to close, she looked around the room.
She was looking for Jack, which was totally stupid. In all honesty, she had to admit that she’d fallen asleep waiting for him. She had no idea what was going on between them, but she’d felt fairly confident, given the epically spectacular sex they’d had earlier in the day, that he’d be back for more.
At the very least, she thought he would have wanted to talk about the deal. It seemed pretty clear from Wexler Senior’s behavior at dinner that he was going to sell.
But no Jack. She even got up and peeked out the glass door, hoping against hope that he’d snuck in without her waking up last night and was now ensconced in the hot tub. But that was irrational.
Stupid.
She didn’t really begin to worry in earnest, though, until she made her way downstairs and found David and Tania eating breakfast and reading newspapers in the enormous sun-filled breakfast “nook.”
“Ah,” said Tania. “My dear, you’ve been abandoned!”
Cassie felt her brow furrow as she tried to make sense of the disjuncture between what this woman was saying and the cheery tone she was using to say it.
Tania must have seen her confusion, because she laughed and handed Cassie a piece of paper. “Jack left a note. He had to leave in the middle of the night—some kind of emergency.”
Cassie scanned the familiar angular handwriting. Had to go. Didn’t want to wake them up. Could someone take Cassie to Gravenhurst where there would be a car and driver waiting for her at noon? Terribly sorry. Emergency. Happy holidays.
She knew then. Even though her mind could have kicked into gear, spitting out entirely reasonable explanations—even though part of her wanted it to—she knew. He’d gotten what he wanted, and now he was gone.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t warned her.
Stupid.
And heartbreaking.
Chapter Eighteen
“God damn it!” Jack pounded his fist on his desk as he rifled through his mail. There was a familiar envelope, marked “no longer at this address.” Cassie’s check, which he’d tried to mail to Edward’s when his initial attempt to mail it to her home address was refused delivery. It turned out this mumbo-jumbo psychobabble thing called “closure” was real, and it was impossible to achieve when the girl who had played him so expertly refused to accept his motherfucking check. It was the last bit of housekeeping related to Cassie James, and he wanted it off his mental list. She’d rendered exactly the service he’d hired her for—Wexler was going to sell—and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to pay her the agreed-upon sum.
“Everything okay in here?” Carl popped his head into Jack’s office. Since the offices were closed for the holiday break, they were the only two working. Well, “working” might be a stretch. Jack was obsessing over his bank balance, which was too high by fifty grand, and Carl was packing up his office.