Exposed by Fate (18 page)

You’re incredibly brave.

You were spectacular. I’ve never seen anything half as beautiful as you were. As you are.

She thought of how Oliver shook underneath her hands. The hoarse sounds he made every time they kissed. His hand holding hers so tightly in the cab.
I’m really glad you’re here.

Dammit. It was
painful
to think about, but imbued her with self-assurance at the same time. Oliver might not want her forever, not like she wanted him. But he’d done exactly as he’d set out to do. Exactly as she’d
asked
him to do. He’d brought to life a new, stronger side of her. A side that didn’t take shit from dick-sticks like Conrad Sterns.

“Listen to me. I am good at what I do. No, I’m
excellent
.
That
is what you’re getting out of this deal. Believe me, it’s quite enough for putting up with you.” She dug her nails into her palm. “Oliver and I don’t come as a package. If you want entr
é
e into classier social circles, then learn how to deserve it. If you want your home not to look like a replica of the house from Scarface, because it
really
does, you need to give me a tour of where I’ll be working for the next six months.”

Her words hung in their air for tense seconds wherein she swore he was gearing up to throw her out. His face had gone red, but she couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or anger. Finally, Conrad pushed off the table. “Should we start with the kitchen?”

“Yes,” she answered, leading the way. Having memorized his floor plan, she knew exactly where it was. The sooner she dazzled Conrad with her ideas, the quicker she could go find Oliver. After everything they had been through together, she couldn’t allow the rift to remain. Losing him completely would kill her. There was simply no choice.

She was going to tell him she loved him.

And maybe, just maybe, her words would unlock something inside him. Something that allowed him to love her back. He had to feel something for her or this yearning inside her wouldn’t go so deep, right? She had to know.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Oliver stared at the screen of his computer, wondering how long he could pull off this charade. He’d been sitting in this same position for three hours, watching emails multiply in his inbox, hearing his phone ring, but none of it felt real. The only thing that had ever felt real was gone. No, not gone. Thrown out. He’d
thrown
Eliza out of his apartment. Shouted at her to leave, with the full knowledge she’d rip him to shreds the second she set foot outside.

He’d asked for too much. He could see that now. Starting slow hadn’t seemed like an option after what they’d shared, but he should have been happy with his sliver of progress. When she’d looked up at him and said
, what if I don’t want it to be over
, his moronic ass had heard wedding bells. His sister had shown up and he’d thought,
there’s no better time than the present to come clean, reveal they were together.
Eliza’s rejection of that fantasy had snuffed out his overwhelming hope, locked it up again when it had only just broken free. He’d still been reeling from making love to her, experiencing the kind of euphoria he’d never thought existed. He hadn’t been able to withstand being shut down on the heels of it. So he’d stood there and let her take it on the chin, when he should have been standing behind her, defending every goddamn perfect minute of time they’d spent together. Right when she’d needed him most, he’d stood by and piled even more shit on top of her.

If she didn’t hate his guts, he would be eternally shocked. All she’d ever done was follow the rules. He’d been the one to fall in love with someone he didn’t deserve. Now she was suffering under the weight of his sister’s rightful disapproval…and him? He couldn’t see past the next minute ticking by on his computer’s clock. If he thought even two minutes ahead, he’d start pounding his head against the desk, not stopping until sweet unconsciousness took over. He’d been counting on his old pal, unconsciousness for the last two nights, drinking himself into a stupor and attempting to find her scent somewhere in his apartment. Ripping off his bed sheets and wrapping them around his body, searching every inch of it for her sweetness. It was fading so fast. Too fast.

God, what was she doing? Where was she? Today was…Friday? His right eye started to tick. She had her
in house
meeting with Sterns today. Jesus, he felt like throwing up, but that would require him to move, and he needed to stay perfectly still or he’d dissolve. The only thing he’d forced himself to accomplish since she’d left on Wednesday had been to drop the paperwork off at Columbia for Frankie’s scholarship. At least he hadn’t failed at everything.

Someone walked into his office but he didn’t have the energy to look up and learn their identity. He didn’t give a shit who it was, be it Santa Clause or the President. Or both. They could take a fucking number. His sister had come in every hour on the hour, saying words and trying to force him to think, but he’d managed to block her out. He’d created an invisible barrier around him that hummed like a light saber, even if he was the only one who could hear it.

“Oliver?”

He wanted to swat the woman’s voice away like a fly. It was accompanied by heavy perfume that choked off the oxygen he was barely capable of inhaling. Not light and fresh like Eliza. He felt a sudden, urgent need to find out what type of perfume Eliza wore and get a bottle of it. It would be torture smelling it on anything other than her skin but at least he’d have a small part of her.

“Oli-
ver
.”

The screensaver came up on his computer and broke his concentration, forcing him to greet the newcomer. A woman. A young woman who had decided to perch herself on the corner of his desk. Did he know her from somewhere? Oh, right. The intern Caroline had hired. There was a vague familiarity about her, but he couldn’t place it. Didn’t care enough to make the effort. What did everyone
want
from him?
Let me die in peace.

“Is there something I can do for you?” His question came out sounding like a croak, but she laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

She crossed her legs and posed, one hand behind her head. “You can stop moping around and take me to lunch for my first day.”

Lunch.
As in eat actual food?
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

Her laugh made his teeth hurt. “You’re hysterical. Come on, let’s get out of here. I’m
bored
.”

It hit him then. Blue Dress from the gala. Had he…inadvertently encouraged her to apply for a job here? He could barely remember their conversation. When he thought of that night, all he could think of was Eliza. All he could think about
period
was Eliza.

“Sorry, I have to work.” He nudged his mouse and woke up his computer just to be convincing, but it seemed so pointless. God, he was sick of his own bullshit. “Actually, you seem like a really great girl. I’m just not interested.” Unbelievable. It felt
unbelievable
to say that out loud. Exactly how long had he been pretending to be interested in anyone but the girl he loved? Fuck, he loved Eliza so much. Was she done with her meeting yet? How had it gone?

Apart from her eyes flashing wider, Blue Dress didn’t appear discouraged by his refusal. She executed an awkward scoot across his desk and leaned down, probably to put her cleavage on display, but he had no desire to look. “Are you sure you’re not interested?”

He caught her hand mid-air, just before it reached his face. “Positi—”

“Oliver.”

Every muscle in his body went on high alert when he heard Eliza’s voice. The light saber barrier around him crashed to the floor in a flurry of sparks and he shot up straight in his chair. She floated into his office looking more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Her face glowed with a healthy flush. She looked triumphant. Happy. His heartbeat swelled loud in his ears, making up for the last couple days when it hadn’t beat at all. She smiled at him as if she couldn’t wait to tell him something, wanted to throw herself into his arms where he needed her. But it all washed away in one horrifying breath of time.

As if someone had hit a mute button, he couldn’t hear a sound. Eliza looked at him, at the girl sitting on his desk, and her joyful expression transformed with recognition. He’d become so attuned to her, he could see every thought play out on her face. The vacant sadness in her eyes told him everything. She thought he’d lied. That he had gone home with this girl after the gala. That he’d
lied
to her about it. Otherwise, why would she be here, sitting so close? His fist slammed down onto the desk involuntarily. “
No
.”

Eliza shifted on her feet. “I-is this a bad time? I can come back.”

The desolation in her voice threatened to carve him wide open. “Don’t leave. For God’s sake, please don’t fucking leave.” He was torn between rounding the desk and hauling her inside and staying perfectly still in case she bolted. One problem at a time. He looked at the girl sitting on his desk. “Excuse us.
Now
,” he added when she didn’t immediately move.

Eliza lifted her chin when the girl walked past and if at all possible, he fell even harder for her. When they were finally alone, he stood slowly behind his desk. What he really wanted to do was throw himself down in front of her and beg for mercy. “I know what you’re thinking and—”

“No, you don’t.” Her smile wavered a little before sticking. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. You, uh…you never made that phone call to Porter. I just wanted to stop by and remind you.”

His legs turned to liquid, sending his body collapsing down into the chair. He’d been right. She had to hate him, because this was his worst nightmare come to life. Of course, she didn’t know that, did she? She thought he was a lying, scumbag womanizer. That’s all he’d ever be to her. She’d been programmed too early to see him one way, and no amount of trying could convince her differently. Hell, she
wanted
somebody different. When he’d agreed to it, he must have had the foresight of a goldfish. Or maybe he’d just been so confident that she wouldn’t want Porter after they’d been together. Whatever the reason, he’d put himself in this situation and there was no way out of it. Unless…

“If that’s really what you want, bunny, I’ll do it.” The words tasted like rusty vinegar in his mouth. “When and where?”

Her lips parted in an O, as if she hadn’t expected him to agree so readily, but she recovered quickly. “Tonight at eight.”

Agony lanced what was left of him. “So soon, huh? You certainly aren’t wasting any time.”

She reddened, and he cursed himself for embarrassing her on top of everything. He never wanted her to be anything but blindingly happy. “Make the call now. While I’m here.”

He wanted to howl or throw something. How could one person withstand this much torture? Look straight at the girl of his dreams while saying the words that would give her to someone else? Surely he’d woken up in hell this morning. It was the only explanation. His arm felt like lead as he opened his long, middle desk drawer and drew out Porter’s business card, setting it beside the phone. Each punch of the buttons while dialing Porter’s number felt like a dagger jabbing him in the stomach.

“Porter, this is Oliver Preston. I don’t know if you remember me from Serve…? Yes, that would be me.” He looked up to find Eliza watching him wide-eyed in the doorway. It hurt to look at her, so he focused back on the digital clock in the lower right hand side of the computer screen. “I owe you an apology for my behavior. I had no right to tell you to stay away from Eliza Ballas. In fact,” he swallowed hard, “she’d love to see you tonight if you’re available…yes, I was going to suggest the same. Room two-twenty. She’ll see you then.”

Oliver replaced the phone in its cradle and stared down at his desk. He had no idea for how long. When he looked up, Eliza was gone.

…

What am I doing here?

Eliza put one foot in front of the other and tried to walk in a straight line. Such an
effort
. Would anyone notice if she laid down and never got up? She’d come to Serve dressed to kill, but she felt like it was killing her instead. Walking in through the front door, male heads had turned in her direction. There had been interested murmurs as she swayed through the crowd on her way to the elevator. Only a few more steps and she would be at room two-twenty. Face to face with Porter. Or
not Oliver
as her brain stubbornly continued to call him.

He’d done it. He’d actually called Porter and arranged the date. She’d been silently screaming at him to refuse her request, even though she’d been the impulsive one to ask. When she’d walked in and seen him smiling up at that girl from the gala, everything inside her had grinded to a halt. All the fizzing perfection, the gleaming assurance that all would be well once she told Oliver she loved him, had dried up in a single, horrifying instant. She really was a fool. Just like the girls from his past, she’d projected something that wasn’t really there. Projected potential feelings onto him that could never exist.

Demanding that he call Porter while she stood in his office had been her way of showing him he didn’t hurt her. God, that was laughable. He’d done more than hurt her. He’d pulverized her. The stupid idea had backfired, too, because she’d had to listen to the man who owned her heart freely set her up with another man. The phone call played on repeat in her head like a broken record every time she encountered silence. Which is part of the reason she’d gone through with her plan to meet Porter. To avoid silence. Avoid thoughts. Or feelings.

Could she do it? Let Porter touch her when she still burned for Oliver? Leaving her apartment, she’d been so certain that this would help heal her. Cure her of the misconception that she and Oliver were supposed to be together always. Maybe another man’s hands would erase the memory of him. Now that she stood outside room two-twenty, however, she knew it was totally useless. Her feelings for Oliver ran far deeper than physical attraction. Sex with another man wouldn’t bandage the wound, it would be like pouring salt inside of it.

Knowing she had to cancel on Porter for the third time since they’d met, she knocked softly on the door. She would apologize and get out of here, out of these clothes. With no work tomorrow, she could burrow under her covers and stay there. Rest her aching head. Even now, Monday morning seemed too close. Too much of an effort.

“Come in,” a muffled male voice said from inside the room.

Eliza turned the knob and pushed open the door. “I’m sorry, I have to—” The words died on her lips when she saw Oliver sitting on the bed.
What is he doing here?
Even after all the pain he’d caused, her gaze devoured the sight of him hungrily, as if she hadn’t just seen him that afternoon. He still wore his work clothes, but he’d removed his jacket and tie. A couple of days’ worth of a beard shaded his jaw. Blood-shot eyes were focused intently on her. The weight of his stare forced her to look away or she risked letting loose the tide of emotions crashing inside of her.

“Hello, Eliza.”

She noticed that he held a full bottle of ouzo in his hands. “What are you doing here? Where is Porter?”

He raked her with a glance. “You look goddamn amazing. Jesus, I thought I hated him before. Seeing you dressed like that for him…” he broke off, plowing his fingers through his hair. “Now I think I’d like to kill him.”