Run Rosie Run (32 page)

Rosie also knew she wasn’t going to hang around to witness Alexander Ludlow doing his knight in shining armour routine.

‘He’s moved them into his...’

Rosie interrupted her.

‘I need to run to the dry cleaners before they close.’

Bronte blinked, frowned at her harsh tone.

‘Sure. You look tired. I thought you were taking the day off?’

Pulling off her chef’s jacket, her cap, Rosie shrugged.

‘Things change. I won’t be long.’

Later Rosie would remember that if she’d been paying attention when she left the dry cleaners she might not have walked straight into trouble.

‘Rosie!’

Her wrist was grabbed in a too strong grip.

Her gaze rose to meet cold blue eyes and she didn’t like the gleam in them one little bit.

Jonathan Winthrop ignored her efforts to tug free.

She shuddered. He smiled.

‘Why don’t we do lunch? Surely your boss doesn’t crack the whip? You’re entitled to a lunch break.’

Jonathan knew perfectly well she was a full partner in Sweet Sensationss.

The dig shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did.

Staring into the smoothly pretty face of Bronte’s ex-fiancé Rosie realised with something like awe he expected her to go along with his suggestion.

Not only that, but he assumed she’d be thrilled, even flattered.

What an ego.

‘If you’re peckish try Ludlow Hall.’ Then she paused, put her hand to her head. ‘Oops, I forgot. You’re banned.’

Even as she told herself not to stoop to his level, she could tell by the white lips and the flash in his blue eyes the barb had hit home.

Those eyes went icy.

‘You must miss Bronte now she’s married, has her own family. But I wouldn’t count on Alexander bringing you into the fold if I were you.’

She blinked at the arrogance, the gall.

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘The whole town is talking about you. At least
try
to be discreet, Rosie. After all, you’re a woman living alone. You wouldn’t want us to get the wrong idea.’

‘Us?’

Again she tried to jerk her wrist free, but he simply held her firm.

‘The guys in town.’

Fascinated, Rosie stared up at him.

‘I hate to repeat myself, but you’ve lost me.’

‘Apparently you’ve been having an affair with some airline pilot. Then Joshua Erichsen one week and Alexander Ludlow the next, it’s clear you enjoy male attention. Why don’t you give me a try? I’d look after you.’

She blinked with stunned disbelief.

And at that moment she realised the man was a full cent short of a dollar.

‘You’d look after me? I’m sure Annabel, your wife, might have something to say about that.’

He sneered.

‘Don’t worry about her. We’ve separated.’

How she kept calm Rosie’d never know but she managed it, just.

‘Good for her. Saw the light did she?’

Now that handsome face went hard, those eyes now blue crystals of solid ice.

‘No need to be nasty. I’m being nice.’

Rising on her tip toes into his face, Rosie gave him big eyes.

‘Actually, you’re being a dick.’

This time he squeezed her wrist too tight and she refused to wince or even blink.

How could she have forgotten Jonathan had a temper?

‘You always were a little bitch with illusions of grandeur. Do you really think the great Alexander Ludlow cares about the likes of you? I hear he’s moved Janine Faulkner into his place.’

Rosie almost felt dizzy with relief when Josh stopped his Land Rover, jumped out and jogged across the road to join them.

She made sure her voice was loud and carried.

‘If you’re fond of that hand, let me go.’

‘You heard the lady,’ Josh said in a pleasant voice.

Jonathan released her but not before his eyes flashed a warning.

‘I’ll see you around,’ he promised her before turning, walking away.

‘You okay?’

Rosie took a shaky breath.

‘Fine.’

They watched Jonathan get into a black Jaguar.

‘What did he want?’

‘God knows.’

Josh turned to her, his eyes went too sharp as he studied her face.

‘You’re upset.’

‘No. I’m annoyed.’

‘Same difference. You’re sleeping with Alexander. Why aren’t you looking all happy and glowing?’ At her bland look he shrugged. ‘Small town, word travels.’

‘I am happy and glowing.’

He slung his arm over her shoulder, started to walk her to her car.

‘If he’s no good try me.’

She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.

‘You’re an idiot.’

‘So, was he good?’

‘None of your business.’

‘That good, eh? Shame. Got time for a coffee?’

It was obvious Josh was trying to make her laugh, make her feel better. But her headache jabbed a quick right behind her eye.

‘Another time? I was up most of the night.’

Now he frowned.

‘Yeah, I heard about that. I’ve just had a quick look at the roof. The Grange is quite a place, needs a lot of work. Alexander’s moved her into his...’

‘I know,’ Rosie interrupted through gritted teeth.

His brows rose at the tone of her voice but if one more person told her what Alexander was doing with Janine today she’d scream.

Placing a hand on his arm, she patted an apology.

‘Sorry, I’m just really tired and the weather isn’t helping.’

He smiled into her eyes.

‘It’s due to break tonight. I’ll see you later.’

Driving back to Sweet Sensationss Rosie’s temper faded.

Why did she feel hurt by the ravings of a lowlife scumbag?

She was responsible for her own behaviour, her own feelings.

So why did she feel such a deep sense of shame?

Because,’
a little voice whispered.
‘You should be ashamed of yourself. Look what happens when you lie. Now the whole town thinks you’ve been having a clandestine affair. Janine’s been a good friend to you and she was terrified last night. Alexander was only doing what he does best in a crisis, being a support to a close friend.’

She parked her car and the day hazed as her eyes filled. So she let the tears fall in a pathetic pity party. She was entitled wasn’t she?

Her feelings for Alexander, her love for him and what had happened in town with Jonathan blended into one horrible toxic mix in her tired brain.

The son-of-a-bitch had scared her, caught her by surprise. What was it about his family? Why had they targeted her at the cocktail party last night and just now?

She rested her aching forehead on the steering wheel and wondered why she felt so terribly vulnerable and alone?

What was it about her that made Jonathan think she’d be interested in him? Over the years he’d been with Bronte she’d barely tolerated the bastard.

The knock on her car window brought her head up with a jerk.

Bronte stood watching her, eyes filled with concern.

Rosie opened the door, got out.

‘You okay’

‘Yes. Why?’

‘Josh called, said Jonathan had a go at you in town.’

‘Josh did?’

‘He said you looked upset. What did he want with you?’

Rosie didn’t want to do this.

Bronte had suffered enough pain thanks to her ex-fiancé. And with a sudden insight she realised that was probably why he’d targeted her. He wanted to upset her happily married best friend knowing Rosie told her everything.

‘Nothing. He was just being a dick.’

Two cars pulled up next to hers. Clients. And Rosie turned to them, gave them her best professional smile.

‘Later,’ Bronte muttered before offering her hand to the bride-to-be, her sister, her mother and mother-in-law.

As Rosie locked up for the day she wondered if the elephant sitting on her chest was what a broken heart felt like.

And acknowledged that the bitter poison coursing through her veins was jealousy. Who else was Janine supposed to call for help but Alexander? They’d remained friends since their fling years ago, she knew that.

But Rosie couldn’t seem to help but torture herself.

By ignoring Janine’s texts and voice mails she wasn’t being a friend to a girl who needed people in her corner.

Alexander had called Sweet Sensationss twice, left voicemails and texts on her cell phone. But she’d been too busy with over excited clients to respond.

Her phone pinged, buzzed with an incoming text.

Helping J&B settle. C U later? A xx

Rosie bit down hard on her bottom lip sent a response.

Too tired after last night. Need sleep. R.

The cell buzzed in her hand.

OK. Spk tomorrow. Miss U. A xx

And Rosie knew she couldn’t do it.

She couldn’t live in this town watching, hearing the constant tittle tattle of how Alexander and Janine and Boo made a wonderful family. The moment he’d held them in his arms, how he’d touched her friend, kissed the baby, would be etched on her brain until the day she died.

They looked so right together.

She’d always known it, hadn’t she?

Why, oh why had she let herself sleep with him, make love with him?

Thunder strode across the sky as she raced up the stairs to her dressing room and grabbed a suitcase.

It took her less than an hour to pack, close down the house. Hauling the wooden box with her most treasured possessions from under her bed, she decided to take it with her.

Although her hand shook as she wrote a letter to Bronte, she refused to let the tears fall because once she started they’d never stop.

With her hand on the switch to turn off the light, Rosie took a look at the space she’d made her own.

She’d been happy here, but it was time to move on.

Closing the door behind her, she dashed through the rain to the car and loaded her suitcase, the box, in the trunk.

Driving through hail, blinking against fork lightning, she tried to hold her nerve as the ground vibrated under a clap of thunder.

Rosie reduced her speed through town.

She saw people she’d known her whole life go about their everyday business.

A couple gave her a wave and she waved back.

That elephant on her chest was joined now by the rest of the herd as she stopped at traffic lights on red.

Indicating she was turning right Rosemary Margaret Gordon left her home, her friends and the one she loved more than life itself.

Alexander worked overtime in his office.

He used spreadsheets, reports and analysed data to ease his mind and his heart.

Of course it didn’t work.

The knock at the door made him heave a big sigh.

Dressed in black skinny jeans and a white sleeveless shirt, Bronte entered and eased herself into a leather chair in front of his desk.

He didn’t need to check the time, it must be seven-thirty because she arrived right on the dot every fucking evening to make sure he was alright and to get an update on Rosie.

‘I hear you made a temp cry.’

She was smiling but her eyes were searching his face.

And she looked haggard.

Looking haggard was what misplaced guilt did to a person.

No matter how hard he and Nico tried to get her to listen to them, Bronte blamed herself for hurting Rosie, for making her feel she had nowhere to turn except to flee.

And Josh blamed himself too. For not telling his friend sooner that Jonathan Winthrop had his hands on Rosie in town.

He haunted Alexander’s office at least twice a day to see if he’d heard from her.

Then Janine blamed
herself
for moving into his apartment at The Hall, for the whispers spreading around town about her and Alexander.

Bloody ridiculous.

The whole lot of them were fucking ridiculous because the only person who was at fault for Rosie running was him.

He’d put her under too much pressure by being a dick, by not letting her come to him in her own time, by being a selfish bastard.

The voicemail she’d left him he’d replayed again and again. And every time he heard the little catch in her voice it fucking killed him.

He was the one who had to look himself in the eye in the mirror every morning to see a man slowly falling apart.

It had been six days now.

Where the fuck was she?

The huge lump of lead in his gut was worry that she was okay, that she was safe and a terror that she might never come back to him.

‘Don’t you have a family to look after?’

‘I’m looking at my family,’ she said in a soft voice. ‘Have you...?’

‘No,’ he interrupted. ‘When I get my hands on her I’ll...’ and his voice was too harsh as he bit off the words.

‘Did you speak to her mother?’

Now he ran his hand over the aching tension in his neck.

He’d flown immediately to Cyprus as soon as he read Rosie’s messages, certain he’d find her there. And it had nearly killed him when her parents told him their daughter wasn’t there and she wanted to be left alone.

Rosie’s mother had been amazing.

‘She says Rosie’s fine and dealing with it. Whatever the hell that means.’

‘I wish she’d tell us where she is,’ Bronte whispered.

So did he. Dear God, so did he.

‘I don’t need sympathy or advice,’ he growled the words.

And wished he hadn’t when he saw the pain in her eyes and wished the whole fucking thing would go far away.

Now he ploughed his hands through his hair, leaned back in his chair and simply closed his eyes.

‘She doesn’t trust me,’ he spoke the words for the first time.

His sister blinked.

‘I don’t understand. With other women?’

‘No. With her heart.’

Articulating the words made him realise that that was nothing more than the truth.

‘She loves you.’

‘Does she? She was in love with a dream. I have a feeling I’m not living up to her expectations.’

‘You’re talking nonsense.’

‘Am I?’

She rose and walked around the desk to place her hands on his shoulders and squeezed.