So it will be a long, long time—i.e. never—before I’ll live in a place like this myself. And that’s just fine. I left the Hamptons, and my broken heart, behind me. And I turned down Anne Abbott’s offer. Between the money I earned waitressing, staging, and all my other odd jobs, plus my loan from Lance, I’m confident about my future career success.
My love life is another story. I can’t imagine falling in love with anyone, ever again. Not when I still dream about Lance every night, when I wake up feeling achy and sullen because my fantasies are just that—fantasies. No amount of dreaming will ever make them real. I loved Lance—I still love Lance—but it wasn’t enough.
“Let’s spend a few minutes just walking around the space together,” I call over my shoulder, forcing a cheerful tone. “I’d love to get your initial impressions, make note of anything you’d like me to work into the design. For instance, in this room, what is your eye naturally drawn to?”
“You.”
A lightning bolt of shock sets fire to my spine, white-hot heat racing through my bones and melting the soles of my stilettos. I’m glued to the bleached bamboo floors, pulse throbbing and heart aching. Breathless.
Lance.
He shouldn’t be here. He should be in California. Or the Hamptons. Or anywhere I’m not.
Because I carry the memory of him with me, everywhere I go. Lance is a rock in my shoe, a splinter beneath my skin, a wound that hasn’t healed. I carry him with me, everywhere. Always.
Finally, I muster the strength to turn around. “The summer is over. My time is my own, remember?”
He takes a few steps toward me. “I was merely answering your first question. In this room, in every room, my eyes are drawn to you. And to answer your second question, yes. I remember, Vivienne. I remember everything.”
I try to walk past him. Eva will probably fire me for bringing my drama into her new apartment, but Lance reaches out to grab me. His touch takes me right back to the very first time we met. But there’s no burning bush to sidestep. The biggest danger is standing right in front of me. Lance himself.
I want to weep at the wave of longing that shoots through me at the feel of his hand closing over my wrist. But like all waves, it crashes. And what remains is fury. Pure and unbridled, it wells up from the deepest part of my soul, an avalanche of indignation. I yank my hand away, barely able to restrain myself from slapping the face that haunts me every time I close my eyes. Damn him.
“What happened to your Fitbit?”
“I got rid of it.” I tossed it in a trash can the day I left the Hamptons. I don’t need to track my steps anymore. There are too many other things to keep track of. My clients, the room I’m decorating in an upcoming Designer Showcase, my social media accounts, which are getting more attention everyday thanks to consistent posts and eye-catching photos.
“Where is Eva?” I look around, but I don’t see her. “I’m working and this is incredibly unprofessional. You need to leave.”
“Eva’s gone.”
“What? Did you—I can’t believe—How dare you walk in here like you own the place, interrupting my time with my client, expecting me to drop everything—”
“I do. I do own this place.”
“What?”
“I signed the contract this morning.”
“I don’t understand. This is Eva’s apartment. We looked all over the city. I helped her pick it out.” I have a disconcerting sense of déjà vu. Once again, Lance is claiming a space I consider my own. First, the beach house where I was living. And now, the penthouse where I’ll be working. “Get out! Get your own place, Lance.”
“I bought it for us. It’s ours.”
“Ours? There is no us, Lance. You put an end to that the day you paid me to be your girlfriend and treated me like a whore. The day you told me money was real but we weren’t.”
“I was an asshole. An absolute idiot.”
I take a deep, shaky breath. “At least we can agree on that.” I pull my notebook out of my purse. “And now that we’ve got that settled, please go find Eva and tell her that whatever stunt you’re trying to pull didn’t work. It’s safe for her to come back.”
“Vivienne, this isn’t a stunt. Eva’s helping me. I didn’t want to just show up on your doorstep and beg you to dump Richard. I don’t know what you see in the guy, considering—”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m taking about us.”
I interrupt. “There is no us, damn it.”
“There was. And there can be again. Just leave Dick and—”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I left Richard in May, six months ago. I haven’t seen him since the RiskTaker party.”
A confused tic pulses in Lance’s jaw. “You didn’t go back to Abbott, even after he asked you to?”
“Richard never—” I stop, finally sensing the poisonous pit at the middle of this misunderstanding. “It was Anne that wanted me back. Not Richard.”
“But on the yacht. I saw the two of you . . .”
Lance made the same mistake I once did. A mistake I only recently uncovered during the week I spent at my parent’s house between leaving Southampton and returning to Manhattan. My mother and I finally had a heart-to-heart talk that was years overdue. It turns out the affair I thought happened . . . never did. Her boss tried, following her into the garage to hit on her. But she rebuffed his advances and quit. What Lance saw, his interpretation of it, was the same as mine. And just as wrong.
“Richard showed his true colors, yet again, and I stood up for myself. Believe me, after what I did to him, I’m sure he never wants to see me again And the feeling is mutual.”
Lance looks away, running his hands through his hair and closing his eyes as a look of anguish pinches his features. After several long beats, he shakes it off and shifts his focus back to me. “What did you do?”
“I kneed him in the balls. And before you go feeling any guy-to-guy sympathy, he deserved it.”
“Don’t tell me he—” Lance’s nostrils flare. “I’ll fucking kill him.”
“He didn’t have a chance to do anything, and I handled it myself.” Those chocolate eyes cause a distracting flutter inside my belly, but I force myself to stand my ground. “So, are we done here? Because I have better things to do than—”
“We both do. That’s why I’m here. Vivienne, you turned my house into a home. And I want to live there, or here, or anywhere, with you.”
“I turned your sloppy share house into a Southampton wow house. Any decent designer could have done that.”
“Fuck decent. What I want, what I found in you, is incredible. You’re fireworks and ocean breezes. You’re my home. My anchor. I’m lost without you. Please, give me another chance. Give us another chance.”
“If you’re lost, hire someone to find you. A life coach, maybe. I don’t do that.”
Suddenly, I’m airborne in Lance’s arms. His mouth crashes down on mine, swallowing every one of my protests. And, damn him, it’s better than I remember. Better than my dreams. It’s love and lust and loss. It’s hate and regret. This kiss is pure passion, every shade and shape and angle.