“I guess we’ll never know,” I viciously spit at her, feeling my chest caving in. “Because this”—I pointed my finger between us—“has been based on a fucking lie. There is no this.”
She gasped, and her eyes filled with furious tears. A part of me wanted to pull her into my arms, to tell her I didn’t mean it. My pride and anger were too hot though to allow any such thing. I was breaking apart inside. It made the anger that much more complete.
“You know what? Fuck you,” I said. “You got what you wanted—”
“No. No, Oliver—”
“Fuck you!” I screamed. Turning on my heel, I strode out of the room, slamming the door behind me.
I took the stairs the next four flights up to my room. Mindlessly, I shoved all my possessions in my bags. I had to get away from here, had to put as much distance as I could between me and the bitch who had torn me apart.
I was going home, damn it.
Fuck everything.
And fuck Elaine H. Ford especially.
Xanthe
Oliver had stormed out.
I sank to the floor, stunned. After everything, how could he honestly believe I had deliberately tried to fool him?
I’d told him so much about myself last night—hell, the past week. No, I hadn’t held up a neon sign, declaring I was Elaine H. fucking Ford, but I’d confessed it to him. I’d confessed a whole hell of a lot more than that.
That had certainly been the quickest relationship I’d ever been in. And, somehow, it was also the most profound.
Oliver had hidden nothing of himself. I knew that not telling him after the first night hadn’t been my finest moment, but damn it…I had enjoyed the fact that he liked me for who I was, and psycho Elaine had had no part of it.
Up until last night, I’d held back simply because he’d inadvertently questioned my mental frame of mind. I’d already dealt with that enough as a child, and I had done years of therapy to make sure I wasn’t a cracked egg.
Heartsore, I picked myself up and stood for a few minutes, staring at the door he’d slammed out of. The world had come back into existence with a vengeance. I’d call Dr. McKenna now, if she were available. It was nearly two in the morning back in Oxford.
A group of authors from the convention were getting together to go out and have a few drinks. I could probably use some alcohol.
Instead, I peeled my miserable self out of my dress and scrubbed the makeup off my face. Pulling my hair up into a knot, I got in the shower in an attempt to wash off some of the misery.
Drained, I crawled into my bed.
Damn it…I could still smell him on the pillow.
“We should wake up like this every morning.”
The few hours of restless sleep I’d had did nothing for the hollow ache in my chest. Dragging myself out of bed, I had nothing but a long drive ahead of me.
There was a small grain of hope that maybe, just maybe, Ollie would have calmed down, and he’d want to talk about the situation. But I wasn’t stupid. It was a foolish hope, especially seeing that he hadn’t called or texted me throughout the night.
I’d lain awake for most of it, praying for the chime on my phone to sound. Yeah. Foolish.
Just in case though, I waited in the lobby. He was always punctual, arriving ahead of schedule. It was something I’d noticed the few times we’d gone out, and Oliver had been at the convention much earlier than I had.
Ten minutes later, I knew he wasn’t going to show up. Walking up to the concierge, I asked that they phone his room just to make sure he had caught another flight. I didn’t think he’d answer my phone call.
“Mr. Fairfax checked out last night, it seems,” the pretty woman told me as she looked into the computer system.
“What?” I breathed, feeling faint.
She nodded. “Yes. He’s been checked out.”
Panicking, I pulled out my phone and speed-dialed him. Straight to voice mail. Desperate, I racked my brain for what I should do.
Maybe he went to another hotel?
There was one person who I thought would know, and with my heart in my throat, I selected the number in my phone. Being a little after four here, it had to be ten in the morning back home.
“Trey Fawkes speaking.”
“H-hello, um…this is Xanthe Malcolm—”
“It is?” He sounded so happy about that.
“Yes, it is. I’m a friend of Oliver’s.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. Is…is he okay?” Now, he sounded alarmed.
“I believe so. I’m calling because…well, he’s not here. We were supposed to travel to Boston together by car—long story, not important. The thing is, last night, we had a falling out…” I swallowed hard. “Mr. Fawkes—”
“Please, call me Trey.”
“Trey. Okay. You might know me as Elaine Ford.”
“Oh. Oh!” And then, he said, “Oh.”
“Exactly. I’m just calling to tell you that if he gets in touch with you, would you please tell him how very sorry I am? We’ve had a misunderstanding.”
“Won’t you be able to tell him in Boston?”
“I have a feeling that he won’t make it to Boston.”
“Oliver is a consummate professional, Xanthe. He wouldn’t back out of the contract. And the way he’s spoken of you—”
“It doesn’t matter. He no longer feels that way, and…” My breath caught in my chest, and I fought back my tears of heartache. “Please let him know that if he decides to honor the contract, he won’t have to directly work with me much after today.”
“Xanthe—”
“Have a nice day, Mr. Fawkes.” I hung up. I’d walked to the awaiting rental while on the phone, and right now, I wanted nothing more than to get in it and have a good hard cry. I was going to be hideous at the signing, but I couldn’t really care about that.
I made it to Boston in about five hours with a couple of restroom breaks and a serious amount of gas station coffees. At the first stop, I had given Oliver a call, but it had gone straight to voice mail once more. I’d left him a tearful message.
“Oliver, it’s me…” I’d said, sounding tearful. “I just wanted to tell you—to apologize really. I realize now that I should have been more specific, and maybe a small part of me was holding back from a full-on confession because…you scare the hell out of me. The way you made me feel, what you make me feel…I know you were upset for being chosen as Donovan and not as the photographer, and if I had known from the beginning, I’d never have asked. It’s just…you are everything I imagine the perfect man to be.
“I’ve never wanted so badly to believe that a man as incredible as you could be interested in me. I was insecure and foolish. It’s just…I think I was overwhelmed with everything that was already going on, and to start having these feelings on top of it, knowing you think what I write is mentally fucked up…well, I let that hold me back when I should’ve told you on our first date.
“I understand that you never want to see or hear from me again, so…I won’t be bothering you anymore. But just for the record…” My voice had cracked, and I’d choked around my words. My eyes had welled up, and tears had spilled over, splashing down into my lap. “I just wanted you to know…I felt it, too.”