I feel my patience starting to snap. I stare at his hand.
“No, no, no, my dear,” he stops me. “Where do you think you are going? We need you here. Here to tell us what to do, how to set up, where the rest of these decorations go.”
I look him in the eye. “In the trash, most likely.” I gaze around the room. “Excuse me, Max, but I shouldn’t be here.” I motion with my hands. “This… This is great.” My voice softens. “But I don’t work here anymore.”
Max moves in closer. “It’s Maximillian, sweetheart,” he corrects me. “And if I remember correctly, Mr. Sparrow said no such thing on the phone. He said ‘Give her the holiday she always deserved. Make it fun and beautiful and Christmas-y. For the love of my life’.” He waves a hand towards the wall. “This is fun and beautiful and Christmas-y.”
“Yeah…” I sigh. “I’m sure Mr. Sparrow did say that.” I rub my hairline.
Resigning was my only endgame just minutes ago, my only thought. The only endgame I’ve managed to land since I’ve stepped foot in King & Sparrow is a headache, and I massage my temples, my neck aching, and bones creaking worse than a woman Betty White’s age.
Probably from all the sex I’ve had recently.
And all the while, my stomach churns. I still can’t believe I’m going to walk away from my job. I still can’t believe I’m going to walk away from the best—and worst—thing that’s ever happened to me.
And I’m not talking about King & Sparrow.
Nausea rolls in my gut, and I lean against the wall, feeling a wave of sickness roll over me. I raise my head, rasping the words. “I need to get out,” I whisper. “I’ve gotta get out.”
Maximillian looks at my face. The man isn’t slow, I’ll give him that. With a clap of his hands, he crowds his employees together in the middle of the floor and out the door. Once it shuts, I sag against the wall, sliding down it. My head falls into my hands, and the tears I’ve held back for the past two weeks fall down my face with abandon.
Finally, any and all audiences are gone and I can let go. I let go of everything.
The Fletcher case I’m being forced to close and everything that means for my career. The assault I suffered at the hands of a Senior Partner. And finally I let go of the thought of the relationship that never was, the romance I thought I’d had by not, as Marilyn put it, “playing it safe.”
I failed. I fucking failed. At everything.
I stand to my feet, shaking off the sobs. Wiping under my eyes with my shaking wrists, I smudge what’s left of my mascara on the edge of my sleeve with a heavy sigh. I reach for the first line of streamers strung along the wall and just before I pull, a hand lands on my cotton-covered shoulder and that intoxicating smell of sandalwood comes with it, leaving me dizzy, driving a sudden punch to my stomach that threatens to double me over as it dawns on me who the hand belongs to.
I slowly spin, meeting his brown gaze with mine. I inhale a week’s worth of air in one fell swoop. I know who it is before I even turn around…
Chapter Thirty
HEATH
Christmas Day
Everything below my waist stirs just looking at her.
She’s fucking delectable when she’s vulnerable, her defenses down. I haven’t met many people with more walls than Violet Keats. The tough-as-nails lawyer could best any bricklayer.
Her hair is straightened and sleek, a silky sheet of glossy ginger. Her lips are painted blush red, and she wears a dark black skirt suit, the jacket and skirt fitting her body perfectly, accentuating her petite but curvaceous shape. The shirt beneath the jacket is as red as her mouth and nearly as enticing.
I stare at her with brazen longing. My icy girl. There’s no girl in those curves, nothing childish in that skin. I can attest from personal experience…that she’s all woman.
She freezes, shifting the black purse that’s in her hand. She looks at me, scoffing, strands of hair swinging as she shakes her head. “I don’t believe this…” She licks her lips once, turning on her heel, and marches back out of the office and down the hallway. I take off, following closely, my stride in synch with the clicks of her black pumps.
“Violet, hold up!”
“Not for you,” she slings at me.
“It’s not what you think.”
She glances at me as she continues to storm out.
“You unbelievable bastard. Was this part of your plan? Finesse me, fuck me? Trade me to David King like some baseball card?”
I’m taken aback. “It wasn’t at all. There was never any…”
She throws me a look quickly over her shoulder, shooting daggers from her eyes.
“Okay,” I backtrack a bit. “There was technically a bet going on, but I…”
“You liar. I can’t believe I trusted you,” She reaches the elevator, jumping in the crowded space, leaving no room for me to join her.
I watch the elevator close, catching a glimpse of her gorgeous eyes. They’re shimmering, glistening back at me with unshed tears that refuse to fall. I know she won’t let them. Not in front of me.
I blink, and then they’re gone, disappeared with the rest of her. I let her leave me once before. I’m not going to let her leave me again.
I run towards the stairs, opening the wooden door to the stairwell. There’s no one in here. No one would be. It’s practically suicide taking these stairs up or down. I’m clearly the only fool willing to risk my life.
I start running, skipping steps, dropping down floor by floor.
Every fifth level, I consider stopping: consider running to the elevator to catch it on its way down. But if I miss it, then I’ll be waiting. And Violet will be out of the front door and possibly out of my life. For good. So, I can’t.
Floor 39.
Floor 22.
Floor 17.
At Floor 11, I start to panic, thinking maybe her elevator doesn’t have as many stops as I’d hoped.
Hope is a weird sensation. It makes you crazy.
I had hope when I ran to Marilyn’s hospital bed three weeks ago. I had hope when I saw her. I have hope. Even now. But the hope is no longer about whether or not my sister’s life will be saved.
Now that life that needs saving? It’s mine.
Because when you fall in love, your life is no longer your own. Mine belongs to Violet Elizabeth Keats, and I’m not going to let her go until she knows it.
I nearly collapse onto the SparrowHead lobby level, soaked with sweat, my heart pumping as I search for her. My collared shirt is stuck to my chest, hair plastered to my brow. I circle the expanse outside of the elevator chutes, catching my breath, searching for her.
Several doors open. Even more actually close. Suits go in. Suits come out. But none of them are her. I clutch my knees from the exhaustion, bending at the waist, believing I’ve missed her.
Violet’s disappeared again…and I doubt she’ll come back this time.
The ding of the doors brings me back to life again, and this time, when I look, I find the vision I’ve been searching for.
She bypasses me, as I’m crouched over, picking up the pace as she heads toward the front doors. I limp after her, trying to keep up.