She hung up the phone and stood. Fuck. Was she going to call security and have me thrown out?
Instead, she gestured to one of the sofas. “Mr. Duchesne asked if you would wait. He’ll be out directly.”
I didn’t sit. The nervous energy thrumming through me made it impossible. Rather, I walked toward the sculpture and read the plaque adorning the pedestal. I didn’t recognize the artist’s name, but that didn’t mean anything. I’d never enjoyed modern sculpture.
“Charlotte.”
The door must have opened on silent hinges, because when I spun, Simon was standing rigidly in the doorway. My name sounded cold on his lips. His expression was completely closed off.
“Simon.” I stepped toward him.
“What are you doing here?”
A hushed gasp came from the direction of the receptionist. Apparently she’d never heard Simon use that cutting tone either.
“I wanted to see you.”
“You’ve seen me.”
Oh fuck, no. He was not going to shut me out. If this was a taste of my own medicine, it was bitter as hell.
“I’d like a few minutes. In private.”
He turned and walked through the open doorway to the inner sanctum. I took that as my cue and followed. I didn’t know this Simon. He was cold, withdrawn, and kind of an asshole. I felt the hope I’d been holding on to leech out of me.
He stood in the doorway of an office and gestured for me to enter. I stepped inside, and he shut the thick wooden door. The windows faced the Mississippi, and I could see cranes loading shipping containers onto barges—like the one we’d picnicked on the night before last. I wanted to go back to Saturday and redo everything so I could avoid this confrontation.
Simon sprawled in his leather executive chair, but didn’t indicate that I should sit as well. I sat anyway. Given his behavior, I’d be waiting forever for an invitation.
He didn’t speak. His hazel eyes drilled into me, chipping away my confident front. His lips pressed into a thin, flat line.
“I’m sorry.” My apology was sincere but didn’t sound remotely humble. I had come here ready to apologize and explain to my Simon, but the man before me wasn’t him.
He raised an eyebrow sardonically. “For what exactly?”
My patience ran out. “Are you going to be a dick about this? Because if you are, I’ll just go.” My nails dug into the leather armrests, and I didn’t care if I left marks.
Simon straightened in his fancy ass chair, no longer looking like an indolent jackass. “That’s your apology?”
“I had a better one planned, but I didn’t realize you’d turn into an asshole over night.”
One corner of his mouth tugged upward, but he beat back the beginnings of his smile.
“I’ve never had someone tell me ‘I’m sorry’ and make it sound like they were also telling me to go fuck myself.”
This time the corner of my mouth tugged upward, but I resisted the impulse as well. It was a standoff. A game of verbal and emotional chicken. For a beat, I had no idea who would swerve first. Then I decided it should be me.
“I’m sorry about last night. I did something … kind of stupid. I would have been here sooner, but…” I hesitated, trying to come up with the right words to explain how I’d gone off by myself, gotten drunk, and gotten knifed.
Before I could continue, his expression morphed into something hard and angry. His next words sucked the air out of my lungs.
“Did you fuck Con last night? Or this morning? Because if that’s what you’re going to tell me, you should get the hell out of my office.”
I shot out of my chair, too pissed to wince at the pain. Simon did the same, his chair toppling over from the force. His eyes blazed with accusation.
“Did you?” he demanded. I had no idea how he knew I’d spent the night at Con’s, but that was beside the point. The reason for Simon’s personality transplant was now clear.
“It sounds like you don’t need an answer from me. You’ve already decided for yourself exactly what happened.”
“Goddammit, Charlie. Answer my fucking question.” I almost did tell him to go fuck himself this time, but his voice wavered on the last words, and I studied his posture. His hands were fisted so tightly it looked like his knuckles might pop out of their sockets. He held himself perfectly still, as if expecting to shatter with my answer.
I raised my chin and met his gaze. “No. But you can go to hell for asking.” I turned and reached for the door handle, intent on pulling it open. Simon’s hand slapped against the wood beside my face. His knuckles were raw and split open, and I wondered what the hell he’d done last night. The thought vanished as his body surrounded me. This seemed to be a recurring position with us.
I could feel his heart pounding against my back. The heavy thud-thud, thud-thud matched my own. The sound of his harsh breaths echoed in the silence of the room. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.”
I memorized the wood grain of the door. “Don’t tell me what to do. It doesn’t work out well for us.”
He pressed the entire length of his body against me and spoke directly into my ear. “I can’t watch you walk away again. Last night it gutted me. Today, it will break me.”
My forehead thumped against the door, and I squeezed my eyes shut as tears threatened to spill over. Once again, his honesty leveled me, demolishing my walls. I turned in the circle of his arms—the place I most wanted to be—and stared up at him. His eyes were closed, as if waiting for the executioner to raise his ax and swing the lethal blow. I didn’t know what to say to erase the pain etched on his features. So I went with the simplest truth.