He takes my non-answer as acceptance, buttoning the shirt to cover my exposed body. His fingers brush my skin a couple times, a painful reminder of everything that just happened. I should want a man like Pierce Stanley, and I’m angry with myself because I don’t. Not in the way he wants me.
When the shirt is perfectly in place, he cups my face in his hands, forcing my eyes to his. “I need you to know that you’re making a mistake. When you finally come to realize that, I hope it’s not too late.”
I shut my eyes tightly. It’s my only escape. “Some choices we don’t get to make.”
“Then how am I supposed to win?” he asks, his warm breath hitting my cheek.
Warm tears fall down each cheek. “I don’t know if you can.”
I open my eyes to find him looking down at me. In another time, Pierce could have made me happy. There’s no doubting that.
He rubs his thumb across my lower lip. My chest tightens. I hate what I’m doing to him . . . I hate feeling like I lead him on. “Promise me something, Lila.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t become someone you aren’t just to be with him.”
I nod against his touch, but I know it’s too late. Blake’s already turned me into someone I don’t like. Pierce deserves better than that. “Goodnight, Pierce.”
“Goodnight.” He kisses my forehead before letting me go.
I head straight for the door, picking up my purse along the way. I don’t want to look back, but I do anyway. He hasn’t moved from where I left him, standing with his hands tucked in his pockets. “Thank you for tonight.” I attempt to smile, but I’m sure I look ridiculous with tears falling at the same time.
Without another word, I open the door, and make my way across the hall. When I’m finally shut inside my room, I crumble to the floor. For what could have been minutes, or maybe hours, I fall back to the heartbroken woman I was months ago. This time, I have no one to blame but myself.
Blake warned me. I didn’t listen.
Pierce offered to catch me, but I’d already fallen.
The worst thing to wake up with is guilt. My swollen, tired eyes remind me of everything that happened last night. Dinner. The kiss. Dessert. Everything after. It all plays over and over again until I don’t even recognize myself.
Rolling to look at my clock, I realize I only have forty-five minutes until Pierce and I have to meet with Wade.
I tie my hair up and turn on the shower as hot as I’m able to handle, letting the steam fill the room as I unbutton Pierce’s shirt. I didn’t have the strength to take it off last night after my meltdown. Besides, it still carries that scent that always seems to comfort me, which only compounds my guilt. In a way, I used him. I took from him when I had nothing to offer in return.
Closing my eyes, I let the stream of water beat down on my face. I remember the expression on Pierce’s face when I told him to stop. If I let myself, I can still feel his skin on mine, and it disgusts me, because when he was with me, I was with Blake.
Not able to take anymore, I quickly dress, not too concerned about how I look. When you feel like a rainstorm just pounded your heart, it’s hard to look like anything less than that happened on the outside.
I untie my hair, pinning it into a more professional bun and do my best to cover the circles under my eyes.
I grab my luggage and coat, ready to make the journey to the lobby. When I pull the door open, Pierce is standing against the wall. My heart skips a beat or two. He’s well dressed, as always, in a gray suit with a lavender button-up underneath. I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t look away. If we could go back a month—before Blake—Pierce would be a force I couldn’t resist. I loathe myself for having to distance myself from him because I’m glued to the one person I should have stayed far away from.
“Do you need help with your things?” he asks, pushing off the wall toward me.
“I’m okay, but thank you.”
He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding my stare. “How did you sleep?”
“Okay.” I tuck a strand of invisible hair behind my ear, needing the distraction.
He nods toward the elevator. “We should get going. The quicker we get there, the quicker we can leave.”
He starts walking. I follow.
He takes one corner of the elevator. I take the other.
And when I climb in the car, I stick as close to my door as I can, knowing the ride won’t be anything like last night.
The silence is lonely, but loneliness is welcome.
I’ve never thought there could be a positive side effect of amnesia, but this one time, I wish I could choose it. There are so many things I’d just rather forget.
I wish Pierce and I could both forget, to go back to what we were before.
I dared to cross that line. Now, there’s no way to get back over.
Pierce finally breaks the silence as the car parks in front of Wade’s office building. “The jet is ready to leave as soon as we’re done here.”
I nod, wondering if he had something else planned originally . . . before the mess I made last night.
He holds the door open for me, but he doesn’t place his hand on my back like usual. Anger may not be Pierce’s thing, but the temperature between us is cold. He walks next to me without a word. It’s almost worse this way, wondering what he’s feeling instead of having him say it.
“Pierce Stanley for Wade Adams,” he announces to the receptionist before it even dawns on me that we stopped in front of her desk.
“You can go on up to the twenty-fourth floor. His assistant will show you to the conference room.”
My phone vibrates as the elevator closes, but I don’t move to retrieve it from my purse. It vibrates again a few seconds later.
“You going to check that?” Pierce asks, staring up at the elevator ceiling.
I pull it out, sliding my thumb over the screen. I have a slew of missed texts, but the one that catches my eye first is from Blake.
Blake: I might not be here when you get back. Going out of town for a few days.
I think about ignoring him but reconsider.
Lila: When will you be back?
When there’s not an instant reply, I start typing another message. It shouldn’t matter to me. We’re unfixable. Too much has been done and said that can’t be forgotten.
The elevator dings, interrupting my thoughts.
“Ready?” Pierce asks, narrowing his eyes on my phone.
I shove it back in my purse. “Sorry.”
This will be the second time in two days I’ve been in this suite, and it holds bad memories of the testosterone battle I witnessed yesterday between Pierce and Wade. I’m not expecting fair play today either.
Wade’s Barbie-like assistant appears to greet us. “Mr. Stanley. Ms. Fields, please follow me this way.”
We end up in the same conference room as yesterday, the one with the line of windows overlooking Times Square. Instead of taking a seat at the expansive marble table, I walk toward the picturesque view, placing a finger on the cool glass. I need a break from Pierce, from seeing him and hearing the smooth sound of his voice. Even more than that, I need a reprieve from myself, because, at the end of the day, it’s not Blake or Pierce who got me here . . . it’s me.
Professionals flood the sidewalks below. Posters and billboards line the street. It gives me something to focus on, a place for my thoughts to wander. It works until I see a man—who has the same hair color as Blake—walking. He creeps into my thoughts so easily. A part of me wishes he only existed there . . . that I could mold him into what I need him to be.
I’d keep his edge. The sides of him that people warned me about are the ones that make me feel the most alive. All I’m asking is for him to let me in, to give me a chance to see if everything I feel inside is valid, or if it’s a fucked up mirage I’ve caught myself in.