Page 275 of The Christmas Wife

My jaw drops. I watch as he stalks out the door of the pub without waiting for me. He didn’t wait for me to finish. So, I told him I wasn’t hungry, but he could have, at least, asked me if I really meant it. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Isn’t this how I want it to be from now on?

I jump to my feet, grab my bag, and march through the doorway. I walk outside and into the parking lot to find him talking to Ralph. When I reach them, Ralph nods at Hunter. "I’ll follow you back to the office, Sir." He nods at me and says, "Ms. Chopra," then walks toward one of the two black SUVs parked next to the car Hunter drove us in.

"You’re heading to the office?" I turn to Hunter, who slides my car’s key fob from his pocket and holds it out.

I take it, and he retrieves his hand before our fingers touch… And why do I feel so deprived?

"Goodbye, Zara." He takes a step back.

I want to jump forward and grab his sleeve but stop myself. "It doesn’t have to be like this, Hunter."

"Like what?"

"Like… Like this…" I point between us.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"If you’re going to be so immature about this?—"

"I’m merely giving you want you wanted. You don’t want us to have a relationship? You don’t want to be seen with me? This is how it looks."

"Can’t we be friends?"

"Friends?" For the first time since he took his phone out in the restaurant, his eyes turn more green than blue. "With what I feel for you, we can never be friends."

35

Zara

"That’s what he said? That the two of you can never be friends?" Solene asks from the screen of my phone.

"That’s what he said." I pour myself a cup of coffee and carry it to the window of my office.

It’s been three weeks since Hunter threw those words at me and took off in his car. He left one of his security detail behind, who insisted on following me on the drive back to London. They ensured I was safely inside my house before they left. I felt protected by Hunter’s gesture, that despite the fact we parted on what were not the friendliest of terms, he insisted on making sure I got home safely.

At the same time, it’s not like he asked me if his team could escort me home. He simply assumed I’d be fine with it and ordered his team to to it. I could hardly tell the team not to do so when they approached me. To do so would have made me appear churlish. Besides, I was glad they were following mehome, given how treacherous the roads still were after the snow last night. So, I accepted their offer.

Which meant, ultimately, he won, even though he agreed to walk away from me, just as I asked him to do. And he did. And now, I feel his loss so deeply, I feel like the biggest loser of all. Instead of feeling joyful to have escaped his clutches, I feel empty inside. Like I had a chance and wasted it away. Like all that’s remaining in my life now is empty evenings and nights in a bed that feels too big and too cold, like… I’ve lost a part of me, a part I could have had but refused.

"Zara, you there?"

"Eh?" I turn to my phone. "What did you say?"

"It’s not like you to be so pissed off over a man’s words."

Only, he’s not just any man. He’s Hunter. He’s the man who I can’t stop going toe-to-toe with, the man who I was sure I didn’t like; the man who gave me the most memorable night—okay, nights—of my life.

This is what happens when orgasms addle your brain. You can’t think straight. Not that it seems to have affected the day-to-day life of the jerkhole. He’s been in the news almost every week, spotted at openings and galas, each time, with a new woman on his arm. And he hasn’t called me. Not once. Nor texted. But neither have I.

"It must have been some weekend break with him. The sex must have been phenomenal."

I flush. Her jaw drops. "OMG, did you just blush, Zara?"

"So what?" I flip my hair over my shoulder, trying to school my features into an expression which I hope is casual.

"So what? I’ve never seen you blush.”

"I blush."Especially when I’m in the presence of the poshhole.

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