Page 44 of Destined To Fall

“You heard me.”

Sadly, I did. In all honesty, it’s not a stretch—even the logical conclusion—but for some reason, it aggravates me all the same. I know it shouldn’t, but I wasn’t prepared for this, or more importantly, hearing it come from Jeremy.

I finish my drink in a quick, burning mouthful, being careful not to slam the glass down, and stand, taking my bag in hand.

“No witty comeback? No snarky remark?”

“No.”

“You’ve got nothing to say to that?”

“Nope, I’m done.”

“Like hell you are.” He reaches for my arm, but I pull back, shutting him down.

“You just lost that privilege. I come at a cost, Jer, and you just ran out of credit.”

The ringing refuses to stop. It started up as soon as I exited the bar and continued as I walked the streets aimlessly, eventually stopping a yellow death wagon to take me home. I barely notice as the cab driver speeds off, cutting off some unsuspecting victim as he merges into traffic.

I slam my way into my apartment, all but breaking the door off the hinges with the force. My cell is still a buzzing, burning presence in my Marc Jacobs; it goes flying across the hall table the moment I clear the entrance. I pay it no mind as it crashes to the floor. Instead, I stomp to the kitchen and the head-splitting sound of the landline. I could hear it as soon as I got out of the elevator. It stopped moments after, only to start up again.

“What?” I bark out before recognizing the number flashing on the handheld, seven missed messages blinking red next to it.

“Vivienne, would you care to explain—”

I cut Max off.“No. I’ll see you tomorrow night as planned, Maxwell. Unless you have changed your mind?”

“No, I haven’t. I just need—”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

I hang up.

This is just peachy. I ignore the messages, even though I should probably check them before Laura does. Yet I’m still staring at the red digit a few minutes after returning the phone to the cradle. It takes a lot in life to throw me for a loop, but I’ve definitely been thrown today.

Jeremy…Thatcher.

I shake my head. Why didn’t I know his last name? The one and only time Jeremy emailed me, it was from a personal email, no name anywhere, no company mentioned either. God, they even have the same jaw and nose, but damn if Max looks old enough to have a twenty-six-year-old son. I really should have put two and two together and gotten the obvious six because everything is adding up to some stupid, nonsensical number. The real kick in the teeth, the bitter pill I’ve been struggling to swallow—I still want Jeremy. Even more so. That damn forbidden fruit is tempting the ever-loving crap out of me. It’s not like I couldn’t go there, though. Surely, he’s not really off-limits. There are no rules that state I can’t fuck a client’s son.

Well, there is the whole not-screwing-around thing of Jeremy’s. That’s a slight problem, I’ll admit. Seriously, who has a conscience these days? The world is full of the corrupt and the indecent, not to mention the morally skewed. Hell, they keep me in the lifestyle I’m accustomed to, and I happened to stumble into the one good guy in Boston who pushes buttons I didn’t know I had. Images of Jeremy’s blue eyes and mischievous grin fill my head, making me curse.

Fucking boy-next-door type.

I spin on my heels and head for my closet, deciding the gym is in order. I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon working my frustration out on the kickboxing bag, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll spend an obscene amount of money on clothes I’ll never wear. That always works.

Usually.

Chapter Nine

“What’s with you tonight?” Laura pulls me from wherever it was I disappeared to.

When three hours at the gym and two-odd hours of shopping didn’t work, I called Laura. Copious amounts of wine and all the guilt-ridden carbs I could stomach later.I’m still in a shitty mood.

“Nothing, just drained.”

“I don’t get you. You bust your balls at the gym daily only to gorge on enough pasta to feed a third-world country. Not to mention half a vineyard.”

“Wine’s a fruit,”I muse.

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