Page 31 of Edge of Secrets

She yanked open the office door and flounced out.

I stood there, staring at the door as it shut in my face, running through everything I’d said and done. I saw no fault lines. No red flags. No insults. What the hell had I said?

I’d been sucker-punched. This was not fair. And it was definitely not over.

I slapped the door open. Down the hall, the elevator was closing. I sprinted for it, but the doors pinged shut before I could wedge my fingers in. The other elevator was creeping up around the fiftieth floor. Screw that.

I dove for the stairwell. Enough guessing games. Enough bombs going off in my face. This woman wasn’t getting away from me until I knew what I’d done to piss her off. That was not too much to ask

Fuck this stress-inducing bullshit.

Chapter Eleven

Nell

I stumbled out onto the street, my knees wobbling. With anger and dismay and everything else that had led up to this moment.

I wiped at my face with the back of my hands, smearing my tears into horrendous streaks. God, I must look like a Halloween horror.

Mutually beneficial arrangement, my ass. Hammer out the details? He might as well have asked for a fee schedule. Like a sushi menu. A combination platter. Four pieces of sashimi, maki roll, and miso soup. How much for a mind-blowing kiss, heart-pounding dry humping, amazing, drawn-out cunnilingus, and a long, hard screw on the conference room table? Should I give him a discount for all the orgasms?

Crass, arrogant asshole. Reducing it to that, after he’d laid me so totally bare. My heart, my fears and hopes, my deepest self, all stripped down and raw, live wires carrying a lethal charge.

Maybe I’d overreacted, but it took all the self-control I had not to scream like a banshee and swing my purse at his head.

Or maybe that had been my last lingering remnant of common sense. All I had to do was look at the guy to know I wouldn’t fare well in any sort of physical confrontation with him.

My legs shook as I stumbled down the sidewalk. My crotch was still wet, hot, flushed, and glowing with residual pleasure. As if all the lights had been turned on, and then just left on. Every step, every clench of my thigh muscles felt ... well, good.

Damn him. That had been so crude, so unnecessary. He should stick to professional sex workers, not amateurs like me, primed and programmed to fall like a ton of bricks. Embarrassing myself and everyone else in my immediate vicinity.

I bumped into people as I walked, muttering soggy, garbled apologies. The colored lights of the city blurred into a colored swirl. I stopped at a street corner and wiped my tears and mascara away with my sleeve. God knew this dress would need to be cleaned anyway. I might never wear the damn thing again. It was tainted now.

I glanced up at the street sign. Broadway. Good. Busy at all hours. Even as a faraway, disconnected part of my mind reminded me of my promise to Nancy and Vivi. Snake Eyes, out on the prowl. This wasn’t safe.

But my wallet was practically empty, and my bank account was likewise tapped out from that stupid haircut this morning. I’d spent today’s tip money on my break, paying down my hefty credit card minimum. Then there was the car service I’d taken to Duncan’s building.

But hey, no worries, right? Salvation was at hand. High-end call girls pulled in a thousand an hour or more, depending on the services they provided, and the level of kink they were down for. Not that I could really boast of my sexual technique—I’d had too little effective practice—but I could fake it. It was in my blood, after all.

All I had to do was whip up a stiff fee schedule for that ice-hearted bastard, and there was all the cash I needed. For cab fares, haircuts, dresses, rent. Hell, even tuition, if I wanted to spend that much time on my back. Or my knees.

All I had to do was eliminate something inside myself. Something shining and precious and delicate. Something I hadn’t even known I had until that moment of astonishing connection with him.

Hope.

I was appalled at myself. I hadn’t even known my stupid went that deep, but I’d actually been hoping for love. From him. I hadn’t let myself admit it, but I couldn’t deny it now. Not after the huge, embarrassing tantrum I’d just thrown.

I’d been walking for a long time. My feet ached. The busy, self-important city swirled around me, the wind sweeping down the street, cool against my tear-streaked face. Then I spotted it—a familiar sign.

A big bookstore. It was a place I loved to hang out when I had time. I’d spent hours in there, standing in the aisles, devouring books I couldn’t afford to buy.

If anywhere could offer comfort, it was there. Maybe I’d go in and buy something extravagant. Like the complete works of E. E. Cummings.

I’d stay there until they physically threw me out.

Chapter Twelve

Duncan

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