Page 86 of Tender Offer
“You’ll never be what he needs.” Venom drips from her blood red lips.
“And you’re pitiful for pretending to be someone you’re not,” I snap.
“I took a page from your book,” she scowls. “Aren’t you the same person who lied about who she was so she could take another student’s place because she was too poor to afford it on her own? You don’t belong with him, or with us. Consider this payback for the hurt you caused him.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
“Don’t I?” Bellamy steps closer. “Who do you think was there for him and will be once this ends?”
My stomach curdles at the implication of them together, but I keep my chin and my top knot firm.
“I’ll let you get back to work,” I say. “I’ll see him when he comes home,to me.”
“Don’t wait up,” Bellamy counters, envy smoothing her tone. “I look forward to us spending more time together. Me and Preston’s friendship is as old as you are, and it isn’t going anywhere.”
Bitch.
“Mr. Donnelley is unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?”
Answer your damn phone.
“No, thank you. That won’t be necessary,” I say to a woman who isn’t Cruella. “When do you expect him back?”
“He left with Ms. Kidwell. Have a good evening.”
The last message I sent Preston never reached him. It was an “oversight,” along with the bad habit he’s developed of leaving his phone on airplane mode.
I don’t want to call him a liar, but somebody is full of shit.
Since we came to Paris, Preston has been inaccessible. He’s out of bed at an ungodly hour and tiptoes in closer to midnight. The conversations we do have between his meetings are brief. So are the texts he sends asking about my day and apologizing for his absence.
I’m not a clinger who needs proof of life at the top of every hour, but I won’t tolerate disrespect or be played a fool for the sake of love. For me, trust is given until it’s revoked. Preston says he’s underwater with work, and I’ll believe him until proven otherwise.
But I won’t pretend his early mornings and late nights with Bellamy don’t sting. It’s only been a few days since our showdown in her office, which left me in the dark and on read. She’s probably off somewhere gloating in designer heels.
The sigh I release buckles my lungs. The heaviness is a blip under the weight of an empty penthouse that’s become a storage locker of past love and current frustration. I rub my palms over my eyes, exhausted from mentally scrolling through scenarios that end in a broken heart or with Preston’s body at the bottom of the Seine.
Bellamy has been a part of his life since they were kids—thirty-eight years, she so graciously reminded me. That’s a lifetime. With their work dynamic, it’s sensible for a CEO to spend time with the CFO.
Maybe they left the office to meet another business partner for dinner. Maybe there’s a work event Preston failed to mention.
I’m always three steps ahead.
“We are not this girl,” I tell myself on my way to the kitchen for a glass of wine and an eclair.
I’m a lover, not a fighter with a mean cut-off game. At least, I was before Preston. No man would have me worrying a hole into an antique rug at seven p.m. on a Saturday.
Preston has worked late before, but not like this. It’s never been this hard to reach him.
I never wanted to be the person waiting by the phone like I have for the last few days. Yet, here I am, with no plans or business of my own that’s worth trading in my loungewear.
These feelings—fear sloshing with anger—are why I’m not in a rush to commit my heart to the potential of being broken again.
With another exhale, I grab the ingredients for my pity party of one and go into Preston’s home office to playThe Oregon Trail. Alone.
Chapter 43
Preston
