Page 37 of Chasing Storm
Josh takes a step forward, drawing my attention to him. “Crazy for you,” he says, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
I narrow mine in fury.How? That has to be a coincidence, right? He couldn’t possibly know…unless someone told him.
I back away slowly. “You need to stay away from me. I don’t want anything to do with any of you. We are not compatible.”
“We are, more than you know, Storm, and we will prove it,” JP says, gripping Josh’s arm to stop him from following me. “You’ll see, Storm.”
“Whatever,” I growl and turn to walk quickly away, hoping they don’t follow me and find out where I live. Unless they already know that as well.
With my hands shaking with trepidation, but also something else that is lurking under the surface that I don’t want to acknowledge even for a moment, I focus on the anger that they ruined my fake date, which I only went on to getthemto back off. This is so fucked up.
With a sigh, I kick off my shoes when I enter my flat, glad they didn’t follow me, and smile at the memory of throwing my drink in Josh’s face. As far as swills go, that one will go down as one of Notting Hill’s best. I’ll make sure of it.
* * *
The following Monday, after a weekend of hiding out in my flat, eating, watching movies and sleeping, not wanting to set foot outside in the pouring rain, I know that I have to make a move to work. The sun is weak, the clouds scudding along the pale blue sky with the cool wind. The weather seems to fit my mood as I make my way to the coffee shop in the hopes of seeing Franco to apologise for the shitshow. My mother taught me manners and while this whole thing was a complete disaster, I still feel like I owe him an apology. What Josh did was so rude, and I won’t be a party to it.
I practically skid to a halt when I see Thatcher leaning casually up against the wall next to the door, his black sunglasses perched on his face, even though the sun is hardly glaring this morning.
When he spots me, he straightens up and smiles shyly, holding out a takeaway cup of coffee to me.
“No!” I say, holding my hand up. “Just no!”
Ugh! Why? Why are they stalking me? I can’t even grab a coffee and issue an apologyon their behalfwithout them lurking in the shadows. Okay, out in the open, but still.
“Please?” he asks, taking a step closer.
“No. Leave me alone.”
I turn and walk as quickly as my mid-sized heels will allow in the direction of the doctor’s office.
With my head down against the wind that is blowing directly into my face, I don’t see Josh until it’s too late.
He is outside the practice with a lemon muffin, probably in the hopes that I would’ve accepted the coffee from his friend.
“I’m telling you the same as him,” I say, all anger at this setup leaving me. I just don’t have the energy. “No. Leave me alone. I don’t want this.”
“What is it you don’t want, Storm? Tell us so we know. We are trying here to be the men we know you deserve.”
“Stop,” I beg him. “Please. I don’t know what I want anymore…” I bite my bottom lip, the sudden tears welling up, taking me by surprise. “Please, just go.”
I rush up the steps and push my way into the office with a thundercloud over my head.
Sadie looks up and then glances at her watch with a disapproving tightening of her lips.
“Fuck you, Sadie,” I yell, not even caring that there is a patient waiting. “I’m not late. I’m two minutes early, you fucking cunt.”
I practically kick my way into the back office, thankful that Angela or David wasn’t there to hear my horrible outburst.
“Well, well…” Sadie stammers, completely taken aback by my verbal attack.
I ignore her and dump my bag on the floor, kicking my chair around so I can sit down and hope the floor swallows me up, but it spins around and around, which further exacerbates Cheryl’s snickering fit. She is snorting behind her hand and not making it easy for me to keep a straight face.
I ignore her as well, and with my head held high, I get the chair to stop spinning and sit, rolling it up tightly against my desk. Luckily, my back is to Sadie, but I can feel her livid glare on me. She doesn’t have the balls to say anything to my face, but I’m fairly sure Angela will be hearing about this, if not from her, then from the client in the waiting room.
Guess I’ll be going to work at my parent’s practice after all, now.
“Wow,” Cheryl says. “No words necessary, but here, this came for you.” She rolls over to hand me a white envelope with my name scrawled in an elegant script on the front.
