Page 15 of Every Silent Lie
December 5th
At bang on five, I scoop up my things and leave my office, pulling on my coat as I walk the corridor to the elevator, feeling eyes on me as I go. Debbie glances up from her desk, looks back down, then sharply back up again, her face a picture of uncertainty. She discreetly checks the time on her screen before making a few clicks, undoubtedly checking if I have any off-site meetings that’s pulling me away from the office earlier than usual. “Those tights are hideous too,” I call.
“I knew you’d love them.”
I hit the call button and tie the belt of my coat, getting my bag onto my shoulder. I falter, feeling the weight is lighter than usual. No files. I look back to my office. I should get some files.
“Camryn?” Thomas comes out of his office, frowning toward me. Then he checks his watch. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” Everything except for the grotto he’s allowed Crystal to make of the offices. “I’m done for the day.”
“But it’s only five.”
“My contracted hours are nine till five.”
“But for two years, you’ve arrived at eight and left at six or seven.”
I ignore his observation and step into the elevator when the doors slide open. “See you tomorrow.” I go to the mirror and brave facing myself, combing my fingers through my loose hair, tucking the front, shorter layer over my ear. It immediately jumps back out, falling across my eye. I rub my rosy lips together then reach for the mole on my cheek and trace the circumference, stopping when I realise what I’m doing. What am I doing?
Dropping my hand, I step back, staring into my dark eyes, my lips infinitely straight. There was a time I wouldn’t leave the house without my signature raspberry lipstick, the edges artfully lined in a matching lip pencil. Alive. Colourful. Now, they’re permanently bare. He likes them bare and rosy. I blink, checking my lashes. Mascara. No false lashes. Just a tinted moisturiser to even out my olive skin. To look less sallow. Less . . . sad.
I sigh, leaving the cart when the doors open, wrapping my cream scarf around my neck as I walk through the lobby. I don’t think about where I’m heading, I just head there, taking the quickest route, running the Christmas gauntlet, focused on getting to where I need to be.
I’ve never frequented the same hotel bar two nights in a row. Until now. And I’ve never been here this early.
I pass through the lobby of The Royal Constantine, feeling the staff’s surprised eyes following me, and when I make it to the bar, I stop at the door and exhale, breathing easy when I see he’s here already. Julio looks up first, a knowing smile tickling the corner of his mouth, prompting Dec to turn on his stool—the second from the end—and find me.
I slowly exhale at the sight of him and try with all my might to move. But my feet refuse to work, as if listening to my mind, which is screaming at me to stay here. Stay here and admire his impassive beauty. He finally stands from the stool, and I notice he’s more casual today, no suit. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of jeans and a thin Barbour quarter zip, knitted jumper. Classic.
“Are you going to stand there all evening or join me?” he asks, motioning to the stool beside him.
I swallow and move toward him, feeling a charged energy drawing me to him. “You’re here,” I say quietly.
“As are you.” He seems to take me in from top to toe. Such scrutiny would usually have me shying away, make me feel uncomfortable, but not today. Not when it’s Dec’s eyes. “Here.” He reaches for the strap of my bag and eases it off my shoulder, lowering it to the floor, but he pauses halfway. “Do you need anything out of your bag?”
I shake my head, so he releases it, then places his hands on my shoulders. My breathing hitches, the warmth of his big palms soaking into my skin through my dress. I look up at him, drawn to his lips.
“Turn around,” he says quietly, applying a little pressure to help me. He comes in close, so close I can feel his breath on my neck as he draws my coat down my arms. My lips part, air suddenly nowhere to be found. I turn my head and open my eyes, finding his face a whisper away from mine, his eyes closed. He looks serene, and this close, I see every tiny imperfection, every line, every bristle of his stubble. His lips are parted too.
“Thank you,” I murmur. He opens his eyes, and our gazes collide, something powerful coasting through my body fast, making me jolt a little.
“Welcome.” He swallows and pulls away, taking my coat to the stand in the corner and hanging it with his. “I saved your favourite seat,” he says as he pulls out my stool. “And ordered your favourite drink. But only one of them.”
I get onto the stool, nodding my hello to Julio, as I pull my dirty martini close, noticing Dec’s short glass. “What’s your poison?”
He turns toward me on his stool, resting an elbow on the bar, his drink in his suspended hand, his other on his knee. “I’ve got a feeling it could be you.”
God, you’re poisonous.
My recoil is unstoppable, even if it’s not justified, because the voice catches me off guard. And today, it hurts more. “And what if it is?”
“I’ll find an antidote.” Dec sips his drink, casual, considering me carefully.
“You want to cure me?” I ask, looking down, seeing our knees nearly touching. I discreetly put more space between them, though not discreetly enough judging by Dec’s minuscule raised brow when he looks down.
“I never said that. The antidote is for me.”
“When I poison you,” I murmur.
