Page 117 of Soul Mates: Hercules Valentine and I
Hercules doesn’t kiss me before he walks out of the room, nor does he give me a second look. Something is wrong.
I kick the heavy duvet off my legs.What could’ve happened between when he last entered me and now?My gaze zips around the room, seeking clues. I take notice of his floating dressers and the decorative wall panels behind the headboard. I only now notice the five panels of artwork that form a scene of evergreens at the base of snowcapped Rocky Mountains. The same old feeling of being outlived by Hercules overwhelms me. I never should have let Max lock me away in his house in Palo Alto. I’ll never live that way again. When this is all over, I’ll make my own adult life.
“Maybe he’s not a morning person,” I whisper as I flop back down against the mattress. And then…
My purse.
I roll over. It’s not by the side of the bed, where I thought it landed.
“No,” I gasp and press my hands over my mouth.
My judgement lapsed as soon as I rode up on his special car elevator. I left my purse in his car, I think. I hoist my legs over the side of the bed and rush down the wide hallway. His marble floors are warm against the bottoms of my feet.Hercules would have heated flooring.I make it to the living room. The curtains are open. The sky is gray, but Hercules’s penthouse comes with a breathtaking view of the city rising around Central Park for miles on out. I'm too anxious to stop and relish the sight that’s obviously meant to dazzle. No matter what, I have to get back into that garage and secure my purse.
I start to turn away from the large windows, but then I see it sitting on an end table made of black stone. My feet are glued to the floor as my heart sinks. I surely didn’t put my purse on top of that gorgeous piece of furniture last night. Hercules must have done it.
I walk slowly across the room. When I’m standing alongside the table, I stare down at my little red bag.Why the hell did I bring it in the first place?I pray that I smartly left my cellphone at home.
I pick up my purse and open it. I close my eyes and sigh with dread.My cellphone.I take it out.It’s powered on.My chest hurts. I have one missed call from Treasure, but I don’t have her name in my contacts, just the number. I received another call while I was away from my purse, though—from Max.
“Oh no,” I whisper. Max’s call was not missed.
I search over my shoulder.I have to get the hell out of here.
Thirty Minutes Later
I walk into my apartment and collapse against the door. Relief overwhelms me. I took the subway home. The entire trip, I felt as though I was detached from my body. It even started raining on my walk to my apartment building, so now I’m drenched.
I open my eyes. During the ride home, I tried to think about what to do but kept coming up blank. If only real life was binary code, then I could program what happens next.
I shuffle over to my credenza and set my purse on top of it. Then I slip out of my coat. I’m infused with Hercules’s scent. I’ll never again be as close to him as I was last night, and that truth breaks my heart.
I glare down at the hem of my dress. It’s wet.
Suddenly, Lark Davenport’s cellphone rings. I snap my head up and freeze. Without even looking at the screen, I know who’s calling, which is why I rush over to answer Hercules’s call.
My fingers tremble as I tap the screen. “Hello.”
“Where are you?” He sounds normal, not distant.
“Um… I had to leave.”
“Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve cut my run short and driven you home.”
I want to ask how my purse ended up on that table. I also want to know if he checked my phone or, even worse, answered Max’s call. But I can’t. I hate not being able to speak honestly with him. The fact that I can’t drives me crazy.
“I made it home fine,” I say instead.
He sighs. “I wanted to see you before you left.”
What to say next?“Sorry.” That’s all I can come up with.
Silence falls between us.Ask him, Paisley.
“I mean, listen, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable about what’s happening between us because I’m one of the owners of the company you work for.”
“I don’t,” I say with a hefty amount of assurance.
“Because I like you, Lark.”
