I end the kiss nonchalantly, as if I have just participated in a meaningless encounter, or a polite social interaction. With the same feigned lack of emotion I put her away and casually prop myself against the desk. I fold my arms across my chest, and watch her with great satisfaction. This is my territory. Here I am boss. This time, Lana honey…
She stands before me aroused, br**sts heaving and hands clenched at her sides as she tries to regain some measure of composure.
I smile. Round one—me.
Silently she takes two steps forward, reaches a hand out and puts a finger on my throat. I freeze. I can feel her skin on my frantically beating pulse. And just like that we are connected. We never break eye contact. Fuck her.
Round two—is not over yet.
‘Is it sex when I want to see you come apart?’ I ask bitterly.
Her face crumples. This woman deserves an Oscar. She takes her finger away from my throat. ‘What do you want, Blake?’
‘I want you to finish your contract.’
She drops her face into her hands. ‘I can’t,’ she whispers.
‘Why not? Because you took the money and ran while I lay in a hospital bed?’
She takes a deep breath, but does not look up. Guilty as charged.
‘I was cut up to start with,’ I say as coldly as I can. I don’t want to give her any more power than she already holds.
She looks up. Butter wouldn’t melt in that sweet O. ‘You were cut up?’
‘Funny thing that, but yes.’
‘I thought it was just a sex thing for you,’ she murmurs.
‘If you wanted money why didn’t you ask me?’ My voice is harsh.
‘I…’ She shakes her head.
‘You made a serious miscalculation, didn’t you, Lana, my love? The honey pot is here.’ I pat the middle of my chest.
She simply gazes at my hand.
‘But not to worry,’ I say sarcastically. ‘All is not lost. There’s money in the pot.’
How predictable. Her gaze lifts up to my mouth.
‘You did me a favor.’ I try to sound detached, but my voice comes out bitter and pained. ‘You opened my eyes. I see you now for what you were… Are. I was blinded by you. I made the classic mistake. I fell in love with an illusion of purity.’
She carries on looking at me blankly.
‘If I had not bought you that night you would have gone with anyone, wouldn’t you? You are not admirable. You are despicable.’
‘So why do you want me to finish the contract?’ she asks breathily.
‘I am like the drug addict who knows his drug is poison. He despises it, but he cannot help himself. So that we are totally clear—I detest myself. I am ashamed of my need for you.’
‘The… The…people who paid me—’
‘They can do nothing to you. My family—‘
She interrupts. ‘What about Victoria?’
And suddenly I feel very angry. What the f**k has Victoria to do with this? This is between me and her. Besides, I am fond of Victoria and hide a measure of guilt for the pain I have caused her. Her shock when I tried to break off our engagement surprised me. I had imagined that she was marrying me for the same reasons I was—consolidation, security, and continuity—but in fact she is in love with me. If anything, the extent of her possessive passion worried me a little. A marriage of convenience only works when both parties exhibit similar detachment. I don’t want to think of it now, but the truth is that I do not want Victoria. At that moment I realize that I can never marry Victoria. But for now I will deal with the most pressing problem I have: I cannot think of being with anyone other than the witch standing in front of me.
Angrily I forbid her to ever again drag Victoria into our arrangement. A flash goes off in her eyes. It’s gone in a second, but even lidded it reeks of jealousy! I seize the opportunity to manipulate her by exaggerating Victoria’s loyalty. I rub it in that Victoria stood by me through my worst period while she swanned off to Iran. ‘One day,’ I tell her, ‘I will wake up and this sickness will be gone. Until then… You owe me forty-two days, Lana.’
She closes her eyes and hangs her head.
‘Name your price,’ I demand curtly.
Her head snaps up. ‘No.’ Her voice is very strong and sure. ‘You don’t have to pay me again. I will finish the contract.’
‘Good,’ I remark casually, but I turn away from her immediately. Cannot let her see how elated I am by her capitulation. I can hardly believe I have won so easily. My mind is doing victory back-flips as I go around the desk, and retake my position behind it.
Chapter 2
I slide into the black swivel chair and open the file in front of me. ‘So, you’re setting up a business?’
She drops into one of the chairs opposite me and tells me that she and Billie are thinking of starting a business. I ask the appropriate questions but my mind is elsewhere. I am not interested in hearing about her business plans.
‘That reminds me, how is your mother?’
To my surprise her face contorts with pain. Seconds pass in acute silence. ‘She passed away.’
I lean forward, eyes narrowed, shocked. ‘I thought the treatment was working.’
She bites the words out. ‘A car. Hit and run.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m real sorry to hear that, Lana.’ And I am, too, really sorry. She was a good woman. I liked her.
She blinks fast. Oh my God, she is going to burst into tears. She stands. I stand, too. Immediately she puts out a hand to ward me off, and runs to the door. In an instant I don’t hate her anymore; all my desire to hurt crumbles to dust and I just want to help her, make it easier, take her in my arms and protect her. I stride toward her and grab her arm. She twists away from me, but my grip is too firm.
‘This way. There’s a staff restroom,’ I say quietly, and quickly opening the door I lead her down the corridor. From the corners of my eyes I can see the tears are streaming down her cheeks. I hold open the toilet door and she rushes in. The door swings closed in my face.
I stand there looking at the door and then I hear her. Wailing for her mother. I lift my hand to push the door open, but I don’t. I take a step back. Then I begin to pace. I have never heard anyone cry like that. I come from a family where all our expressions of sorrow are carefully controlled, a dab from a handkerchief to the eye. When my grandfather died, my grandmother did not even stop the journey of her cup to her mouth. Only after she had swallowed her sip of tea did she say, ‘Oh dear.’ At the funeral not a tear was shed, by anybody.