Page 67 of Release Me

‘Me too.’ Rian kisses my forehead. ‘I’m always on the other end of the phone if you need anything, okay? Call me anytime. Even just for a chat.’

We both know I won’t.

I can’t.

‘Thank you.’ I swallow the golf ball forming at the back of my throat. ‘For everything.’

His lips brush over mine softly, then he opens the car door for me. ‘See you.’

But we both know he won’t. Not unless it’s in public, or if Anthony ever decides to take me to one of his corporate functions again.

The drive home is miserable. If Thomson notices I’m bawling my eyes out in the backseat, he doesn’t comment. I stare out the window, watching as the snow-dusted pines fade to hedgerows, then to the anonymous sprawl of the M50. When the Bentley finally noses up to the apartment block, the marble lobby gleams through the revolving doors, cold and spotless—a world away from the warmth I just left behind.

Thomson opens the back door with a small smile. ‘Mrs De Courcy.’ He nods politely, but his address lands like a slap to the face.

‘It’s Rebekka, please.’

Something like pity flicks through his eyes. ‘I’ll get your bag out the boot, Rebekka.’

‘Thank you.’ The wind whips around me, and I pull my cashmere coat tighter across my chest.

‘Do you want me to carry it up for you?’ He offers, kindly.

‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ I’m not good. Not even close. I hover on the pavement, shifting from one foot to the other, reluctant to sever the final thread connecting me to last night. ‘Are you going back there?’

‘Yes. I go wherever Killian and Avery go.’ He glances up at my apartment block, then back to the car.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, take me back with you but somehow I manage to restrain myself. ‘Safe journey. Thank you for the ride.’ I back away, towards the revolving doors, before I do something stupid.

‘You’re welcome.’ He watches until I’m safely inside the building. I wave through the glass, and then he gets in the car and drives off. I watch with an ache in my chest as the car disappears, merging with the traffic.

Right, Rebekka, enough is enough.

You’ve had your fun.

Time to get the fuck on with things.

I nod at the concierge as I pass through, then push the button to summon the lift. A bath, a glass of wine and a good book are just what the doctor ordered. Work can wait until the morning. It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.

By the time I open the penthouse door, I almost convince myself I’m fine. Almost. I stride through to the kitchen with a cold, crisp glass of wine in mind. The sun is setting outside the huge windows overlooking the city below.

I hit the lights and almost jump out of my skin when I spot a silhouette sitting at the kitchen island.

Anthony’s voice slices through the quiet.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ He grips his phone in one hand, a glass of something amber in the other. The skyline glows behind him, steel and glass—a world away from roaring fires and snow-dusted lawns.

I tighten my fingers on the strap of my bag and pray Idon’t look as guilty as I feel. ‘Hello, darling,’ I coo sarcastically. ‘Happy New Year.’

‘I said, where have you been?’ He spits, slamming his glass down on the counter.

‘It’s a bit late to pretend you care now, don’t you think?’ I stalk over to the fridge, pull out a bottle of Gavi, and grab a glass.

‘Oh, I care, alright. I won’t be made a mug of, Rebekka.’ His cold blue eyes drink in every detail from my hair to my high-heeled ankle boots. ‘And stop turning off the fucking security cameras.’ He throws a hand up in the air.

‘So you can spy on me between shagging your PA? Ha, I don’t think so.’ I pour myself a giant glass of wine. I’m going to need it. ‘Who’s making a mug out of who, seriously?’

His face turns practically purple. ‘Where were you?’