Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Oh gee, I don’t know. Maybe because the photo shoot is this morning.”
“I’m not even thinking about it,” I say tightly.
It’s all I’m thinking about.
“Oh, please. Lie to somebody else,” she says.
“What?” I ask, my eyes flying open. “It’s not a lie.”
She pulls a don’t be daft face. “You think I don’t know why you wanted to move our trip to London forward? Or that I bought the song and dance about arranging meetings and introducing me to people?”
“I’ve been meaning to introduce you to some of my contacts for months,” I insist. “This will help with your global expansion. You’ve supported me so much over the years. It just made sense. So we could have the meetings.”
“Meetings sch-meetings,” she says with a scoff, crossing her long, lean legs. “It didn’t have to be the day of the photo shoot.” Then she reaches for my hand and squeezes it, her voice softening. “Rafe, I’ve been trying to reach out to you. But every time I do, you’re busy. You’re negotiating a deal. You’re working late. You’re studying a contract. We haven’t had a chance to talk.”
Yet another reason I can’t remain so caught up in Gunnar. I lose sight of other things and people that matter. Which, apparently, I already did. I sigh. “Forgive me. I’ve been crazed. I should be a better friend.”
“Oh, please. I don’t expect you to jump every time I check in. This is not about me. It’s about you. After Lucas left, you buried yourself in work like work will never hurt you. So, are you going to tell me what happened with your man?”
Am I? I worry that if I talk about Gunnar, I’ll just miss him more. Although that doesn’t seem possible, really, and we’re trapped in this steel tube for the next ten and a half hours, so I might as well.
The flight attendant brings us our drinks and we thank her as she sets them down. I sip my tea and scald myself. I’m sure I deserve that.
I put the cup down carefully. “I sensed I was losing my focus. I’ve wanted an acquisition like Bespoke for a long time, and I can’t risk being distracted.” I lower my voice, guilt weighing it down. “I won’t do that to my employees. I won’t let down the people I work with.”
She frowns at my confession. “Was that happening?”
I nod, a little embarrassed.
“The more you got involved with Gunnar?”
I nod again. “I can’t afford that. You know how important this is to me.”
“I do,” she says sympathetically.
“I can’t mess it up. And it seems I have a propensity for obsession,” I say, wryly, as if I can make light of my all-consuming feelings for the man.
“No,” she corrects. “You have a big capacity for caring. Don’t confuse the two.”
Christine’s words are not quite an indictment. But they’re close.
“It’s for the best,” I say. “I’ve been down this path before. I just . . .” I lack the energy for more denial. Meeting her gaze, I shrug helplessly. “I don’t want to get hurt again, Christine,” I say in a voice too close to breaking.
She slides an arm around my shoulders and squeezes tightly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Is that the true reason you broke things off?”
At the time, my feelings for Gunnar felt like an obsession, and the distraction was the reason to worry. Those things are true, but more than that, I’m terrified of my heart being broken, and Gunnar could slash it in two.
“I suppose it is,” I say.
But recognizing the truth doesn’t change my reality. Soon, we buckle in and take off, and he’s even farther behind me.
40
SMILE FOR THE CAMERA
Gunnar
The whole time I model the new designs, I give the camera my best smolder. And the whole time I hope that when we’re done, the door will open, Rafe will ask everyone to leave, then he’ll walk up and tell me he’s been fighting like hell to resist me, but it’s impossible.
But when the shoot ends and the photographer thanks me, there’s no surprise appearance from the tall, lean, dark-haired man who looks like sex in a suit.
With heaviness in my bones, I put on my street clothes, leave the studio, and give the proverbial middle finger to my foolish hope. Theresa waits for me outside the door then escorts me down the hallway. “That went so well,” she says, full of enthusiasm.
“It was a fun shoot,” I say, trying to muster some of that energy. Mostly, I love doing these gigs, and I did enjoy this one. But not as much as I wanted to.
“And I’m so glad you’re doing work for us. Personally, I love the Dragons. Good luck tonight.”
“Thanks. I’m psyched to hear that you’re a fan.” It’s easier to find the passion for the game, so I focus on that. Only the game.