“I know.” She looks at me. “I have an interview at one of the salons near the house next week. I think I’m going to go. Matt is begging me to go.”
I nod. “You should.”
She shakes her head. “Am I a horrible mom?”
I take her glass and set it down, turning to face her completely. “No. You’re not. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You tried staying home, and you didn’t enjoy it. I think working will make you appreciate the boys more.”
She swallows. “Mom stayed home with us, though.”
I snort. “Yeah, because Dad was a chauvinistic asshole.”
She cocks her head. “Yeah, he was.” She pins her light blue eyes on mine. “I’m your big sister. Shouldn’t I be the one givingyouadvice?”
I smirk. “I don’t need advice.”
She shakes her head. “You usually have horrible taste in women.” She quirks her eyebrows. She’s referring to my ex—who is currently gallivanting around the globe with her new family. The family she insisted she never wanted with me.
“And?” I ask, handing her glass back to her, but not before taking a large sip.
“And…” she trails off, waiting for me to answer.
I don’t bite. Can’t. I’m still processing everything myself.
“She’s young. She’s new, and inexperienced, and she fucked up a big deal for us.”
Annika leans forward. “But?”
I let out a nervous laugh. “But nothing. There is no but.”
She leans back and finishes her glass. “I don’t believe you.”
Neither do I.
21
Natalia
I endup falling asleep around eight, so when I wake up the next morning at five, refreshed and ready for my first day in the office, I’m not sure what to do with myself. I check my email, and of course I see a veterinarian invoice from Harrison. My eyes bug out at the number, and I groan as I respond, telling him I’ll get back to him soon. It’s nearly three months of my freelance salary, but hey, no big deal. I make a note to email a lawyer or something, because this is starting to get ridiculous.
The next email is from Samantha, and it includes a question about the books I had in her full request pile. I leave it unread. I’m not quite ready to say goodbye—to the stories, or the prospect of becoming an agent.
I roll over in bed, dread spreading down my limbs when I imagine never working with our authors again—the ones who came to us as debut authors, who had their lives changed because we took a chance on them. I suppose it still hasn’t sunk in yet. Nearly two weeks ago, I was still working at Amour—a lifetime ago. Has it really only been a week since I met Anderson on the plane ride to Maui?
A week since those icy, blue eyes pinned me with hatred—since those hands balled into fists with anger.
And a week later, those same hands had me pinned against a stone wall in the dark, and a frantic mouth found mine, along with a very large bulge…
I lie on my back, and my hand moves down into my underwear. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that every time my mind wandered since yesterday, it was trying to remember the feel of Anderson’s body pressed up against me—trying to recreate the feel of his hard body against mine.
Also, who was that woman? His sister? Luca said she’d died, but maybe he had more than one… Surely, he wasn’t married—not after what happened with his ex-wife.
Did he want me? Why did he kiss me? Maybe it was his way of playing mind games. Would he really do that, though? Kiss me like that and then pretend it never happened?
Yeah, he would.
I close my eyes and slide farther down into my duvet so that it’s up to my chin. My fingers slide against the wet slickness when I remember that first night, the sounds he made in the hotel room next to me.
Come for me.
