My lips sneer, making me turn from the room without any other damn thought on the matter. Perhaps Quinn’s had the right idea all these damn years, cold bastard that he is. What the hell have I been thinking? That we’d settle into something other than what we first set out for? She clearly fucking meant it when she said holiday fling, regardless of that love I know was there.
I storm out of the villa, all sense of relaxation disappearing with every step forward. I can feel it building as I stamp my feet, dulling my insides back to tense and bored, numbing me back down to who I’ve always been. And that feeling, for whatever reason, pisses me off more than her leaving.
I glare at the same fucking couple swimming by again, the woman’s giggle making me frown and look the other way. She’s caused this in me. I’ve let her get inside, haven’t I? Let her give me something I hadn’t had before her. Dumb fuck. She made all this happen, gave me some credence in this adventure and made me think it meant something to her, too, and now she’s left without the slightest concern for how I feel.
Screw her.
I’ll become as empty and cold as Canes are meant to be again.
I’ll go home. Forget about dreams. It’s not something I can damn well avoid anymore anyway. She’s gone, proving her damn point as she has, and the endless emails need attention whether I like it or not. Maybe I’ll tell Quinn to go screw himself, too, when I get back, but I’ll finish my job properly before I do. I’ll leave it as it should be rather than have him blame me for shit that needed rectifying. At least make it so he can access everything I’ve created without buffers blocking him.
Fuck.
I stand in the doorway of my villa and stare, anger, irritation and internal pain racking up the tension in my body to the point where I want to explode. That thought alone brings out a part of me I never knew I owned—hatred. I’ve never hated in my life. Never allowed myself to care enough, but this view and the thoughts of her associated with it have me about ready to leave without even entering the fucking place. She’s everywhere in here—the lounge area, the deck. I turn my head and snarl—the fucking bedroom. Christ, I can even smell her still, hear her breathy little moans and groans.
I’ve walked in, pulled my bags together, and left the place before I get a chance to remember any more about her. It’s done now. Over. Like she said, a holiday fling and nothing more. Calculated fucking. That’s what it was.
That’sallit was.
Damn, if that doesn’t hurt more than I thought it ever could.
* * *
Two hours sitting in the first-class lounge at the airport before I left didn’t help ease my anger, but at some point, the anger ebbed into sullen musings. That carried on the entire journey back to LA. I tried to tell myself it was just the thought of going back, of becoming Cane again full tilt, but it wasn’t. It was all to do with her.
It still is.
I look across the tarmac to the family jet and sigh, part of me wanting to turn straight back around and go find her rather than deal with Quinn. There’s an argument coming. I can feel that. One I’ll defend my position in, so he knows that shit is not acceptable to me. It would fucking help if I knew why he did it in the first place.
It still makes no sense.
And I’m pissed enough as it is.
Andrew, one of our pilots, is waiting at the top of the steps, ready to take me home to Chicago, his pristine suit showing the world how much we’re worth. Nothing’s changed, has it? I snort. What did I think? That it would for some reason? Nothing will ever change here. We’ll all be Cane until we die—Emily now included in that. I don’t suppose he’ll ever let her go now he’s found something worth his version of love.
The thought makes me scowl and stride towards the plane. I shouldn’t have let Gabby go either, should I? Not that I had any say in the matter. She just went, leaving me like a thief in the night for no damn reason at all.
What the hell did she run for? Or from? It makes no sense whatsoever for her to skip out on me. We were fine. Happy even. And the more I think about it, anger finally beginning to dissipate a little, the more I’m confused. The phone calls. The change of persona. That inability to talk to me about her real life. Let alone the thought of someone else in my room fucking with my laptop. That shit’s still niggling at me. Something’s not entirely right.
My damn brain hurts.
“Good afternoon, Mr Cane.”
I nod at Andrew and cross the threshold back into my world. I’m unable to find words for what it means to me yet. Acknowledging him in speech makes it feel like I need to find my old voice, level it back out again to calm and unreadable. That feels awkward. Just as awkward as this suit that isn’t sitting as comfortably as it should for some reason.
“You fucked it out of you?”
I startle slightly, a frown dropping at the sound of Quinn’s empty tone coming from the cabin. It makes me stop before entering and light a smoke, attempting to find control before he sees the disarray in me. And fucked what out of me? The anger and confusion he created in the first place?
I snarl and step forward again.
He’s still not forgiven for that shit.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, sucking in some much-needed nicotine and rounding the corner.
“Thought I’d meet you.” My brow lifts, surprise evident.
“How fucking charitable.”
