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“Looks like. . .huh. . . Zoe had an accident.”
“What? When? And if that was the case, why didn’t they report it?”
“I don’t think it was that kind of accident, but rather a domestic one.”
“A fall?”
“I really have no idea. Her agent shields her from the world as a mother would, but we’ll find out soon enough. I took the liberty of arranging our meeting on the thirteenth floor because it’s empty. Is that okay?”
“Of course. I just want to find out what kind of accident she had. Keep this in mind: from the moment Zoe signed the contract, she belongs to me, her whole life. I want to be informed of everything, even if she hasn’t had a good morning.”
He looks at me strangely, but I don’t give a damn. The control freakinside of me wants to know what’s going on and won’t stop until he finds out.
I imagined our reunion many times in my head because I knew sooner or later it would happen.
Almost two years without seeing her in person.
There was a time when I tried to convince myself that Zoe Turner wasn’t as much as my memory would have me believe. That her skin wasn’t as smooth or that her moans and cries of pleasure each time I entered her body were like those of any other woman I’d ever been with. But now, just a few minutes before we meet again, I can barely contain my desire.
You know the saying: be careful what you wish for because you might get it? That is very true; only now do I realize that interacting, even if only professionally, with Zoe will be a hell of a lot.
Anyway, as long as she’s married, she’s off-limits to me.
Married, I repeat as a warning to my brain.
I’m not a liar; I want her, but I would never play the role of being a third wheel in a relationship. Betrayal is a word that doesn’t exist in my vocabulary.
Impermissible. Unforgivable.
Don’t invade another man’s territory, even one as pathetic as Mike Howard.
I twirl the pen in my hand as a sort of exercise to slow myself down.
The secretary we assigned to this floor just announced that Zoe and her agent are coming up, and I’m trying to convince myself that what’s making my blood pump so hard inside my body isn’t my anxiousness to see her again but bitterness over the way she left. What we experienced was the best night of my life as far as sex is concerned.
I’ve been on my feet since the moment I arrived because I feel so much energy inside my body thatI could run a marathon.
When the door opens and a petite woman enters, I tense up in anticipation.
And then the platinum curtain appears. We are finally face to face.
I drink in every inch of her, starting with her feet, like the first time, but now they are shod in fancy pumps,not the cheap ones from the cruise. She wears a pair of jeans fitted to her perfect body, and they don’t leave much to the imagination. A white, sleeveless shirt completes the simple yet elegant outfit.
It’s like taking a drive down a road you’ve been wanting to take for a long time, but in my case, I’ve already memorized every turn.
And then I finally get to the beautiful face.
One second.
This is the exact time it takes me to realize what happened.
I was in a lot of street fights when I was a kid in Greece.
Zoe was assaulted. That’s the reason she asked for a discreet place.
I don’t even think. None of my brain cells are working right now. I’m in front of her before I realize my feet are moving.
“Who did this?” I ask, standing still.
