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He looked at her, those pale eyes full of wariness. “Not post-show blues. Post-Sydney blues. Post-you blues.”
“Me?” What was this, other than cruel?
“It was more than a weekend. It could be more.”
It couldn’t ever be more than wishful thinking and further heartbreak and Teela wasn’t on board for that. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“I couldn’t stop myself,” he said with a shake of his head and an expression of disbelief.
“Are you always this impulsive?” Having to ask was proof she didn’t know him at all.
“I’m never this impulsive. I play the long game.”
No. No. She gripped the table and stood. “You need to go.”
The way he looked at her made her face heat and her resistance start to melt. “You need to go now.”
“It was worth it just to see you again, Teela.” He got to his feet, slowly, as if wounded. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
She could be polite, businesslike. They’d started with a handshake, fitting they finished for good that way. She held her hand out, he took it. They didn’t quite manage a shake.
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m fucking awful at this.” He squeezed her hand and it tugged on her heart and made her step into his arms. When they closed around her, she breathed the impossible wonder of him, far too real to deal with.
“Sophie will see you out,” she said, voice like torn lace, breaking from his hold. She didn’t look back. Didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes. All the ice cream in the world wouldn’t help. “Good luck. It was lovely to see you.”
She made it back to her office, never more grateful that to save money on the office fit-out she’d kept the old wood panel walls, so no one would see her meltdown.
She needed to keep moving, to find a distraction, not to think about the fact that Haydn had broken off filming to fly ten hours to see her because he thought they could be more after one weekend.
He was so arrogant, used to getting his own way. He hadn’t thought about what she wanted at all. He was so on edge and heart-on-sleeve hopeful and she’d sent him off looking broken. Oh God. Her hands where shaking, she had to talk this out.
Evie picked up on the ninth ring when Teela had almost given up thinking she would.
“Haydn showed up in the office and I sent him away. Tell me I did the right thing?” she said before Evie got a hello out.
“Hold on. Haydn Delany showed up and you what?”
“I sent him away.”
“What did he want?”
“Me, apparently.”
“Run this past me again.” Evie said. “The impossible man you fell in love with in a weekend, and have been mourning ever since, walked into your office to discuss being a thing together and you told him to piss off.”
“I—yes. What’s the point of another fling? I can’t do that to myself.”
“You think the Sexiest Man Alive stopped filming—he stopped filming, Tee. He’s paying the crew himself, I’m reading that on screen now, and flew here to ask for sex. You are not that good in bed.”
She almost missed the new couch, nearly sliding to the floor when she sat. “Right.” Oh fuck. “I panicked.”
“You reckon?”
“What do I do now?”
“How would I know. I sleep with men who don’t give a shit about me beyond a night or two. If I ever met one who really cared I’d be so scared of fucking up, I’d fuck up anyway.”
“We want different things. It would never work. I’m not made for big dramatic gestures like this. I’m not Hollywood. And I’ve got my own show to run.”
