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No. I’m not.
I take a deep breath and finally press the call button to dial her number.
The phone rings for a few seconds. Then her voice comes through.
“Hello?”
The moment she answers, my chest loosens a little just at the sound. I can practically smell her perfume, see her soft face. This is the sense of peace that I thought would come back once the takeover was over.
“Sophie,” I say uncertainly. “How are you?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line before she says, “I’m… fine. How about you?”
“Doing well.”
“How’s Nora?”
“She’s much better.”
“That’s good to hear. I was really worried about her.” Her tone is curt, her sentences clipped. She clearly doesn’t want to talk to me, and I can’t say I blame her.
“She was asking about you,” I say, my mouth dry. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to keep talking. “And I thought that… I should—”
“Declan,” she interrupts. “I don’t think we should talk anymore.”
Beneath the shortness of her voice, I can hear that same bitter disappointment I feel, like the taste of the whiskey infused into her speech.
“Sophie….” I’m not even sure what to say to her at this point—if there’s anything I can say, anything I can do that will keep her on the phone, keep our connection alive. “I…”
“There’s nothing else to say,” she whispers quietly, pain in her voice. “You told me once you couldn’t fall in love. I should’ve believed you when you said it.”
That tightness is back in my chest like a vise around my lungs. She hangs up, and I keep the phone to my ear for a long time, listening to the silence.
I lower the phone slowly, almost unwillingly. Like giving up on this call, accepting that she’s hung up and I won’t hear her voice again, means accepting the full truth—that it’s really over. That I destroyed it.
Despite the bitter, acrid tang of it, I down the rest of my glass of whiskey in one swallow. It burns down my throat.
Chapter 53
Sophie
“Well, Ms. Anderson.” My interviewer, a young, fresh-faced man in a pressed suit, closes the folder that contains my resume and cover letter. “Your references are certainly glowing. Your old supervisor at Dynasty seems to think you’re more than up to the task.”
The circumstances that brought me to this interview may have sucked, but that’s still nice to hear. Warmth fills me at the thought that after everything, Gigi still has my back.
The interviewer leans down to stow my file in his desk drawer. He looks up at me with a bright smile and extends a hand to shake mine. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I say, doing my best to match his energy. It’s a little difficult though. It’s been a while since I’ve smiled this much. My cheeks are starting to hurt. I don’t know how I used to do this constantly.
“We’ll be in touch.” He stands, escorting me to the door.
As soon as I’m outside, I let the smile finally fall off my face. I have a good feeling about this one—it’s a nice company, the job has good pay and benefits, and I’m pretty well-qualified for the work. Plus, the interview went about as well as I could have hoped for.
It’s just hard to get excited about it, given the circumstances.
If I get this job, I’m going to stay focused, work hard, and not start anything with the boss.
Not that dating the boss would be an issue. At this point, I’m not planning on dating anyone. The idea of going on a date is the furthest thing from my mind, and none of the men I’ve encountered over the past few weeks appeal to me at all. I’ll have plenty of time to channel my energy into my work, just like I always should have been doing.
