Unveiled (Page 40)

‘What’s delicate?’ I ask. ‘Me? Am I the delicate thing you don’t want to break or upset?’

Miller leans into me, slightly lowering his frame to get our faces level. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘You think I’m fragile and weak.’

‘I think you’re being forced to deal with things that are beyond your ability, Olivia,’ he whispers, making it plain and clear. ‘And I haven’t got a fucking clue how to make it less painful for you.’

Our stares hold for the longest time, mine lifting to maintain our connection when he straightens up, rising to his full height. The agony in his expression nearly floors me.

‘Are you trying to send me over the edge?’ he whispers, not coming closer to comfort me. I need his thing, so I move in, but he steps back, shaking his head in warning. Realisation dawns fast, and I glance up at the security camera above the door. She’s watching us.

‘Why is she here?’ My voice is even and strong.

‘Who?’ Miller’s face is guarded and guilty. ‘No one’s here.’

‘Don’t lie to me.’ My chest begins to puff under the strain to breathe through my anger. ‘How much did you miss her?’

‘What?’ He checks over his shoulder again, and I seize the opportunity, using his momentary lapse in focus to push past him. ‘Olivia!’

I land in his office less ladylike than I would have hoped, but I soon find my composure, flicking my hair over my shoulder and tucking my purse under my arm. Then I smile as I cast my eyes to where I know she’ll be. I’m not wrong. Reclined in Miller’s office chair, legs crossed, wearing a cream trench coat and drawing on a long, slender cigarette, is Sophia. The air of superiority suffocating me is potent. She’s smiling slyly, looking at me with interest. It’s only now I wonder how she got my number. It’s inconsequential. She wanted to pull me from my hiding place and she’s succeeded. I’ve played right into her hands.

‘Sophia.’ I make sure I’m the first to break the painful silence, and I also ensure I hold my own. ‘It looks like you beat me to him this evening.’ I detect two things the moment I finish speaking – Sophia’s mild surprise because I can see it plain and clear in the slight parting of her red lips, and Miller’s unease multiplying by a million, because I can feel him twitching behind me. ‘I’ll just help myself to a drink before I leave.’ My high heels carry me across to the drinks cabinet and I pour myself a tall, straight vodka.

‘Sweet girl, I’m not stupid.’ Sophia’s haughty tone makes my confidence vanish.

I close my eyes and try to steady my trembling hands, and when I’m sure I’ve reined in my shakes, I take the glass and turn to face my spectators. I’m being regarded carefully by both parties – Sophia thoughtful, Miller nervous – as I slowly bring the highball to my lips. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ I swig the whole glass back and gasp before filling it again.

The tension in the room is palpable. I look across to Miller, only mildly registering condemnation on his face. I swig my second glass and slam it down, making him physically flinch. I want Miller to feel what I’m feeling. I want to take that resilient part of him and hurt it. It’s all I know.

‘I mean,’ Sophia starts confidently, looking at me with a slight curve on her red lips, ‘you’re in love with him and you think you can have him. You can’t.’

I don’t deny her conclusion. ‘Because you want him.’

‘I have him.’

Miller doesn’t argue with her or put her straight, and when I look at him, I see that there is no intention to. I can’t even locate the sensibility to convince myself that there must be good reason, so pouring another shot of vodka for good measure, I saunter across to him. He’s standing like a statue by the door, hands in pockets, clearly brimming with aggravation. He looks at me with the expressionless, emotional beauty that captured me in the first place. It’s rife. His defence mechanism is on lockdown. I stop before his tall, motionless form and gaze up, noting the slight pulse of his dark stubbled jaw. ‘I hope you’re happy in your darkness.’

‘Don’t fucking push me, Olivia.’ His mouth barely moves, his words hardly audible, but they are loaded with threat . . . which I totally ignore.

‘See you around.’ I slam the door behind me and navigate the maze of corridors urgently, finding the stairs and taking them two at a time while knocking back my third vodka, eager to get to the bar and maintain the numbness that the alcohol has incited.

‘Livy?’

I look up and see Tony and Cassie standing at the top of the stairs, both frowning down at me. I have nothing to say to either of them, so I bypass them and round the corner to the main club.

‘Livy,’ Tony calls. ‘Where’s Miller?’

I swing around, finding both of their expressions have morphed into worry. And I know why. ‘In his office,’ I say, walking backwards so as not to delay my escape. ‘With Sophia.’ Tony curses and Cassie looks genuinely worried, but I don’t waste time evaluating the cause for their concern. My overwhelming need to stake my claim is there, but so is the need to hurt Miller after hearing that call and Sophia state with such confidence that Miller belongs to her. I know he doesn’t, he knows he doesn’t, but his lack of input and the memory of him telling her he missed her has fired me up.

Weaving my way through the crowd, the powerful beats of NiT GriT’s “Prituri Se Planinata” assaulting my hearing, I arrive at the bar and slam down my empty glass with a twenty. ‘Vodka and tonic,’ I demand. ‘And a tequila.’ My order is delivered hastily, my change just as fast, and I’m throwing back the tequila immediately, followed closely by the vodka. The liquid burns its way down to my stomach, making me close my eyes and feel out my throat. It doesn’t deter me, though. ‘Same again,’ I shout once he’s done with the guy next to me. The numbing of everything – my mind, my body, my heart – is intensifying with every swig of alcohol, the feeling of misery slipping away fast. I like it. A certain sense of detachment is building.