The Lover’s Secret (No Exceptions #1)(20)
Author: J.C. Reed

Apparently not so much.

“Oh.” I bit my lip hard as I considered my options. The weekend was ruined anyway, so I figured I might as well get back to work myself. “Do you want me to come along and help you? We could be done in no time.”

He shook his head slowly and looked up. “That’s not necessary, baby. Besides, this has all been paid for. You may as well stay here. I’d rather you enjoy yourself and check out whenever you’re ready. Stay another day. You’ve worked too much lately and need to rest.”

And by that he meant our unborn child needed to rest. For some reason, I couldn’t stop more disappointment washing over me. It wasn’t at all what I had hoped to hear. Spending a day in a luxury hotel and making use of all its amenities sounded delightful, but it wasn’t the same without Jett or without being engaged. This day was supposed to be ours. Our time. Not mine alone, coupled with a strong feeling that I was single.

“How long will you be gone?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t know.” Jett retrieved his phone from his jacket and began texting furiously. His face didn’t change as he checked his messages.

I expected to be relieved, but the relief never came. Everything had started out so well, and now we were back to square one—the usual lack of conversation whenever Jett was in work mode. I could have that with the hotel personnel, or with any other person out there.

I pointed at the tray with food. “So I guess you’re not having breakfast with me before you go.”

“Brooke…” Sensing my irritation, Jett inched closer and cupped my face. “I know it’s not ideal, and trust me when I tell you I feel like a jerk. But this is important.” He lifted my chin until his green gaze met mine. “I promise I’ll make up for lost time when I get back.”

Knowing that any arguing would be pointless, I simply nodded.

“Great,” I said, trying to keep my voice strong. “Don’t worry about me. I’m sure I can find lots of ways to keep myself busy around here.” I had no idea what came over me to make me sound so bitchy. Maybe it was the fact that life kept him so busy, and I missed that kind of independence and freedom—the feeling of being needed and wanted. Of being able to dive right into my work without being held back by a relationship or the promise of not letting anything get in the way of a romantic weekend.

“Thanks,” Jett said and left, seemingly distracted. I sighed and turned around to look out the high bay windows, admiring the stunning view. It was only then that I glimpsed my phone on the piano.

I frowned.

It must have been sitting on the lacquered surface all along, even though I couldn’t remember leaving it there. I grabbed it and slumped onto the sofa to check my calls. Still nothing from the legal firm, which was understandable. Companies as large as Wighton & Harley needed time to reply. I’d just have to be patient until they got back to me.

Meanwhile, I began to flick through my text messages. The last one was from Sylvie. I became awfully aware that I had been neglecting my best friend ever since I had begun dating Jett. We never had daily coffee meetings or afternoon shopping excursions anymore. The thought that I had put Sylvie on the back burner for Jett made me feel guilty. Sure, relationships required a constant input of work and attention, but so did friendships. At the moment, Sylvie was about the only person, who knew how to turn a gray, cloudy day into bright sunshine.

Sitting up, I began to text, ready to make up for lost time.

Chapter 13

It was a done deal. After a few text messages, I managed to persuade my best friend to take a break from work and meet me at a bistro near Central Park: my suggestion, my plan.

When Jett left after a hurried and awkward breakfast, I took a quick shower and returned to the forgotten suitcases in the hall, the ones we hadn’t yet had a chance to unpack. As I tried to open mine, I realized it was locked, and the key was nowhere to be found in my handbag.

Had I absent-mindedly left it at home? Lost it on the way here? I stared at my suitcase in shock as realization slowly dawned on me: my clothes were in there. Without them, I had little choice but to go either naked or dressed like a stripper.

Think, Stewart. Wear yesterday’s clothes and walk around in a tight dress in the middle of a day?

Hell, no.

It wasn’t just the strange looks I was worried about, but Sylvie’s huge dose of sarcasm and several rounds of ridiculous interrogations.

I was in no mood to have to explain Jett’s kinky attempts at keeping the spark alive in our relationship. And especially not, when Sylvie was as curious as a cat.

I checked the time. If I hurried, I could make it to Jett’s apartment and back on time before my coffee date with Sylvie…sort of. I figured I might just be a tiny bit late. An hour at the most. Or I could just keep the meeting brief and pretend I didn’t want to take off my coat. Or that I dressed like this every day now.

Why the heck do you even need to explain, Stewart?

Sylvie wasn’t one to judge. If anything, she would probably applaud me for embracing what she would call my “inner sexy lioness.”

With a nervous smile, I shrugged back into my tight dress and coat. A last glance in the huge mirror of the elevator and one more brief attempt to arrange the soft, brown ringlets of my dark hair into a half-decent twist, and I walked out.

Either it was the half-empty lobby or the fact that my initial excitement had somewhat dampened a bit, but something felt different. Unsure what it was, my glance swept over the creamy marble floors and the water fountain in the middle of the hall, and came to rest on the man standing in the exact same spot as before, a newspaper still clasped in his hand.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

Just as before, his hair was combed to one side in a sleek, flawless style, as if he felt a need to convey an appearance of perfection. He was dressed in a business suit that had seen better days. On closer inspection, I noticed it was actually the same business suit he’d been wearing earlier—blue with stripes, a loose-hanging cut, as if it was a couple of sizes too big for him. He was alone this time, and there was no sight of the woman who had accompanied him on the previous occasion.

Forcing my legs to take measured steps forward, I hurried to the door, my heart beating hard for no particular reason.

My reaction made no sense because I didn’t know this man. And yet the mere sight of him—that particular memory of the way he had looked at me the day and night before in the elevator—was enough to send a chill down my spine.