38. RAFE
RAFE
Seeing Diana was the last thing I needed. I couldn’t concentrate on anything afterwards, despite Melanie’s efforts to capture my attention.
We were at Brooks for the fortieth birthday party of a friend of hers; a sophisticated event in one of the entertaining rooms overlooking St James’, complete with free-flowing champagne and delicious canapes. Not that I could stomach them.
Realising I was out of sorts, Melanie insisted we leave after an hour or so and head to a quiet bar. I was, according to her, making a bad impression on important people, and I might as well restrict myself to her company alone.
I slink into a corner booth, and Melanie goes to the bathroom.
At first, I try to resist the urge to pull out my phone and search Diana’s name, but Melanie takes so long to return to the table that I descend into a spiral of watching Diana’s videos.
I’ve resisted for months, but I sit in the booth and listen to her voice, watch her smile, and wonder if she ever makes a video thinking I might see it or watch it.
I doubt it.
She looked beautiful, standing there in the cold street, her eyes red-rimmed and her mascara streaked under her eyes. She’d been crying. I wanted to ask her what was wrong. If there was anything I could do to help. I wanted to hold her. Fuck, how I wanted to hold her.
Instead, I stood there like a robot, spouting inane small-talk and asking her how she was when I could see she was upset.
I open my messages and pull up her contact, fingers hovering before I type. I have never wanted to reach out more than I do right now, and believe me, I’ve wanted to do it many times.
We’ve had no contact since she told me how the launch of her online course went, but she has never been far from my mind.
I touch a fingertip to the screen to type something, anything, and then I remember her words.
You’ll be a terrible father, and I’ll be a terrible friend.
Swear it to me. That this will never happen again.
This is the last time.
No repeats.
Pain drives through my chest. I bow my head, unable to catch my breath.
“Rafe?” Melanie is standing by the table. “Are you all right?”
I click off my phone and shove it into my pocket, wondering how much I can share with this woman.
She might be a friend now, but she wasn’t always.
She never reduced her price on the damn Castow deal, and I never pushed for it.
We were stuck in a stalemate, both too stubborn to meet in the middle.
But, somehow, regardless of the business side of things, we ended up seeing more of each other.
At first, our interactions were what you might call dating, but in reality, were little more than a few social appearances together to keep Henry and Julian off my back.
If I’m honest, spending time with Melanie felt like something I was doing to distract everyone from what I was really feeling.
To distract myself.
It was a mess. I tried to plaster over a wound I refused to acknowledge, but it was clear very quickly that it wasn’t going anywhere between Melanie and me.
Attempting any sort of relationship with her was like trying to squeeze back into a suit I’d outgrown.
It was impossible. We never even kissed.
I was hung up on Diana, and Melanie, for all her brusque, business-like etiquette, is emotionally astute.
She knew almost immediately that I wasn’t available for anything more.
She was patient with me, although I gave her very little insight into my thoughts and feelings at the time. I know there are people in my life hoping I might settle down, but it was never going to happen with Melanie.
Even tonight, seeing her standing there, an undeniably attractive woman dressed to the nines, gazing at me with concern, I feel nothing.
No stirring of appreciation. Nothing. Whereas catching a glimpse of Diana, hearing her voice, seeing her face so close and yet being unable to touch her, kiss her, has upended my emotional control. I am hanging on by a thread.
“Rafe?” Melanie repeats. “What’s going on? You’ve been quiet ever since we got out of the car. I thought you were okay before we arrived, and then…” She sighs. “Do you need to talk?”
My phone is warm in my pocket, and the ache of not allowing myself to contact her is a bruise on my heart.
God, I’m pathetic. How could I explain this to someone else? How can I be emotionally involved with a woman who doesn’t want anything to do with me?
I can’t talk about this. I barely even want to admit it to myself.
“No.” The word is sudden and brutal.
Melanie steps back, tucking her chin and raising an eyebrow. I’ve never spoken to her sharply, and she doesn’t deserve it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my hands over my eyes. “I know I’ve been terrible company tonight. But I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t.”
She nods and eases into the booth opposite me in slow motion, as if she’s giving me a chance to tell her to leave, placing her handbag and coat beside her on the banquette. “I’m a good listener,” she says cautiously. “If you need.”
I shake my head. The only thing I need is Diana.
As Melanie props her elbows on the table, I play out a scenario in my head: I’d get in the car and show up at Diana’s door.
Maybe she’d smile. Maybe she’d kiss me. Maybe she’d let me in.
Maybe we’d have sex, and she’d realise she wants me more than she wants to protect my daughter from the devastation of finding out that we betrayed her.
A melancholy smile touches my lips.
What a stupid thing to think.
“I really can’t talk about it,” I say. “But thank you for the offer.”
Melanie stares at me, a glimmer of hurt in her gaze, which vanishes before I can be sure it was there at all.
We sit in silence for a minute or so before she pushes one side of her dark bob behind her ear and picks up her handbag.
“I’m getting the sense you want to be alone.
” She loops the strap over her shoulder.
“I don’t want to get in the way. I’ll bid you goodnight.
Feel free to call me if you change your mind. ”
I stand to see her out, but as she steps away from the booth, an idea hits me.
“Wait.”
She stops, her gaze turning sharp. “Yes?”
“I’ll double the price for the agency.” She cocks her head to the side, inviting more information. “On one condition.”
“I’m listening.”
“Sign Diana Marchetti to the books, and I’ll do it.”
Melanie’s brow crinkles. “The girl we bumped into tonight? Your daughter’s friend?”
“Yes. She’s already sporting Erica Lefroy clothes every chance she gets. It’s a perfect tie-in for you. Sign her, and I’ll double the offer price. And together, we’ll make your agency the biggest and the best there is.”
She holds my gaze as she picks up her coat and drapes it over her forearm. Her eyes narrow with that greedy look I remember from our very first meeting all those months ago. “Why now?”
“Because Diana’s exceptionally talented.
A real rising social media star. Incredible work ethic.
She doesn’t have representation, and she’ll need it.
You should snap her up before anyone else does.
I could see her presenting television shows.
Even acting. If she ever wants to write a book, or shift into film or TV, or anything else, she’ll need someone in her corner.
And it will happen for her. If Diana were a stock, I’d put my money on her. ”
“She’d never double the value of my company alone. That’s impossible.”
“No. I’ll do that. I’ll triple it. Quadruple it. The sky’s the limit.”
Melanie sighs, and I can’t help wondering if she suspects I have an ulterior motive.
Everything I’ve said is true—Diana is that good—but now that I’ve laid it out, hope makes me buoyant.
If Melanie represented Diana, and my company bought the agency, then I could still help Diana with her career.
I hated that what happened between us meant that I could no longer be her mentor.
It felt like abandonment, and abandoning her was never something I wanted to do, especially when it seemed like she’d never had anyone to support her before.
Henry won’t approve, but I don’t give a fuck. Julian might forgive me.
“One look at a young woman in the street and you’re offering to do something you’ve refused to do for months,” Melanie says, assessing me in a way that makes my shirt feel itchy and my body restless. “I think you might be crazy.”
That’s entirely possible. “Take it or leave it.”
Pressing her lips tight, she glances at the floor and then back at me. “I’m not going to ask about what happened tonight. I know I should have questions, because this doesn’t make sense, but your business is exactly that: your business.”
I step closer. “I know what I’m doing. Sleep on it, and let me know your answer tomorrow.”
“I don’t need to sleep on it.” She gives me a half-smile and taps my arm. “I accept. I’ll let you know once I’ve signed her to the books.”