Chapter 35
TJ
Iwalk into my flat and spot West sitting in the living room with his laptop.
“So, the prodigal son finally returns home,” West remarks as soon as he sees me walk in.
I roll my eyes and make my way to the kitchen. Predictably, West sets his computer aside and follows me.
“Where have you been for the past four days?” he asks. “I was about to call the police.”
“I texted you. I was with Cornelia.”
He chuckles lightly. “No, really, where were you?”
“I’m being serious—I was with her.”
He looks at me, shocked. “Are you sure it wasn’t someone who just looked a lot like Cornelia?”
I don’t dignify that with an answer; I simply shoot him a withering look. While those comments bother me a bit, I can’t say I wasn’t expecting them.
West lifts his hand in a mock surrender. “Alright, I was just making sure.”
“You don’t have to. It was her.” A smile spreads across my face as I open the cupboard and pull out a protein bar.
“How on earth did you pull that off? And when should I expect the flying pigs to arrive? And blood to flood through the Thames?”
“I didn’t do anything. It sort of happened,” I reply casually, making my way towards my room.
West follows me, clearly unimpressed with my vague explanation. “Care to elaborate?”
We enter my room, and I head straight to my closet, leaving the door open as I change clothes in it. West stays in my room, making himself comfortable on my bed—something that would give Cornelia chills if she were here.
“I just gave her a ride home from the party.”
“The party that was for her birthday? And then you stayed four nights with her?” he muses.
Five nights and four days to be exact.
“Are we stating facts now?” I reply, pulling my black T-shirt over my head.
I finish changing into my gym clothes and step out of my closet. West looks like he’s puzzling something in his mind, which is always a bit scary—either he’s spot on or completely off; there’s no middle ground with him.
“Did you two leave the party early to have sex?” he asks.
“No, and can we change the subject? At the moment, I’m not particularly inclined to discuss my sex life.”
“Or lack thereof,” West adds with a smirk.
I look at him, annoyed. “Neither.”
But he’s right, nothing much happened during those days.
On Thursday, we went to see Jessica McCormack, then to pick up her clothes, and returned to her house where we watched where we left off on The O.C.
I didn’t leave. She didn’t ask me to, and she didn’t seem to want me to either.
On Friday, I was sure she would ask me to go.
One slip-up is understandable, two is a stretch but forgivable—but three?
The day before, she told me it was Vivienne’s last night in town, and that she, Anthony, and Vivienne were all going to Wiltons, Vivienne’s favourite restaurant.
So I thought for sure I’d have to go when they went to dinner, but Cor invited me instead.
I accepted because like hell was I going to cut short my time with her.
I thought it would be unbelievably awkward, but it wasn’t.
It was nice, like old times. We chatted, we laughed, Vivienne came back stumbling after drinking too much, and I helped her up.
On Saturday, we spent the day together on Marylebone High Street.
On Sunday, we went to the Marylebone Farmers’ Market, then wandered around Regent’s Park and watched the swans.
So yes, nothing happened—we didn’t have sex, we didn’t even kiss once.
But something did happen. It started to feel like we were getting back together.
The only reason I’m not still with her is that Cornelia is at the Monroe-Nodrick offices, and I couldn’t follow her there, though I’ve never wanted to go to a corporate office more.
“Fine,” West concedes. “I’m taking the lad, whose building on Berkeley Street I’m considering buying for the new art gallery, out for dinner, and then I’m heading to the club. Care to join?”
“Have you already settled on the gallery, then?”
West has this goal for the next year—either open another art gallery in London or launch another Red Lips in a different city. He’s been going back and forth between the two. I thought he was leaning more towards the nightclub.
He scowls. “I’m still deliberating.”
“Send me where you’ll be and at what time, and I’ll see if I can make it,” I say, picking up my gym bag from the corner of my room.
The only downside of spending these last days with Cornelia was that I hadn’t gone to the gym in four days, and it was giving me anxiety.
Cor has a gym in her house, but I didn’t have workout clothes there.
“You’ve got something to do?” he asks, sounding genuinely shocked.
I should feel insulted by his comment, but he’s right to be shocked—normally, I don’t have much on. It feels nice, for once, to have something to do.
“Right now, I’m hitting the gym,” I answer. But that’s not why he is asking. I’ve been going to the gym at this hour in the afternoon quite regularly for the past six months. “And then I’m going with Cor to the Mandarin Oriental Spa for a massage.”
West arches a brow. “A massage?”
“Yes, she mentioned being tense, and I happened to have a certificate for two massages,” I explain.
“And how, pray tell, did you come by this certificate?” he asks, amused.
He knows full well I’m lying; he’s just asking what I told Cornelia.
“My mum gave them to me.”
It was more like the moment Cornelia said yes to accompany me, I called the spa to get the certificate and went to collect it before coming here.
“And she brought that?”
“She did not not buy it.”
West gets up from my bed. “You do realise you two are just fooling yourselves.”
“Yeah, I do,” I reply, not missing a beat.
I’m very aware of that. She doesn’t need me to get a massage, and I can wager with full confidence she knows I made up the whole thing about the certificate.
We’re planning a game—one we’ve played before—but I’m willing to play it again if it gets me the same result as the last time. I hope it does.
“Well, I wish you good luck with your endeavour,” West says before turning and heading out of my room.