45. KATE
45
KATE
“ T his is madness. What on earth do you hope to achieve?” Marie asks, arms folded, the toe of one shoe tapping on the linoleum floor.
I’m standing at the door, a small roll-on suitcase at my feet, passport tucked into my handbag.
“It’s not madness,” Elly says, bouncing on her toes, hot chocolate slopping over the edge of her mug. “It’s romantic.”
Marie’s lids shutter on an eye roll before her sharp gaze settles back on me. “You’re going to turn up unannounced? What if he’s already flying back here? Or he’s seeing someone else…”
“He’s not seeing someone else,” I reply.
Marie sets her jaw and stares me down. “You sound very certain about that.”
I’m not certain at all, but it gives me some satisfaction that my act is convincing hard-nosed Marie. Even though I’ve decided to pursue him, Nico’s words keep swirling in my mind, threatening to send me running back to my room so I can pull the duvet over my head and hide.
I don’t fucking quit, and I cannot be with someone who does.
Maybe he still feels like that… maybe me showing up at the Hawkston Building in New York won’t be enough. Maybe it’ll be too late. Either way, I can’t sit here and do nothing, waiting for Nico to come home . I will not get back under that duvet.
It might have taken me a while, but I got here in the end. I know what I want, and it’s six foot three inches tall and looks drop dead gorgeous in a suit and tie, and even better naked.
“If I’m wrong, I’ll get on the next flight back. No harm done,” I continue. “Other than my bank balance. Last-minute tickets weren’t cheap.”
Marie’s arched brow lets me know she’s not entirely convinced by my act after all.
Elly grabs my arm, turning both of us to face off against Marie. “This is the big moment. This is Kate putting her heart on the line, risking it all for the love of her life.”
“Okay, stop,” I cry. “That’s too much. If you keep going like that, I’ll lose my nerve and stay here and watch a movie with you two.”
“It’s just good sex, that’s all,” Marie says, shrugging a shoulder.
Elly pulls my head towards hers with the arm she has wrapped around my shoulder and smacks a huge kiss on the side of my face. “Go get him, babe.” Then she points at Marie and hisses, “Good sex is worth fighting for too. You should try it sometime.”
Marie slaps Elly’s hand away and hauls us both into a hug. “I’m just pissed because if you move in with him, I’ll be left here with Elly and all her sweetness will rot my brain like a decaying tooth.”
“Oi,” Elly cries.
Marie steps back, bites her bottom lip and gives a half shake of the head as if she still thinks I’m crazy. “Good luck. I hope it works.”
It’s early evening when I find myself outside the Hawkston Building. It’s taller than the London office, rising over my head like a glass-fronted obelisk. Thank God Jack didn’t refuse me the last minute holiday I requested. I told him he was going to have to take Mum away without me, because I had somewhere else I needed to be. He didn’t ask where, but I suspect he had an idea.
It’s a warm Friday night, and the street is busy. I’m standing on the pavement outside, sweating in jeans and a t-shirt, suitcase at my feet. If Nico’s here, he’ll still be working. He’s always working. But if I’ve timed it right, then he’ll be here and everyone else will have left already.
My heart is beating so hard, I can feel my pulse in the soles of my feet. This is the craziest thing I’ve ever done. It’s okay though—like I told my friends, if it doesn’t work out, all I’ve really lost is the cash I’ve spent on tickets and accommodation.
The thought sinks heavily through my chest. It’s a lie, obviously. I wouldn’t be here if there weren’t more at stake than a few hundred quid.
I take a deep breath, tighten my hold on my suitcase and take a step forward. It rolls noisily beside me until something catches my eye.
On the other side of the glass doors is Nico, dressed in black tie.
I freeze in the middle of the pavement, people dodging around me and cursing.
He’s with someone. The door opens and they step out.
My heart pounds so forcibly it lands in my gullet, blocking my airway.
It’s Erica Lefroy, dressed in a deep mauve, full length evening gown. She’s beautiful; distractingly so. Better in the flesh than any photo I’ve ever seen of her. Nico says something, and she laughs, turns to him, and fixes his bow tie.
My heart disintegrates in a wave of pain, and my lungs collapse under the force. I choke on the emotion, unable to breathe. I need to get out of here, right now.
But I can’t move. I watch as she lets her hands fall and taps her palms against the lapels of his dinner jacket, letting them rest there for an extended moment. Then she kisses his cheek. She presses her lips to his skin for barely a second, but it kills something inside me.
A car pulls up alongside the pavement, the windows dark and the hubcaps sparkling like diamonds. The body of the car is highly polished, too.
A driver gets out and opens the back door.
Erica’s still talking, laughing. And Nico… he’s smiling, brushing his hair off his forehead as they talk. Are they standing suspiciously close together? It looks that way, and one of her hands is still fingering the lapel of his jacket as if she doesn’t want to let him go.
A small crowd has gathered; commuters stopping to stare. A few people have their mobiles out, trying to get a quick picture of Erica Lefroy and the unbelievably handsome man she’s with.
I’m no better, standing here like a groupie. A fan. An outsider witnessing a life that will never be theirs. And it looks like a fairytale.
He’s moved on. And with one of the most beautiful women in the world. She’d probably never give up on him. There’s no way Erica Lefroy is a quitter. You don’t get to be one of the world’s top models by giving up on stuff.
Fuckity-fuck .
As I stare, there’s a shift in Nico’s body; a tensing or tightening that would be imperceptible if I wasn’t already so attuned to his form. There’s a split second where his expression alters, his attention withdrawing from the woman in front of him, moving inward to some other sense. Awareness sparks within me—he knows I’m here and even before he turns in my direction, I know he’s going to.
S hit .
I want to die. I want the ground to swallow me up.
His eyes lock onto mine faster than a cat could pounce, and there’s no way I can move in time to avoid it. His gaze sears my skin and solders my feet to the ground. Erica notices something’s up too, and her gaze follows his. Now two pairs of beautiful eyes pin me to the spot.
Every fibre of my being is quivering with the urge, the need , to run. But I can’t run, because I can’t feel my limbs.
Nico’s still staring at me, his mouth loose and slightly open, like he suspects he’s imagined me. Erica looks from me to him in confusion.
This was not how I imagined our reunion would go. All the scenarios I was planning out in my head on the flight over—that he would lift me in his arms and kiss me or some variation of—are burning up like Bread Street in the Great Fire of fucking London. Reality is crashing down around me, crushing my bones and smothering my soul.
Nico’s the first to move, with a long, purposeful stride in my direction. His eyes are still on me when my fight-or-flight reflex kicks in. I fix my grip on the handle of my suitcase and trundle it in the opposite direction.
“Hey!”
Oh, God. Is he shouting at me? What the fuck am I doing?
I’m panicking, that’s what.
But this is ridiculous. I can’t very well run through hordes of people with a carry-on bag rattling on shitty wheels behind me. I stop, and a large, heavy hand lands on my shoulder.
“Don’t you dare run away now,” he rasps. “Not when you’re this fucking close.”
The sound of his voice ripples through me, melting me to my core. God, I’ve missed it. But… close to what ?
“Nico, what’s going on?” The voice is British, female, with a cockney twang that contrasts with Nico’s deep, upper class timbre.
His hand on my shoulder is hot and firm as his fingers encourage me to turn. The weight lifts, but only when I’m already twisting towards him.
His face, so close to mine, takes my breath away. Dark irises flicker with a desperation that tugs at my soul. “What are you doing here?” His voice is a low, urgent rumble that thrums over my skin.
“Nico?” Erica asks, drawing up alongside us before I can gather myself to answer him.
Nico smooths his expression and stands to his full height, and a warm gust of air carries his unmistakable scent as he pulls back from me. People passing on the street are watching us, bemused. Me, jet-lagged and bedraggled, pinned between two of the best-looking, most highly polished people in the world.
“Erica, this is Kate Lansen. A colleague.” Nico says. The rough, commanding edge to his tone is gone. Now, there’s only polite inquiry. I stiffen at the sound of it.
A colleague ?
“Kate, this is Erica Lefroy,” he tells me as if I wouldn’t know who she is.
We nod at one another awkwardly.
Nico frowns, then leans in. “Is everything all right?” The question is so quiet that I’m not sure even Erica hears it.
I hate that my throat is closing over right now. I can hardly swallow.
Erica glances at her phone, then up at Nico. “We’re going to be late.”
I bow and step back, like a waiter retreating from a table at which he’s lingered too long after taking an order. The wheels of my suitcase nearly take out an elderly man who yells, “Watch it,” then grumbles, “Fucking tourists.”
Nico stares like he’s willing me to say something else, but I can’t. I completely clam up under Erica’s scrutinizing gaze.
“Sweetie,” she says, placing a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Yes. I’ll leave you to it,” I say, trying to back away.
“Can we get you a cab? Where are you staying?” Erica’s model-perfect face is scrunching with concern. I feel bad; she’s giving herself wrinkles on my account.
And damn it, the woman is actually nice.
“Kate, why are you here?” Nico repeats, the authoritative tone blasting from each word now. I feel like a junior employee wasting his time. Which is exactly what I am.
But the intensity in his eyes, the way his dark lashes flicker over irises that burn ferociously, suggests he knows why I’m here, and needs to hear me say it.
“For you,” I whisper.
His eyes widen, just a fraction, and his hand clamps around my wrist. “Where are you staying?”
I mumble out the name of a hotel, and Nico’s hand slides from my wrist to my shoulder, wrapping around my back like a protective armour. I want to relax into it, but I can’t. I stiffen instead, and his arm tenses in response. Even our bodies are disconnected and awkward. He ushers me towards the car. His car.
“I’ll get a cab,” I say.
“No, you won’t. We will,” he says, and he glances at Erica. She nods, already striding out towards the edge of the pavement and sticking her hand out into the traffic.
A cab instantly indicates and rolls towards her.
“I’m giving the opening speech at a charity gala tonight,” Nico says. The words are rushed and whispered as he opens the door of the car. “I can’t miss it.”
He puts gentle pressure on my shoulder and I lower into the car and slide over the leather seat. I want to reach out and pull him in beside me.
On the street, the driver is already putting my suitcase in the boot. Nico barks directions to him, one hand braced on the open car door, the other on the roof. He’s going to shut the door and leave me. Fuck . Will I even see him again, or is this his way of telling me I’m not wanted?
Desperate to get some kind of answer, I say, “Are you and Erica…”
Nico dips his head back through the car door and leans towards me, a mixture of frustration and apology in his eyes. “No. Listen, I can’t talk right now. I wish you’d told me you were coming.”
“I know about Martin,” I blurt. “You discovered he and Curtis were working together. You saved Dad’s art. I know what you did for us, for my family.”
“I have to go…”
“Was it legal?” The phrase spurts from my mouth, a harried whisper. “What you did to sort everything out?”
He freezes. “It was… effective.” I know what that word means. It means No . “Is that a problem?”
Staring at his face—his stupid, gorgeous face—I realise I don’t give a fuck. As long as he isn’t lying to me, I don’t care what he did to Martin, because that bastard deserved whatever he had coming to him.
“No,” I whisper.
And then I do the stupidest thing. I lurch forwards and kiss him. If I can even call it a kiss; it’s more like a clash of lip and tooth. It’s warm and hard and wet and soft; overall, it’s a mess. A collision of human faces in a pattern that makes no sense.
Nico recoils, his eyes darting all over me, scanning every inch of my face and body. He mutters something under his breath.
And then he’s gone, the door slamming in his wake.