Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
L ow voices tumble down the hallway.
Taylor and I cease our typing. We sit in virtual silence, each of us doing our best to pretend we aren’t trying to eavesdrop.
The Havens returned from lunch fifteen minutes early. Without uttering a single word to us, they retreated into their sunroom and shut the door.
Adoria’s shrill, “Blake, my dear!” rings out, followed by Victor loudly proclaiming: “Oliver, it’s been ages, son!”
I seek out Taylor’s gaze, a question in mine. From what I know, Oliver Blake’s film career couldn’t be less like the Havens’ if he tried. The young director’s last four projects were all romantic comedies. The Havens prefer avant-garde productions that almost always find themselves riding the award show circuit.
But it doesn’t much matter who they’re talking to. Only what it means for me. Will I be scheduling a dinner this evening at some ritzy restaurant and scrambling to get Oliver Blake’s schedule? Or will the Havens be inviting us to a screening, where we’ll be tasked with remembering the names of everyone who makes their acquaintance? Somehow, one of these things is far more appealing than the other.
But Adoria’s deflated, “All right, then, Oliver. We’ll let you get back to your honeymoon,” has my shoulders dropping in relief.
The Havens’ voices fade into the distance as they climb to their second story, likely to lament their failed attempt to woo the director. I turn back to my computer, flipping through my tabs to avoid doing work for a little while longer.
“Hey…”
The sound of Taylor’s voice nearly startles me out of my seat. I turn with arched brows, hardly believing he’s addressing me. It so rarely happens. And never without provocation. But Taylor doesn’t sound angry.
He doesn’t look angry, either. It’s strange, actually. If I had to pinpoint the expression he’s wearing, I’d say it was chagrin.
“Do you…ah, have a moment?”
I wonder if I appear half as surprised as I feel. “Me? Uh…I guess?”
Taylor nods, appearing to gather courage before striding over to me. “I should have said this sooner. But…I’m sorry. For last Friday. I shouldn’t have thrown out your drink. I didn’t realize you saw—not that it makes what I did any better. Just…I’m sorry. I wanted you to know.”
Taylor’s hands flex at his sides and my gaze follows the motion. An image of them wrapped around my thighs appears in my head. Yesterday, those rough palms slid down my legs, their tight grip the only thing keeping me upright. I swallow, discarding the memory with a shake of my head.
Taylor’s watching me, his lips pressed in a tight line. I have never seen him look less composed. I’ve never seen him look…sorry.
I chew on my lip, trying to find the right thing to say. His apology marks a new chapter in our relationship. One where we take ownership of the things we do to each other. And I want to ask if that means something. If we’ll be able to set our weapons aside and actually get along. But the question sticks in my throat. I’m not sure I actually want to hear his answer, especially when I have a sinking feeling I know what it would be.
“Thank you,” I say instead. “That means a lot.”
Taylor nods, his lips quirking into something too thin to be a smile before he starts to turn.
“Why don’t we call a truce?” I throw out, trying not to sound as desperate as I really feel. “You know, try to be friends?”
Taylor turns so slowly that I have plenty of time to regret my choice of words. And I don’t have to wonder if his answer to my unspoken question would have disappointed me. The look in his eyes confirms it.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” Taylor repeats, all traces of warmth gone from his voice. “But I have no interest in being your friend, Ayla. That will never change.”