Exposed by Fate (Serve #2)(55)

Agony lanced what was left of him. “So soon, huh? You certainly aren’t wasting any time.”

She reddened, and he cursed himself for embarrassing her on top of everything. He never wanted her to be anything but blindingly happy. “Make the call now. While I’m here.”

He wanted to howl or throw something. How could one person withstand this much torture? Look straight at the girl of his dreams while saying the words that would give her to someone else? Surely he’d woken up in hell this morning. It was the only explanation. His arm felt like lead as he opened his long, middle desk drawer and drew out Porter’s business card, setting it beside the phone. Each punch of the buttons while dialing Porter’s number felt like a dagger jabbing him in the stomach.

“Porter, this is Oliver Preston. I don’t know if you remember me from Serve…? Yes, that would be me.” He looked up to find Eliza watching him wide-eyed in the doorway. It hurt to look at her, so he focused back on the digital clock in the lower right hand side of the computer screen. “I owe you an apology for my behavior. I had no right to tell you to stay away from Eliza Ballas. In fact,” he swallowed hard, “she’d love to see you tonight if you’re available…yes, I was going to suggest the same. Room two-twenty. She’ll see you then.”

Oliver replaced the phone in its cradle and stared down at his desk. He had no idea for how long. When he looked up, Eliza was gone.

…

What am I doing here?

Eliza put one foot in front of the other and tried to walk in a straight line. Such an effort. Would anyone notice if she laid down and never got up? She’d come to Serve dressed to kill, but she felt like it was killing her instead. Walking in through the front door, male heads had turned in her direction. There had been interested murmurs as she swayed through the crowd on her way to the elevator. Only a few more steps and she would be at room two-twenty. Face to face with Porter. Or not Oliver as her brain stubbornly continued to call him.

He’d done it. He’d actually called Porter and arranged the date. She’d been silently screaming at him to refuse her request, even though she’d been the impulsive one to ask. When she’d walked in and seen him smiling up at that girl from the gala, everything inside her had grinded to a halt. All the fizzing perfection, the gleaming assurance that all would be well once she told Oliver she loved him, had dried up in a single, horrifying instant. She really was a fool. Just like the girls from his past, she’d projected something that wasn’t really there. Projected potential feelings onto him that could never exist.

Demanding that he call Porter while she stood in his office had been her way of showing him he didn’t hurt her. God, that was laughable. He’d done more than hurt her. He’d pulverized her. The stupid idea had backfired, too, because she’d had to listen to the man who owned her heart freely set her up with another man. The phone call played on repeat in her head like a broken record every time she encountered silence. Which is part of the reason she’d gone through with her plan to meet Porter. To avoid silence. Avoid thoughts. Or feelings.

Could she do it? Let Porter touch her when she still burned for Oliver? Leaving her apartment, she’d been so certain that this would help heal her. Cure her of the misconception that she and Oliver were supposed to be together always. Maybe another man’s hands would erase the memory of him. Now that she stood outside room two-twenty, however, she knew it was totally useless. Her feelings for Oliver ran far deeper than physical attraction. Sex with another man wouldn’t bandage the wound, it would be like pouring salt inside of it.

Knowing she had to cancel on Porter for the third time since they’d met, she knocked softly on the door. She would apologize and get out of here, out of these clothes. With no work tomorrow, she could burrow under her covers and stay there. Rest her aching head. Even now, Monday morning seemed too close. Too much of an effort.

“Come in,” a muffled male voice said from inside the room.

Eliza turned the knob and pushed open the door. “I’m sorry, I have to—” The words died on her lips when she saw Oliver sitting on the bed. What is he doing here? Even after all the pain he’d caused, her gaze devoured the sight of him hungrily, as if she hadn’t just seen him that afternoon. He still wore his work clothes, but he’d removed his jacket and tie. A couple of days’ worth of a beard shaded his jaw. Blood-shot eyes were focused intently on her. The weight of his stare forced her to look away or she risked letting loose the tide of emotions crashing inside of her.

“Hello, Eliza.”

She noticed that he held a full bottle of ouzo in his hands. “What are you doing here? Where is Porter?”

He raked her with a glance. “You look goddamn amazing. Jesus, I thought I hated him before. Seeing you dressed like that for him…” he broke off, plowing his fingers through his hair. “Now I think I’d like to kill him.”

“You’re not making sense, Oliver.”

“I’m trying. It’s hard to think when all I want to do is f*cking hold you.” He shot to his feet and strode closer. She thought he might kiss her and knew even then, she would never be able to resist him. If he touched her, she’d be his. In a heartbeat. It scared her just how much certainty she had in that fact. And the fact that she’d never get over him. Not as long as she lived.

At the last second, he bypassed her and closed the door, bathing her in acute disappointment. She tried to squash it, along with the hope that had bloomed hearing that he wanted to hold her. She’d been down that road, though. It was a dead end. “Why don’t you start with answering my question? Where is Porter?”