Sugar on the Edge (Last Call #3)(29)
Yeah, that would crush her… demoralize her beyond repair probably.
And I’d feel good for a few minutes after, I’m sure.
But then I think about having to see the pain in those soft, brown eyes and the anger turns directly inward at me, punching me in my stomach with the force of a nuclear bomb.
Hurtling out of my chair, I grab the edge of my desk and pull upward as hard as I can, toppling it over and sending my laptop and Charlie’s photo crashing to the floor. I don’t give a moment’s thought to neither the laptop nor the precious manuscript I had been working on, but immediately run around the overturned desk and grab the frame that holds Charlie’s picture. The glass is shattered, causing dark, fractured spiderwebs to obscure his smiling face.
A knock sounds at my door, as I pull the picture in tight to my chest.
“Gavin… is everything okay?” I hear Savannah call out.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, and my voice catches. Clearing my throat, I call out again. “It’s fine. Go away.”
“Are you sure?” she asks hesitantly.
The anger flashes hot, and I yell, “Sod off already. I said I’m fine.”
She doesn’t answer me, and I can hear her footsteps fall softly away from the door. Leaning back against the wall, I bang my head against it once.
Fuck… when will this ever end?
It’s amazing the way people will fawn all over you when you’re paying $140,000 in cash for a car.
Here’s your Perrier, Mr. Cooke, with a slice of lime.
Can we run out and get you some lunch, Mr. Cooke?
Is it warm enough in here for you, Mr. Cooke?
Can I strip you naked and ride you hard, Mr. Cooke?
Okay, that last one didn’t happen, but the receptionist that sits behind her black, lacquered desk and gushed over him for ten minutes before asking for an autograph most certainly was asking that in her mind. I could see it in her eyes.
To give him credit, Gavin takes it all in stride, waving most of them away with an impatient hand. He gave the autograph to the bleached-blonde receptionist, but barely spared her a glance and assured everyone he didn’t need anything but his car.
I watch as Gavin goes through the paperwork, signing and initialing wherever the salesman points his finger. I can’t fathom what it’s like to have that much money, yet he never acts entitled or better than everyone else. Sure, his house is huge, but he told me on the drive up here that he would prefer something small like the little two-bedroom flat he had in London, but that he didn’t want anyone near him. He didn’t tell me why he felt the need to buy a brand new Maserati Quattroporte, especially when he never goes anywhere, but I didn’t think to question him on that.
Besides, he worked most of the way up here as he said he would—laptop propped on his lap—and I listened to my music through my ear buds so as not to disturb him. There really wasn’t any opportunity to do much talking.
Gavin had sent me a text Wednesday night, telling me what time to be at his house. When I showed up this morning, he met me out on his front porch and barely grunted a hello, but he did order me out of my car, insisting we’d take his rental to Raleigh so we could leave it there.
I wanted to ask him so badly about the noise I heard in his office on Tuesday. It was a massive crash, and I’m guessing it was his desk. Those things don’t just topple over on their own, so I have to assume he upended it. When I went to check on him, he was clearly upset… I could hear it in the tone of his voice, before he snarled at me to leave him alone.
His tone scared me… vicious and pain filled all at the same time. I hesitated for just a moment, feeling like I should push the door open and see what I could do to help, then I remembered that Gavin Cooke is nothing more than my employer. A darkly compelling and extremely sexy employer… but nothing more.
“You ready to go?” Gavin says to me as he stands from the salesman’s desk. He looks so amazing, wearing a pair of charcoal-gray slacks and a long-sleeved, lightweight black sweater. The temperature was supremely brisk this morning, and we both dressed accordingly. I chose to wear a light, wool skirt in brown-and-red plaid with brown tights, paired with a pair of brown Mary Janes and a cream sweater. Living on the sunny beaches of North Carolina, I tend to dress in shorts and tank tops for a good chunk of the year, but when I feel the nip of cold weather, I’m all over the appropriate fashions… wool, tights, boots, and trendy scarves. I only get to experience it for a few months a year.
I follow Gavin outside, the salesman hot on his heels. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you out on a drive first, to show you all the features?”
Shaking his head, Gavin heads to the passenger side of the shiny black car, that I have to admit, is one of the most beautiful vehicles I’ve ever seen with its gently curved, sleek lines and polished chrome accents. He opens the door and motions me inside. “No thanks. I think I can figure it out.”
“But I need to show you how to transition between automatic and manual,” the salesman practically whines as I slide onto the butter-soft, white leather seat. I’m sure he’s never had someone buy a car completely untested before.
I don’t hear Gavin’s response because he closes the door once my legs are securely in and walks around the front of the car with the salesman trailing behind. When he opens the driver’s door, I hear him say, “Here are the keys to my rental. Someone will be by to pick it up later today.”