“I can get you on a direct flight from DC at
six ten a.m. You’ll fly the corporate jet to Reagan National. Shall I send a
car for you at four?”
Derian hesitated. She needed to go—she’d been
putting off Antonio, her business manager, for weeks. If he said she needed to
put in an appearance to woo some nervous investors before the next leg of the
circuit, she believed him. She had nothing pressing at the agency—nothing she
couldn’t have Vonnie delegate with a quick phone call. After all, Emily could
have been doing her job all along, and she’d planned to have Emily step in
while she was away. At the moment, talking to Emily and pretending everything
was business as usual felt like more than she could handle. She ruthlessly
pushed aside the quicksilver flash of pain when she imagined Emily at the
office, looking beautiful and sexy as only she could in casual business
clothes. Looking beautiful and sexy no matter where she was or what she was
doing. “Yes, have me picked up at the Dakota.”
“Very good—shall I arrange a wake-up call
when the driver is en route?”
“That would be fine.” She didn’t have much to
pack. Once she’d left, the Dakota staff would take care of disposing of the few
things in her kitchen, sending any clothes she left behind out to be laundered,
and cleaning the place.
“I’ll reserve your usual suite at the Copa?”
Suddenly weary just thinking about the
high-octane world she’d be jumping back into the next night, Derian sighed.
Maybe the nonstop parties masquerading as business meetings would be just what
she needed to quench the seething unrest souring her stomach. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Of course, Ms. Winfield. Have a good
flight.”
“Good night.” Derian shoved her phone into
her pants pocket and tried not to think about the hash she’d made of the night.
Since kicking herself was a physical impossibility, she’d just keep walking
until she burned off some of the anger. Nothing had turned out the way she’d
expected, and she still couldn’t figure out where things had gone so wrong. She
mentally replayed the conversation with Emily—hell, all their
conversations—wondering how she’d misread the signals so completely. One minute
they’d been closer than she’d ever been with anyone, not just physically, but
in every way, and the next she’d felt like she’d been talking to a stranger.
Emily had actually suggested Derian’s proposal was meant to manipulate Emily
into doing something just so Derian could gain an advantage over Martin. Pain
knifed through her chest. That Emily could imagine Derian was like him—a manipulator,
someone who used people as weapons against one another—hurt far more than all
the insults Martin had ever hurled her way.