Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82034 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“I’ll call you later,” I say distractedly, not having any more clarity after talking to Andrew than I did before I picked up the phone.
After I disconnect, I walk back into the kitchen. Taking the pastry box, I flip the top and pull out another croissant along with two custard tarts. I put them on a plate and walk back into my living room. I choose the armchair by the window that Clyde sits in, and I curl myself up into it.
Then I eat and think about what to do.
CHAPTER 32
Dane
I trudge up the steps to Avril’s third-floor apartment. I’m not in the best mood as I’ve sat at that stupid fucking cafe for two days now, and she hasn’t showed. This morning, I decided enough was enough and came to her apartment.
If the big question to Avril is, “Will you give me a second chance?”, then I guess I have my answer. Her not coming to meet me speaks volumes.
Still, I’m not leaving Paris until I see her. I’ve spoken to Fabron, and he’s verified she still has not accepted the job he offered. He was also quite the smartass, telling me to get my shit together and either make things right, or let her go so he can work on her some more.
When I reach the top of the staircase, I look to her apartment door and the nerves hit me hard. If Avril has indeed decided I’m not worth the effort, then my life is about to get very grim after she says it to my face.
On the flip side, I’m not a quitter. Perhaps she’ll tell me to go to hell, and then I’ll kiss her into changing her mind.
That brings a smile to my face, and I take a step toward her door. To my surprise, it opens and an ugly as hell cat that’s missing half an ear slithers through. It brushes by me and trots down the stairs. I watch it only a moment until the door shutting catches my attention.
I bolt toward it, rapping my knuckles against the gray painted wood. The door swings open, and there Avril stands. It’s been almost two weeks since Jamie died. Two weeks since I’ve been able to hold her close and inhale her fragrance.
Her eyes are wide, and she blinks in disbelief to see me there.
I give her an admonishing look. “You didn’t think I’d come to you if you weren’t going to come to me?”
“I… I… I…” she stutters.
“Invite me in, Av,” I say gruffly, emotion from just seeing her clogging my throat. “We have to talk.”
She blinks again, and then steps back from the door. I survey her apartment quickly when I enter. It’s tiny and sparsely decorated, and I’m guessing she rented it furnished as is.
When I turn back to her, I notice for the first time she’s wearing a bathrobe. I’ve never seen her wear one before. She’s always been naked, and if she wasn’t naked, she was either in the shower or dressed for the day. The bathrobe sort of a suggests she’s enjoying her time off from work, and that makes me glad for her. Avril’s worked so hard her entire adult life and rarely takes time off to just enjoy herself.
Avril turns from the door and crosses her arms over her stomach. Her gaze is wary, her posture guarded.
No sense in beating around the bush.
“Why didn’t you come meet me?” I ask. I just need her to tell me the truth so I can decide my next course of action. Because I haven’t kissed or touched her in two weeks… I’m thinking about perhaps just dragging her to bed. There I’ll give her many, many orgasms to wear her down so she’ll be forced to capitulate and take me back.
“You poisoned me,” she says bluntly.
My body jerks. “I what?”
“The stuff you had delivered to me,” she says with a grim smile. “I got food poisoning. I’m thinking the custard tarts.”
“You’re kidding?” I mutter in disbelief.
“Nope,” she says as she pushes past me to walk into her kitchen. I follow, which is nothing but turning forty-five degrees and taking three steps from her living room. She goes to the fridge and takes out a bottle of seltzer water. “Got sick within about four hours. Spent the rest of that day, night, and most of yesterday puking my guts up.”
“Jesus, Avril,” I say as I shake my head. “Why didn’t you text me? I could have come over and helped you.”
“Not my idea of a reunion,” she murmurs with a tiny smile.
“How are you feeling now?” I ask as she twists the top off the glass bottle in her hands.
She takes a sip and says, “Much better. I think I’ll even brave some food today, but it will not ever be croissants or custards again.”