The toad coughs a response. “It’s Dickerson, Carlton, as you well know.”
“Sorry!” Amy’s friend laughs, tilting his head. “You know me. Dick on the brain.”
Amy clears her throat, and while I’m smart enough to see they have the situation under control, I have to fight my natural urge to insert myself.
The only things holding me back are I have no reason to intervene, and I know I would only complicate things for her, especially in view of the obvious fact she pointed out only moments ago. I’m supposed to be here with another woman, and if there’s anything I refuse to do, it’s paint Amy, the woman I love, in a negative light.
“What do you want, Roland?”
“I’ve messaged you a few times, since I heard you were working with Merritt’s team.
” Again, his husky voice makes me think of congestive heart failure, or at the very least, entirely too much red meat and cigar smoke. “We want your sweet little expertise at Dickerson, Cox, and Broadhead.”
She blinks a few times, and I can’t help wondering if she’s thinking what I always think—Dickweed, Cocksucker, and Loveshead.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’ve decided marketing isn’t really my preferred field.”
The toad blusters out a “What does that mean?”
Cool as a beautiful, mint-colored goddess, she smiles. “My degree is in finance. I miss the solid logic of numbers. The control.”
God, I love this woman. Dickerson is momentarily at a loss, because heaven forbid a woman have a brain as powerful as Amy Knight’s. Fucking asshole.
I have to go and find Paige in order to finish out my commitment to her, but I can’t resist taking a final moment to survey my lady-love standing like a gorgeous statue, all five-foot-four of her, in the Aztec-inspired slip of a dress she’s wearing.
Vaguely, I recall having her panties in my pocket, and all I can do is count the moments until I have all of her. Permanently.
Chapter 16: Aftermath
Amy
Armand is quiet on the ride back to Sylvia’s condo, but I don’t care. I’d spent the remainder of the gala silly dancing with C.J., hiding from all straight men, and drinking entirely too much champagne.
I had to do anything to block out Marcus and the way he continued to watch me even as he escorted Paige around the venue. As enormous as the space was, my eyes were always able to find him, and his eyes were always intense, waiting to hold my gaze. My chest squeezed every time our eyes locked together, and I’d look away fast like a silly schoolgirl.
Bumping into Roland had pushed a bad night all the way to horrifyingly awful, and I’d made the proclamation that I was leaving PR work to return to finance. I had no idea if I even meant it, but at least C.J. was right at my side. Also, I wasn’t blindingly drunk this time—at least not on alcohol.
The fresh memory of being in Marcus’s arms, his mouth plundering mine, devouring my body, leaving fresh marks—all of it had me dizzy with desire and frustration.
Tired of being ignored, Armand finally approached me on the dance floor and took my arm. “Time to go, cherie.”
Slugging the last of my champagne, I kissed C.J. on both cheeks. He made some outlandish comment about coaches turning to pumpkins, but I only shook my head.
“If I lose my shoe at the ball, it’s because I’m drunk,” and with that I followed my distinguished escort out to his car to endure the silent drive home.
Now we’re at Sylvia’s building, and all I want is to go inside and try to sleep away this entire night. At the very least, I’ve got to get away from Armand’s smirk. He watches me as if some mystery has been solved. I don’t even want to know what he’s thinking.
Reaching for the door, I’m ready to fly out, but he holds my forearm. “Amalie.” His low voice ripples through the silence. I don’t look up. “At least let me tell you goodbye.”
Goodbye. Not the French au revoir, which means til we meet again. He’s giving me the American version of it’s over. It causes me to meet his eyes, and I’m relieved to see he’s not angry.
“I didn’t ask you to come here.” It’s a soft statement of fact. I’m not trying to hurt him. I’m only trying to establish the truth.
“Yes.” He releases my arm and leans back in the leather seat of the Towncar. “Still, I’m glad I came. It seems my path is different than I originally thought.”
I don’t know what he means, but he seems to be letting me go. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“No pain, ma petite. Only loss.” He lifts my hand and kisses the back of my fingers. “Our memories will always be beautiful.”