Maybe a challenge was what he wanted all along, and since I’ve ceased to be that, he’s moved on to something—or someone—more exciting.
Around four, Kendall calls me again, and I again send her to voicemail. I can imagine how excited and bubbly she’ll sound, wanting to hear all about my affair with a billionaire, and I simply don’t feel up to dissecting Marcus’s actions with her. Maybe it’s because I got so little sleep last night, but I feel completely drained, as listless as if I were coming down with the flu.
And maybe I am.
Maybe that’s what this squeezing pain in my chest is all about.
“You should go home early,” Mr. Smithson advises when I’m done shelving this week’s shipment of romance novels. “It’s already starting to snow.”
“Oh, right. I almost forgot about the storm.” I glance outside, where the howling wind is driving the first flurries into twister-like patterns. “I’ll have to check on my flight.”
My boss grimaces. “It’s not looking good, Emma, sorry. They said on the news the airlines have already started announcing cancellations.”
Great. Just great. My eyes prickle, and I have to turn away, blinking rapidly to keep the sudden influx of tears at bay. I didn’t realize until now how much I’ve been anticipating this trip—both because I badly miss my grandparents and because I need to get away.
I’m dying to escape from this awful weather… and the growing pain of the realization that I may never see Marcus again.
* * *
I make it home before the worst of the snow starts, my neck snug and warm thanks to the scarf Marcus gifted me. I didn’t want to put it on this morning, but the wind was too biting to ignore.
Dispirited, I take it off and put it in a shoebox to keep it safe from Mr. Puffs. Then I hang up my coat and give the cats their dinner before trudging to my laptop to check on my flight.
To my relief, my airline has only cancelled tonight’s and tomorrow morning’s flights so far. They must expect the weather to clear up by tomorrow afternoon.
“Well, that’s something,” I tell the cats, returning to the kitchen to make my own dinner. “I may be able to make it to Florida, after all.” Even to my own ears, however, my voice sounds flat, lacking all hint of excitement.
Because as much as I want to see my grandparents and bask in the Florida sun, I know—deep in my bones, I know—that none of it will chase away the spreading hollowness inside me.
The growing conviction that Marcus and I are done.
48
Marcus
By market close on Tuesday, the entire fund is punch-drunk with exhaustion, but we’ve netted $580 million through a combination of different trades, including a single-day $100 million bet on the Turkish lira. The transportation team has also cashed in on their airline short positions; they’ve been betting for weeks that the early-to-arrive winter weather would hit those stocks hard, and with the advent of tonight’s storm, the rest of the market has finally agreed with them.
All in all, barring any major disasters over the next couple of trading days, we may end up having a decent November. Not a great one, but good enough that we won’t have to explain a down month to our investors. Or to the Alpha Zone attendees—those assholes would’ve been merciless.
It should feel good, snatching this victory from the jaws of defeat, but all I can think about is that I haven’t seen Emma since Sunday. And tomorrow evening, she’s leaving for Florida, which means I won’t see her for the rest of the week.
For the umpteenth time, I reach for my phone, only to pull back with a herculean effort of will. The craving is still there, stronger than ever, and I know if I give in to it now, there will be no going back.
This obsession will grow until it consumes me.
Not that I’m planning to stay away from Emma much longer. For one thing, I’m not sure I’d be able to, but I also don’t want to. As dangerous as my addiction to her is, it’s the most exhilarating thing I’ve felt in years. I’ve never had this kind of sexual chemistry with a woman, have never wanted—or enjoyed—one so intensely. I want to wake up to her flame-bright curls on my pillow and see her dimpled smile when I come home from work, to bury my cock in her sweet, lush body every night and as many times throughout the day as she’ll let me.
I want her, and I’m going to have her—but first, I have to know that I’m stronger than my addiction.
I have to make it through this week without her, to prove to myself that I’m in control.
49
Emma
Since my flight is not until 6:25 p.m., I was planning to go into work for half a day on Wednesday. However, as I watch the howling fury of the storm through my narrow window, I know it’s not happening—and most likely, neither is my flight.