I closed my eyes and slept.
MY dad wasn’t there to pick me up. He sent Desmond to do it.
Just seeing a friendly face nearly propelled me back into tearful territory.
“Jesus Christ, you’re hot, Gaby,” he said after a kiss to my cheek.
I frowned at him and felt my eyes get watery.
“I—I mean you feel hot.” Des looked me over good, his warm brown eyes darting. “Are you all right? You don’t look your usual self,” he said more gently.
Was that a nice way to tell me I looked like shit? I sure felt like a giant pile of it, and I must’ve looked the same. I forced a smile, gulped back my tears, and thought maybe I should give Desmond Thorne a chance.
The man was always nice to me, and despite his serious persona, he was dependable. No crazy irrationality coming out of him. He was also gorgeous, with a lean body trimmed in muscles I knew would be spectacular if I ever saw it sans the designer suit. Des was always wearing a suit, so I’d never had the privilege. Didn’t mean the spectacular body wasn’t rippling under the silk threads. Also didn’t mean I couldn’t have the privilege if I wanted. I could. In a heartbeat. All I had to do was let him know I wanted to.
But did I? This was the burning question.
Along with my burning body temp.
“I know. I think I have a fever.” I held a hand up. “You probably shouldn’t get too close, Des. I’d hate to give you whatever it is that’s infected me.”
“Don’t you worry about me, Gaby. I am never ill.” He reached for my baggage trolley and took over pushing it for me. “Your flat then, I’m guessing?”
I nodded gratefully. “Yeah. I just want to get into my bed and sleep for a long time.”
“Of course.”
We talked in the car on the way into the city. I told him how I’d gotten lost in the storm and had to wait in the dark for three hours until Mr. Everley finally decided to answer his messages. I explained how he was angry when I’d arrived and thought I was somebody named Maria, and felt his privacy had been compromised. I left out the part about how we’d hooked up at the National Gallery. Just the remembrance right now gave me a shiver. I shared that Mr. Everley might be a jerk, but his servant, Mr. Finnegan, was most certainly not. How he had been kind and showed me to my room, and then helped me this morning to make it back to my rental car.
“It sounds like this Everley’s a crazy bastard, and I’m glad you’re not taking his job. And your dad will be glad, too.”
“I know he will. Dad doesn’t trust most people.”
Des cracked a tiny smile and raised an eyebrow at me.
“I know he trusts you,” I said absently as I switched my phone off airplane mode, and waited for it to update.
There were three alerts. Texts. All from him.
I read them and couldn’t believe my eyes.
“Oh—my—God. The lunatic is asking me to come back there and accept the job.”
“What is he saying?” Des asked.
I read the texts out loud to him.
“Why is he fucking you about like this? He’s angry you’ve come to his estate and wants you gone, and then when you’ve left the job, he begs you to stay? You’re right, he is a lunatic plonker.”
I said nothing. I couldn’t tell anyone I’d had a sexual encounter with the man. Instead I decided right then and there to put the nightmare experience of Mr. Everley behind me for good. I’d made a terrible lapse in judgment the night of the gala in a moment of weakness, and I had paid for my sin. I needed to put the whole hideous mess behind me and move on.
By the time we got to my flat, I could hardly stand on my feet without wavering. Desmond helped me up all five flights of stairs, his strong arms practically carrying me.
I did manage to dredge up enough energy to change into some yoga pants and a T-shirt, and to crawl into my bed while he went back down to get my bags.
Des was such a good person, I thought, as I settled under the covers and let my eyes close. I should maybe thank him by inviting him over to Dad’s place for a home cooked dinner. Yeah, I might just do that once I was feeling better...
ENOUGH of this silent-treatment bullshit. I phoned her.