I wonder if he asks about me. I wonder if he asks Marie too. But I don’t dare ask either of them, refusing to acknowledge my weakness so openly.
Work is busy, as always, even with John’s assistance, and I’m grateful for it. It gives me less time to dwell, less time to drive myself crazy wondering if I made a huge mistake in saying no.
So many times, I’ve wanted to go back on my refusal...and if it hadn’t been for him leaving the country, I likely would have.
* * *
Three weeks since he left and still no word. It’s also a week past his promised return date.
I don’t want to feel the sadness that accompanies that thought, the crushing disappointment, the realisation that he likely won’t return.
That he has run.
What will happen to his beautiful house? Will he sell it? Rent it out?
Will he ask John to stay on permanently? Wash his hands of everything but the shares? Wash his hands of me?
‘Alexa, what do you think?’
‘Hmm?’
John is looking at me expectantly and I realise I’ve not listened to a damn thing he’s said for at least the last ten minutes.
‘Sorry.’ I shake my head. ‘My mind was elsewhere.’
‘No problem.’ He gives me a smile that smacks of sympathy and I wonder just how much he knows; how much he’s learned in these last few weeks.
‘Do you think we can take this up later? I have a migraine coming on.’
I feel bad for feeding him a lie, but it’s not entirely untrue. I do feel under the weather. It just has more to do with my heart than my head.
‘Sure.’
He picks up his papers, but doesn’t move to leave. Instead he looks at me, and I swear his cheeks colour.
‘There’s just one more thing.’
I look at him expectantly and wonder what could have got such an unflappable man turning pink.
‘Cain has asked that you fly to New York this week. He has a meeting lined up with some investors and thinks your presence is essential.’
Even his name has my pulse skittering. ‘And he didn’t think to ask me himself?’
John gives a shrug. ‘He’s pretty busy out there, and I said I didn’t mind passing on the message.’
It’s been weeks—weeks! And he uses John as a go between. He can’t even give me the time of day. I’m mad. I’m hurt. I’m... I don’t know what I am, but I’m not taking this lying down.
‘Well, when you speak to him next, can you tell him I’m too busy here to jump to his beck and call and make arrangements on such short notice.’
/> How dare he do this? How dare he not ask me himself?
‘He’s made all the arrangements,’ says John, his voice steady in spite of what he must perceive as an overreaction on my part. ‘He cleared it with Janice, so your diary is being updated as we speak. Your flights and accommodation are all—’
‘Janice!’
He shuts up at my shouted call and within seconds Janice is rushing into my office.
‘Yes?’