Addicted to You Page 3

  …and the inevitable pain.

  “Because I don’t want this,” I whisper. “I don’t want to be with you.” Not like this, I add silently. Not unless you love me too.

  His eyes close, and his jaw flexes. I don’t wait for him to say anything before I continue, digging my heels in before I surrender to the temptation to tell him how I really feel, what I really want. “I meant it when I said you can’t give me what I want.”

  Something flashes in his eyes, like pain, but I can’t be too sure. I watch his throat work as he swallows, then he releases my hand, letting it fall back on my thigh. The thought that I’ve hurt him is almost unbearable. I want to take it back, but I know he’ll get over it. He’ll find some other woman who would be happy without the promise of commitment, or at least pretend to be.

  My eyes are stinging with tears, and I blink them away, looking straight ahead to keep Landon from noticing. If only I didn’t love him so much, if only I didn’t want him so much.

  I’m relieved when I see the Gilt building a few yards ahead. We’re both silent as the car inches forward in the traffic. It seems to take forever till Joe slides into the curb at the entrance and stops.

  I risk a glance at Landon. He doesn’t look at me, and his face is as remote and distant as if it was hewn from stone. “I… Thanks for the ride.”

  His response is a small, bitter chuckle. “I should thank you,” he says, “for making it clear to me, without any doubt, that I can’t always get what I want.”

  I flinch at his tone, and at the realization that he thinks I’ve been trying to teach him a lesson. Taking one last, long look at his beautiful profile, I decide that there would be no point in arguing.

  My heart is heavy as I leave the car. With my whole body trembling, I take the steps up towards the glass doors. I hear the low purr of the engines as the car starts to move away, but I don’t look back.

  I’m doing the right thing, I tell myself for the thousandth time.

  It only makes me feel worse.

  “IT has taken a lot of work to restore the hotel’s faded charms. An acclaimed refurbishment team, for one, all of whom do not hesitate to give the real credit to one man, the new owner. From the Italian marble in the lobby, the exquisite mosaic in the indoor swimming pool; the extensive art collection, to the crested stationary, and even the cutlery, everything you find at the Gold Dust, the newest addition to the Swanson Court Hotels, has been carefully chosen by Landon Court himself. The man behind the contemporary success of the Swanson Court Brand isn’t just an hotelier, he knows what he wants, and never hesitates to go after it.”

  Chelsea looks up from her tablet, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she raises an eyebrow in my direction. Like me, she’s a features associate at Gilt Travel. She’s also disarmingly pretty, and genuinely friendly. Today, she’s wearing all blue, her corn-silk hair in a loose ponytail. “Could it be any more obvious that you’re in love with this man?” she teases.

  I busy myself with powering on my computer. Landon’s voice still sounding in my ears.

  Why do you keep pushing me away?

  After this morning, after our conversation, I’m suddenly more confused and unsure of myself. As if that’s not enough, the new issue of Gilt Travel has been electronically delivered to subscribers and staff, along with my article about the Gold Dust. Everyone wants to tell me how good it is, but the more I have to talk about it, the harder it is to stop thinking about its subject.

  Why do you keep pushing me away?

  The effort it takes to force the image of him from my mind is almost paralyzing.

  “I’m not in love with him,” I tell Chelsea, without taking my eyes off my computer screen. There’s nothing on the screen, but I don’t want her to see the lie on my face.

  Chelsea is still laughing, oblivious to my inner torment. “That’s what they always say.”

  I don’t reply. I type in my password and concentrate on my screen as it comes to life. I search the files for something… anything I can start working on, anything to make me stop thinking.

  Chelsea stops laughing, sensing that something is wrong. She steps towards my desk and gives me a sharp look. “You’re not seeing him anymore.”

  I close my eyes, and even then all I can see in my head is Landon.

  Why do you keep pushing me away?

  I focus on Chelsea, pushing everything else out of my mind. “It wasn’t supposed to be a permanent thing.” I meet her eyes and force a brightness into my voice that I don’t feel, which, I’m sure, does little to deceive her.

  She sighs. “Are you doing okay?”

  I’m sure that as soon as she leaves my office, I’m going to succumb to the tears stinging in my eyes. “I’m fine,” I lie.

  It’s obvious that she doesn’t believe me. “We should go out,” she suggests after a short silence. “Let’s pick a night, hit the clubs, and party till we forget that men exist. Me, you, Laurie, Sonali too, if she’s done with her juice cleanse by then. It’ll be great.”

  I nod vaguely. Laurie. With the distraction of Landon’s appearance this morning, I’ve not had the chance to dwell on her reaction from last night. Now that I’m reminded, it rankles. I understand why she lost her temper over Jack. She’d nursed me through two years of crying over him, but her accusations had been so fucking unfair.

  When Chelsea finally leaves me alone, I abandon my desk and any attempt to work and walk over to the small window. My view is limited to a small slice of sky, and some other buildings, their reflective glass walls hiding the busy people inside them.

  Why do you keep pushing me away?

  I close my eyes, wondering where Landon is, what he’s doing. He’s probably at his office by now, acquiring more properties and making more money. Had I succeeded in driving him away? Was it possible that he was also thinking about me? Had I left some sort of indelible mark in his life too? Would he be distracted at his desk by the memory of tearing my clothes off right on that same surface and making me come over and over?

  That particular memory is followed by a surge of desire, and raw heat unfurls between my thighs. It’s just sex, I tell myself, leaning my head on the glass, hoping the cool surface will help to calm my raging hormones and emotions. It’s just sex, and he’s just a man.

  A man I’m in love with.

  Why do you keep pushing me away?

  I have to stop thinking about him, or else I’ll go mad, or go to him and beg for his love, or accept whatever part of himself he’s ready to give, for however long.

  I’m ashamed how attractive that option seems. It’s not fair. I want to have love in my life. I want something like what my parents have. I want a man who’ll give up everything if he has to, just so we can be together.

  And I want that man to be Landon.

  Pushing away from the window, I return to my desk. Just as I reach my seat, there’s a soft knock on the door. A moment later, it opens and Jack Weyland enters my office.

  He pauses at the door, a smile on his face. Looking at him, it’s easy to see why I was stuck on him for two years. He’s charming and funny, and though he’s not as tall, or as perfectly built as Landon, he has a slim, fit physique, like a model’s. With his cloudy gray eyes, black hair, and the perfect smile he never hesitates to use, he’s unquestionably handsome. He’s also the most famous writer at Gilt Travel.

  Today, he’s wearing a dark vest over a lightly striped shirt. Dark pants show off his slim hips and long legs. His hair is mussed, pushed back, with one curly forelock falling onto his forehead. He looks good, and it’s obvious that he knows it.

  “Hey beautiful,” he says, making it sound as if he’s been waiting to see me all morning - as if I’ve just made his day by existing. It must be a gift, I think, how he can flatter and seduce with only a few words.

  “Hi, Jack.” I force a smile, determined to hide the fact that a moment before he came in, I was struggling under the weight of my emotions, and I still am. Not that I care what he thi
nks, but I’d rather walk a plank than give him a reason to think he’d been right to warn me about Landon.

  He walks over to my desk and leans his hip on the edge. “I read your article,” he says. “Nice work.”

  The article again. I have to force myself not to succumb to the reminder of Landon. “Thanks. Though I’m surprised that you had the time. No new assignments?”

  He grins. “You know I always have time for you.”

  Since when? Definitely not during the two years I spent waiting, hoping, being there for him, while he went from one exotic beauty to another. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten that he knowingly toyed with my feelings for far too long.

  He’s peering at my face, and I quickly turn my gaze to the surface of my desk. I’m not as happy as I’d prefer for him to think, but I’d rather he didn’t see the evidence on my face. “You said you caught a bug?” I ask, remembering what he’d said on the phone.

  “Yeah,” he nods. “I was out for a couple of days. I’m great now. Just missing my favorite person in the world.”

  Our old joke. I ignore it. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  He sighs. “I stopped by to remind you about tonight.”

  I should tell him that I’ve changed my mind. I look from the hip casually perched on my desk to his familiar smile, and I imagine how a few months ago I would have been so glad, so grateful to have his attention.

  “Why, Jack?”

  He frowns. “Why what?”

  “First you surprise me in San Francisco, now you want to go out. A few weeks ago you were engaged, and you wanted me to be happy for you. Now you’re suddenly eager to spend time with me.”

  “We always spent time together,” he says with a shrug. “Even as friends.” There’s a pause. “I always looked forward to your company, no matter who I was seeing or what I was working on, Rachel. That should never be in doubt.”

  He’d wanted my company, but not my love, for two years. Now there’s Landon, who wants my body, but would never allow himself to love me. It feels like I’m the cursed girl in a warped fairy tale. “It’s never going to be the way it was,” I tell Jack, thinking about those months spent as his loyal, adoring sidekick. The long months spent hanging on to his every word, hoping that one day he would realize that he was wrong to throw my love back in my face.

  He looks pained. “Because I got engaged? Or because your boyfriend would likely swoop in and cart you away like you’re his property.”

  He’s referring to the night in San Francisco, when Landon interrupted our date. I almost smile at the memory. Jack is waiting for me to reply, but before I can, there’s another knock on the door. It’s soon followed by one of the interns carrying a bouquet of purple lilies and yellow orchids in a beautiful glass globe.

  “These were delivered for you,” she says, managing to simper at Jack while she places the flowers on my desk. Half the girls in the building are crazy about him, and obviously she’s one of them.

  “I’m Meredith,” she tells him, starting to describe an article of his that she ‘really’ liked. He answers her politely, his lack of interest painfully obvious. He never dates any of the girls from Gilt. I was his one exception, and for a long time, I told myself it was because we had something special, now I couldn’t care less.

  After Meredith finally leaves, Jack looks from the flowers to my face, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

  I ignore him. My heart is already racing, and I know, without reading the card, who sent the flowers. Why would he do that? Especially after this morning? I don’t need any more reminders, any more reasons to cry. I suddenly wish the flowers would disappear, along with every torturous memory of Landon Court.

  “Aren’t you going to see who they’re from?” Jack asks. There’s a tightness in his voice that wasn’t there before.

  I’d rather not. I’d rather ignore them and pretend that I don’t care, but with Jack here, I can’t do that. My hand trembles as I reach for the card, pulling it out of the plastic stick to read the words in Landon’s hard, slanted handwriting.

  Great Article.

  That’s all it says. Nothing else. I remember his face from this morning. The flash of emotion when I told him once again that he can’t give me what I want.

  Why do you keep pushing me away?

  Slowly, I stroke a finger over the velvety surface of the card, overcome by an intense, painful yearning. You’ll regret walking away from him, a reproachful voice accuses in my head. You’ve made a huge mistake in letting him go.

  “From Court?”

  I blink at Jack, realizing that I’d almost forgotten that he was here. Hastily, I drop the card on my desk, ashamed of how easily I’d been affected by just flowers and a card. In the space of a few moments, I’d almost forgotten all the reasons why I walked away in the first place.

  “Yes.” I clear my throat and give Jack a small half-smile. “They’re from Landon.”

  “Getting serious?” His eyes are questioning.

  No, actually it’s over. I don’t say that. Instead, I give him a tired look. “Are you going to warn me again? About how heartless he is with women, how I shouldn’t fall in love with him?”

  “No,” he shakes his head. “I believe you’ll find out for yourself.”

  I lower my eyes to my desk. I won’t find out, I think silently, because I’ve already left him. “Come on Jack,” I say with a lightness I don’t feel. “You have more important things to do with your time than to speculate about my private life.”

  He doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s more important than you?”

  I roll my eyes and he laughs, then his face turns serious. “Rachel, I hope you know that I’m here for you. Whenever you need me.”

  He looks so sincere. I sigh, looking from his face to the flowers on my desk. They’re exquisite, and they’ll make me think of Landon all day. When I get home, he’ll be there too, in my memories, in Laurie’s silent disapproval… I have nowhere to escape him.

  “So tonight…?” Jack prompts with a hopeful smile, interrupting my thoughts. “Please don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

  I look into his gray eyes, the familiar smile, and that lock of hair flopping onto his forehead. Hopefully, the few hours I spend with him will not be full of thoughts of Landon.

  “Well,” I smile, “at least tell me where we are going.

  AFTER Jack leaves, I throw myself into my work, emailing drafts to the features editor, replying my emails, and checking social feeds for interesting ideas. By the time I leave the office, I’m mentally exhausted.

  I have a dinner reservation at Angelos, a Greek restaurant we’ve included in a food wave article about places to eat Greek in major cities. On my way over there, in the cab, my mind slowly loosens from the whirl of the day and inevitably goes back to Landon.

  Why did he send the flowers? Was he trying to tell me something? Was it a final footnote, a small gesture to mark the end of our affair? I can’t pretend to understand his motives, especially after this morning.

  The flowers were probably nothing, I decide finally. Something he had already planned and decided not to cancel. They’d probably be the last personal communication we would ever have, leaving me with only my thoughts to conquer. Maybe one day I’d run into him at an event, or at a restaurant. Maybe by that time I would be over him, and I wouldn’t completely fall apart.

  At Angelos, a wait staff leads me to a table. The restaurant is quiet, with only a few diners. At my table, I take the cushioned seat set against the white brick walls and go through the menu, deciding on roast fish and vegetables, with the signature custard cream pastry.

  The food is superb, and I haven’t eaten all day, so for a few moments, I concentrate only on the taste and flavor. Later, I type a few notes in my phone while sipping the remaining wine from the glass I ordered. At one of the other tables, a woman laughs at something her companion said, then takes the forkful of food he offers her. I turn away, my chest suddenly tightening. How l
ong will it take until the ache goes away?

  My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Jack.

  “Where are you?”

  “On my way,” I text back, before gathering my things. Outside, I hail a cab to take me to the bar where we’ve agreed to meet. The cabbie soon leaves me on the sidewalk in front of the incongruous wooden doors that are the entrance to Ambrosia. It’s an art bar, with a constant exhibition of paintings and a stage for presentations, which right now, is empty.

  I spot Jack at the bar. He’s deep in conversation with a good looking woman with short, messy hair and bright-red lipstick. I watch him as he says something to make her laugh. He leans forward, smiling at her. Does he even know what he’s doing? Or is flirting just his default setting? I walk over to join them. “Hi, Jack.”

  He turns to me, and his smile widens. “Here you are.” He leans in to kiss my cheek, and I can’t help but notice that the long day hasn’t diminished his good looks. “I got us a table,” he tells me, before turning back to the woman and saying something that sounds like ‘Nice to meet you.’

  I follow him to one of the booths set back from the main bar, and he beckons for one of the hovering waiters. “You look great, by the way.”

  I’m wearing the same thing I was wearing in the morning. “You already saw me today,” I remind him after making my drink order.

  “So what?” he says, his grin unrepentant. He pushes his hair back from his forehead and leans forward. “I wasn’t sure I told you earlier.”

  I chuckle. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

  “So,” he leans back. “What will?” The grin has disappeared, replaced by a measuring gaze.

  I ignore the question. I have no intention of going down that road with him. Not now, not ever.

  “Seriously,” he insists, “What will get me somewhere with you?”

  “Leave it, Jack,” I say softly. My eyes linger on his handsome face for a moment, and suddenly I’m flooded with gratitude towards Landon. I’m grateful that maybe because of the time we spent together, I can look at Jack and feel nothing. I can spend time with him, without being reduced to a nervous bundle of expectation.