Chapter 18 Lust Not Love
She's tall and gorgeous, with dark brown hair cascading past her shoulders in waves. A cream silk gown hugs her flattering figure, and her heels are Alexander McQueen.
She's undoubtedly a woman of high class, and her elegance makes me suddenly aware of my own slightly wrinkled blouse.
As Lawrence leads her to an empty table near the window, she smiles up at him.
A very dashing smile, might I add, with an impressive dentition.
He mutters something in response, then looks around.
Our gazes clash.
His expression doesn't change, there's still no flicker of warmth in those eyes, but I feel their intensity like a physical touch.
Lawrence looks away, turning back to her as if I'm not even there.
"Scarlett?" Kieran's voice pulls me back.
I force my mouth into something resembling a smile. "Sorry. What were you saying?"
He studies me for a moment. "You haven't told me what you feel about next week Sunday." He takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.
"You in something that isn't office-appropriate. Me trying desperately to impress you."
"Sounds amazing." The words come out automatically. I'm not even sure I mean them.
His smile widens. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I pull my hand back gently. "I should get back to work. My break is almost over."
He nods. "I'll walk you out."
We leave together, with Kieran's hand on my waist.
I don't look towards the Lawrences' table, but I feel those green eyes on me the entire way to the door.
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We walk to Kieran's car, a sleek Aston Martin. He leans against the driver's door, not ready to leave.
"I meant what I said earlier, Scarlett. You deserve someone who sees you."
Leaning in slowly, he presses a kiss to my cheek, staying a second longer, before pulling back with a smile.
"Think about it," Kieran says. "Text me when you're ready."
"I will," I whisper.
He slides into the car and, with a final wink through the window, pulls away from the curb.
I stand there for a long moment, alone on the sidewalk before heading back inside the office.
Twenty minutes later, Lawrece walks past my desk. "Miss Thorn," he says without glancing back. "My office, now."
I save my work on the laptop and follow him.
As I shut the door behind me, he sinks into his chair, reading something on his phone.
The silence grows unbearable.
"Have you sent the revised deck of next week's schedule to Amelia Harrison?," he asks in a clipped voice.
"Yes, sir. This morning." I reply in a cold tone of my own.
He nods, still not looking up at me.
"Is that all, sir?" I ask bitterly, not bothering to hide my anger.
Lawrence meets my eyes. "No," he says. "That's not all."
Removing his glasses, he rubs the bridge of his nose like he's exhausted.
"I want to apologise," he begins, "for what happened the night of the gala."
A dry broken laugh escapes me.
"Apologise," I repeat in disbelief. "You want to apologise."
He remains silent.
"You said you had feelings for me." I continue, my voice is rising in frustration.
Lucky for us, his office is soundproof.
"You said you felt things a boss shouldn't feel for his secretary. You said…"
"I know what I said." He cut in.
"Then what is there to apologise for?"
Anger and something that terrifyingly feels like heartbreak burn inside me. "Unless you didn't mean it. Unless it was all just…"
Lawrence stands, moving around the desk.
He stops a few feet away from me and sits on the edge, his hands gripping the wood.
"I'm afraid you misunderstood my words, Miss Thorn."
Miss Thorn.
There it is again, the formal address I've come to hate so much.
"When I said those things," Lawrence continues in a low tone, "I meant lust. Desire. Physical attraction."
His green eyes don't hold even an iota of emotion. "I thought about your mouth. I wanted to fuck you. That was the extent of it."
Shock roots me to the spot.
"Stop," I whisper.
He ignores my request. "None of that was geared toward love or anything romantic you might have assumed. It was lust. Purely."
I stare at him with spite.
All the confessions, the way he looked at me and kissed me, reduced to base physical need. Reduced to a momentary lapse in judgment from a man who doesn't do feelings.
Lawrence's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Again, I must apologise for crossing that line. It won't repeat itself."
"You're standing here telling me I misunderstood everything that happened in that car?" I ask in a hoarse voice.
"I'm trying to be honest with you."
"Honest?" I scoff. "You haven't been honest with me since the day you walked into this office. You've been cruel and cold and I've been…"
My voice finally cracks, but I steady it. "I've been stupid enough to think there was something underneath it. Someone."
His hands squeeze the desk harder.
I take in a long, deep breath, then smooth my expression into something neutral.
"Is there anything else work-related you'd like to discuss, Mr Moore? Or can I go back to my desk?"
"No," he says quietly. "That's all."
I turn for the door, when his voice stops me.
"Miss Thorn."
I don't turn around.
"I am sorry. For what it's worth."
I slam the door hard after me and walk straight to the bathroom without looking at anyone, because if I do, all the emotions I've kept locked up will burst out in ugly, unstoppable sobs, and I'll be left standing there in the middle of the office, trying to explain why I'm crying over our boss breaking my heart.
The door to the bathroom shuts behind me, and I press my hand over my mouth to stifle my cries.
Moments later, Beverly comes in, looking worried. "What did he do this time?"
She turns me around gently and pulls me into a proper hug. I cry even harder.
When I finally pull back to speak, the words come out in a rush, but Beverly understands me.
By the time I finish, her eyes are blazing with fury.
"Listen to me." Her voice is fierce. "Lawrence Moore is a blind, emotionally dead fool who doesn't know what he just lost."
I laugh weakly.
"He's not worth your tears." She grips my shoulders, forcing me to meet her eyes. "Do you hear me? He's not. A man who can say those things to you after everything that happened doesn't deserve you. He never did."
I nod weakly, sniffing as I wipe my eyes.
"Come on. Let's fix your face."
"Okay," I squeak.
"So," She says casually, dabbing under my eyes with a tissue, "who was the hunk who came to see you today? He looked familiar."
"Kieran Black of Black Forge." My voice is raspy "I met him at a gala."
"Ouu."
"He wants to take me to dinner next Sunday." I mutter.
Beverly disposes the tissue and turns me away from the mirror by the shoulders.
"Have you given him an answer?"
I shake my head. "No. I'm still thinking about it."
She searches my face, then exhales sharply. "There's nothing to think about, Scarlett. You're going on that date."
"Bev…"
"I mean it." She says firmly. "When a handsome, successful man wants to spend time with you, you put on a dangerous dress, and you spend time with him!"
I smile shakily. "So, use Kieran to get over Lawrence?"
"You're not using him, per se. There was never anything that serious between you and Lawrence before."
But there could've been.
"Go on that date, babe."
I nod, more determined now. "I will,"
Come next Sunday, I'll wear my 'dangerous' red dress.
I'll choose myself.
And if Lawrence Moore ever looks at me again like I'm nothing, he'll see what he threw away.