His Secret Muse: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (17 page)

Lesley may have a point, but she underestimates how stubborn I am. The shock is still deep-seated, and I am not ready to face Cedric, even though I really miss him.

My weekends are back to the usual boredom, and at one point I even consider visiting my family, which I haven't done since Christmas. I talk to them just as irregularly as I always have because, from my point of view, there is not much to talk about.

But even my mother noticed that something is up. I think I could even hear a hint of hope in her voice when she asked, "Is it about a guy?"

Again, I had to disappoint her by assuring that the only wedding that will take place within the next year is that of my best friend, Lesley. She sighed but let it go and switched over to telling me the latest non-news from home and the quiet little neighborhood that I grew up in and couldn't escape soon enough.

The days go by, and the roses keep coming one by one. Each day upon my return from work, I find a new one waiting for me on the doorstep. I was irritated by them at first, but now I knew that I would be disappointed if there would come a day without a new rose.

But his messages cease. The last few already have been shorter than the ones he sent during the first two weeks. In the end, he mainly resorted to telling me how much he misses me and that my silent treatment is the worst punishment he could ever think of. Coming from someone like him, a self-declared sadist, I almost see that as a compliment.

I still miss him, and I miss the person I used to be with him. I miss the excitement. I even miss the emotional rollercoaster that he put me on.

But there is a certain sense of security in being alone and unharmed by feelings. There is no vulnerability, nothing to lose, and no one who can harm me as long as I am just by myself.

I am more productive at work than I have ever been before, and I am close to being able to run a half-marathon because I have increased the intensity and the frequency of my training. 

Lesley pointed out more than once that I am overdoing it and that I have been losing weight. She may be right about that, but I cannot help it right now. It isn’t helping my appearance because I am beginning to look a little scrawny and have ugly bags beneath my eyes due to the lack of sleep. But at least I don't have a completely destructive way of coping with this. On the contrary, I feel like I am stabilizing with every day that passes.

I am rebuilding the walls that kept me safe for so long.

Until that day when I come home, and there is more than a rose waiting for me at my apartment's door. 

On a Tuesday evening, more than a month after I last saw Cedric, the rose is not lying on the ground but is placed on a package, with a little note attached to its stem.

I hesitate for a moment and look down at it. For a millisecond, I ponder whether there could be an online order that I forgot about.

But it is quite obvious that the package and the rose belong together and thus have the same sender.

I slowly get down on my knees and pick it up. It is a lot heavier than expected, and I almost let it drop right back on the ground.

I heft it on my left arm while I use the right to unlock my door and get inside. The weight of the package is surprising, considering its size. I hurry to get inside and get rid of my purse and shoes as quickly as possible, so I can retreat to the kitchen and open it before doing anything else.

Just like every day during the past few weeks, the first thing I do is exchange the old rose to the new one. Except, today there is a note to be removed from it first.

I recognize his handwriting right away.

Renee,

As a writer, some things are easier for me to say on paper.

I miss you. I want you at my side.

I want you to be the first person to read this. 

Not even my editor was allowed to have a look at it, yet. I have put everything on hold until I hear back from you.

This book will not be published unless you approve it.

Because,

I love you, too.

I read it again. And again.

So, he did hear me after all. He heard me whisper the words while he pretended to be sleeping. Another lie, albeit a sweet one.

He has got to be kidding me.

He cannot possibly send me the manuscript of the book that everyone is waiting for? I know his editor has been getting on his case for weeks now because he had missed several deadlines. It's not like he has any time to spare when it comes to this release. Instead of finally submitting the piece where it belongs, he is sending it to me.

This is crazy! He cannot be serious about this.

I put the note aside and carefully open the package. Indeed, just as the weight suggested, it contains a large stack of paper, about 300 pieces of paper stitched together.

The flyleaf says nothing but the title and his name. I open the manuscript to the first page and find another surprise.

A dedication. To me.

To Renee.

That is all it says. I furl my eyebrows. Is he really planning to submit the book in this form?

Because Cedric has a talent for eerie timing, I receive a text message from him just at that moment. I reach for my beeping phone.

"Did you get it?" He wants to know.

I pause for a moment. He hasn't heard a single word from me for the past few weeks. This would be the first vital sign from my side since we parted on that dreadful day.

He deserves at least a quick reply, though.

"Yes, I did."

I hit send and let out a sigh. My heart races. As sweet as the gesture may be, it also puts a lot of pressure on me. 

What if I don't like it? How could I ever say no to him publishing this book? Should I even read it?

It seems like he is aware of my struggle.

"Will you read it?" he asks.

Again, I let a few moments pass before I deign him a reply.

"Yes, I will."

After all, who am I kidding? Of course, I will read it. I am too curious.

"Thank you," he writes. "You just made my day. I really hope I can return the favor."

I don't know what to reply to that. I instinctively want to come up with a cold and distant response. But does he really deserve that? Despite everything that has happened, his note left a deep impression.

But I cannot get myself to write him something sweet just yet. If Lesley was here, she would probably beat me for being so stubborn and dismissive. A part of me knows that she is right.

At least I am ditching my plans for him. Instead of going for another one of my slightly exaggerated runs, I open a bottle of white wine and retreat to my living room to curl up on the couch and start reading his book.

That is what I do for the rest of the night until I cannot keep my eyes open any longer. I have finished about two-thirds of the story by the time I decide to go to bed. That is a lot more than I had planned to read. I wish I could continue with it right away.

It is that good.

Just as he had mentioned at that reading months ago, the story does have similarities to his bestselling novel 'Silent Daughter', but mainly in the regard that it is also a love story. This story, though, is not about a psychopath kidnapping a helpless woman who falls victim to what Cedric called the Stockholm syndrome. Instead, it is the story of a man who can read people's minds. Well, he cannot really read minds, but he is so good at seeing and understanding how people tick that it comes pretty close to that.

That man encounters a young woman he cannot read. She mesmerizes him because she is the first person he ever encounters who does not let him look inside her head as easily as others have.

He is intrigued by her and tries every trick that is known to him, to be able to get closer to her, and especially her mind. At first, it is nothing but a challenge to him. He wants to conquer her just like he conquered everyone else. Because they meet in a professional setting, there is also a need for him to be able to read her, so he does not jeopardize his dubious business that is built upon lies and manipulations. He is afraid that she might see right through him and expose his foul play.

But soon his interest in her turns romantic.

The story is told from his perspective, and the way he describes the woman who has him so unraveled is a clear declaration of love.

I can pinpoint the passages in the next where he drew his inspiration from me and our joint experiences. Sometimes, it is in the way the protagonist speaks to her and the way she replies, and sometimes it is just the way he describes the woman. Every sentence he writes about her screams affection. Even I, in my state of emotional withdrawal, cannot deny that.

I know the wait is killing him. He must be waiting for a message from me more than ever by now.

I think about leaving him a quick text before going to bed but decide against it. It seems smarter to wait until I have finished the book. I am all about acting 'smart' these days, it seems.

The next day at work is gruesomely long, and I finish as early as possible, much to the surprise of my coworkers who have gotten so used to me being around for overtime. 

I gulp down a quick dinner and get back to reading as quickly as possible. It is an exciting read, even when I cast aside the fact that Cedric wrote this book and that I served as a muse for it.

It is almost midnight by the time I finish it, but I am wide awake. The story ends with a happy ending. Of course. That fact didn't surprise me, but I still found myself unable to put the book aside because I wanted to see
how
they would get there.

Being the thriller writer he is, Cedric did add some dark and criminal elements to the story that also involved a murder the protagonist was wrongfully accused of. But for a long time, even I as a reader wasn't completely sure if he really was innocent until the end.

He is a marvelous writer. There is no denying that.

But how do I feel about the references? They were quite obvious to me, but just as Cedric promised, it was close impossible for anyone else to link them to him and me, especially since very few of the interactions between the protagonists were sexual. It turns out that the notes about the spanking I had discovered were not even used in the way I expected.

My heart is racing, and I don't know why exactly. 

Happiness? Relief? Hope?

Do I have reason to conceive these emotions?

For now, I decide that it is time to put him out of his misery.

"I finished it." I write.

I sigh and get ready to put the phone away. But it starts ringing just a few seconds after I hit the send button.

Cedric is calling me.

I pick up but do not say anything to greet him.

"Renee?" he asks.

It is the first time in weeks that I hear his voice. He sounds relieved and excited with an unmistakable sound of hope in his voice. 

It melts my heart.

"Cedric," I whisper.

"Renee," he repeats. "It is so good to hear your voice! You have no idea..."

I think I do have an idea. Until just now, I hadn't realized how much I missed hearing his voice.

Despite all my efforts to rebuild my safety walls and to go back to my old self, I have missed him terribly.

"So?" he asks. "What do you think?"

I hesitate for a moment as I try to find the right words. 

But I am not a writer, and I have never been particularly eloquent.

"I liked it," I say and clear my throat. "I have to admit, you're not that bad of a writer, Mr. Crow."

He lets out a hearty laugh that accommodates a lot more than pure amusement at my ridiculous understatement. 

"Oh god, Renee," he exclaims. "I need to see you. Can we talk about the rest in person? I have to go out of town insanely early tomorrow morning. But are you free this Saturday?"

I smile. "Yes, I am."

"To talk!" I add. "Just to talk."

I don't want him to think that all is said and done. That we are right back to that beautiful place we were before I found his notes.

"Yes, of course," he says. "I'll have Craig pick you up at seven and-"

"And bring me to your place," I interrupt. "I know the drill."

"No," he says. "We will be going out on Saturday. I want to treat you to the kind of dinner you deserve, especially when we have such important things to discuss."

"Oh," I make.

He wants to see me in public?

"Are you sure?" I reconfirm.

"Yes, I am," he says. "It's a nice place. I am sure you will like it."

"What's the dress code?"

I am not sure why I am asking this at first, but it strikes me that I have never had to worry about the adequacy of my getup when I met him before, because we always stayed inside. Of course, I have tried to doll myself up for him, and my wardrobe has improved drastically because he kept buying me nicer things, especially dresses that he thought would look good on me. But often enough, I had just worn budget clothing off the rack that I liked on myself but that would definitely stand out in a public five-class environment.

"Don't worry about it," he says.

And that's that.

Okay, if he doesn't worry, I will try to be the same.

But of course, that doesn't work. By the time Saturday finally comes around, I spend most of the day in front of my full body mirror and rummaging through my entire wardrobe. Most of it is useless to begin with, but I do not lose hope of finding something suitable in the far back that I might have forgotten about.

I haven't worn a single item of clothing he gave to me during the past few weeks, and I only have about half of it in my own closet, because I often changed clothes in his place when I stayed for an entire weekend. The choices are limited, and for some reason, none of them seems to fit today.

I eventually opt for a dark and subtle evening dress that ends shortly above my knees. It has always been one of my favorites and appears to be the most suitable for tonight, considering that we are going to have dinner at a fancy restaurant.

At least, that is what I assume the plan to be for tonight.

Craig rings at my door at seven sharp.

"Just a minute!" I yell through the intercom.

Usually, Craig would just reply with a simple "Yes" and wait for me downstairs, but tonight he asks to come up.

"Sorry?" I clarify.

"Miss, if I could please come up," he says again. "I am to give you something before we leave."

I am a little confused at this but let him come upstairs nonetheless. I just hope he doesn't want to come in, though. My place is a mess.

"Good evening," he says when I open the door for him, holding up a large garment bag.

"Good... evening," I utter, looking back and forth between him and the bag.

"Mr. Crow asked me to give this to you," he says. "You are to wear this tonight. If it pleases you."

"Oh," I make as I receive the garment. "Um, thank you, Craig. It'll just be a moment."

I wonder if it would be rude to make him wait outside or if I should ask him inside. Luckily, Craig relieves me of that decision by taking a step back and letting me know that he will be waiting downstairs at the car for me.

"Thank you," I repeat.

He just nods quietly and disappears. I would love to know what goes on inside his head. Craig is the epitome of a discreet character, but he has to be thinking something about the things his boss tells him to do.

I wonder how much he is aware of Cedric's sexual preferences and the details of his dating life. And how many dresses he has delivered to other women before...

I thrust the thoughts aside and turn my attention to the dress that Craig brought me.

I carefully free it from the garment bag and hold it up in front of my eyes. My eyes widen, and my jaw drops as I assess the exquisite material. The fabric has a velvet texture in a dark, night blue color. It has a deep scoop back and appears to be a snug fit.

I quickly get out of the outfit I had chosen for tonight and put the dress on. It fits almost perfectly. The tight fit is a little loose in some areas, and I curse myself for abusing my already slim frame so much that I lost even more of what little curves I had to begin with. 

However, the dress is stunningly beautiful and by far the most sublime piece of clothing he ever bought for me. It ends just above my knees and features a scoop neckline that exposes my unobtrusive cleavage in a flattering way, but it also leaves me a little naked.

A problem that Cedric has anticipated. I notice a little jewelry box that is attached to the garment bag, and when I open it, I find a silver necklace with a little pendant and matching earrings inside.

The pendant is a little lock. I smile as I turn it in front of my eyes and notice that there is something engraved at the backside of it. The letter R.

I don't want to make Craig wait for too long and hurry to put on the jewelry and slip into my shoes. They were only part of my getup that I didn't have to worry about because I have a pair of rather low heels that go perfectly with just about any dress.

I touch the little pendant at my neck as I step outside, shyly lowering my head as Craig opens the car door for me.

He smiles at me. I think this must be the very first time I have ever seen him smile like that.

"Where are we going?" I ask from the backseat after he has started the car.

"You will like it, Miss," he assures.

"Yeah, Cedric has told me that much...," I murmur.

"Miss, if I may be so open," Craig adds. "You look exceptionally good tonight."

I chuckle. He has never paid me a compliment before, either. Craig must be having a good day.

"Thanks, Craig," I say. "I'd really prefer it if you would call me Renee, though."

I see him grinning through the rear mirror. "As you wish, Renee."

The drive is not very long, shorter than the distance to Cedric's apartment. To my surprise, we stop in an inconspicuous side street, and I step out into the darkness, almost scared of what I might have to expect.

"I am sorry," Craig whispers, becoming aware of my discomfort. "Please, follow me."

"Where are we?" I ask while I hurry behind him, wrapping my arms around myself as if I was freezing. "What is this?"

"I'm sorry," Craig repeats. "Please."

He heads towards a door at a brick building and quickly unlocks it with a key he produces from his pants' pocket.

We enter the building through a brightly lit and narrow hallway. Craig is walking faster than usual, obviously in a hurry to get me out of this unwelcoming environment. I am not complaining.

After passing through a few more tunnel-like hallways, we finally reach an elevator and quickly get inside. It takes us upstairs and when the door opens, we are welcomed by bright shining lights, white sparkling marble - and Cedric.

He stands in front of the elevator with his hands behind his back, a smile on his handsome face. Dressed in yet another dark suit and a silver tie that matches my jewelry, with his hair combed and gelled to the side he looks unusually dapper, even for himself.

When I step out of the elevator, he opens his arms and approaches me, welcoming me by softly touching my shoulders and leaning forward for a kiss. A gentle peck on my lips.

"You look wonderful," he whispers. "I am so glad you are here."

I reciprocate his smile. "You are looking especially dapper tonight, too. What's the occasion?"

He winks at me and looks over my shoulder to Craig, who has left the elevator behind me.

"Thank you," he says in his direction. "I think I can take it from here."

Craig lets out a little chuckle - another thing I have never seen him do - and excuses himself. 

Cedric and I are left by ourselves, standing in a well-lit hallway with marble floors and staring at each other like two love drunk and shy teenagers.

Well, me at least. Cedric is back to displaying his usual compelling demeanor.

"You look hungry," he assesses.

"I am," I reply and pointedly look around. "I thought we would be meeting at a restaurant."

"We are," he says. "Come."

"Why all the secrecy?" I ask as he leads me down the hallway. "Are you afraid that someone could see us together?"

"No," he says. "Maybe you are the one tonight who is not supposed to be seeing things ahead of time, young lady."

I am tickled but roll my eyes at him, which, luckily, goes unnoticed.

We walk through a broad door and end up in a hall like room that indeed appears to be a restaurant. The classy interior is held in dark red colors with golden accents, but overall very reserved in its lavish extravagance. There are a number of round tables spread across the room with candles and flower bouquets as their centerpiece and people sitting around them. At the far end of the room, I spot a little stage area with a microphone, but it is not lit at the moment and does not seem to be used tonight.

The restaurant is well-attended by fancy looking guests of all ages. But despite the number of people who are present, the noise level is rather low.

I have a feeling that this has to do with our appearance. As Cedric leads me through the room, I cannot help but notice heads and eyes following me, despite their efforts of being discreet.

I cannot shake the feeling that this is not an ordinary restaurant visit.

"Do you know these people?" I whisper as we keep walking.

"No," he says without looking at me.

He leads me to a secluded table for two at the other end of the room, away from the crowded center, much to my relief. The table is placed next to a panoramic window that allows for a nice view across the city.

Being the perfect gentleman, he offers me one of the seats by pulling the chair away from the table. I sit down first and cast him a sheepish grin as he walks around the table to sit down across from me.

As soon as we are seated, a waiter appears seemingly out of nowhere and fills our glasses with champagne. We clink glasses and sip on the costly drink.

"So, you liked it?" Cedric asks, leaning forward on his elbows.

"I did," I confirm. "It is a well-written story, and I am sure it will sell well."

"A very businesswise assessment. Very Renee-like," he replies. "Do you want me to change anything? Is there anything you do not feel comfortable with?"

"No," I reply honestly. "I have to admit that you handled your muse's influence very discreetly."

"You speak about her as if she was a third person," he points out. "It's you. You were my muse."

"I know," I whisper.

"But that doesn't mean that the character in the book is you," he explains. "Or that I was or am planning to exploit you. I cannot help to drink from you as a source of inspiration, but I really hope never to make you feel this way again."

I cast him a sad smile.

"I was going to tell you everything," he adds. "I was going to show you the notes. And the book. I always wanted you to be the first to read it since I have met you."

"Why didn't you let me know earlier?" I ask. "You said you trusted me."

"I did, and I do," he says. "But if you were a writer you would understand that giving away your work is hard to begin with. It is close to impossible when it is not finished. I wasn't ready. The story wasn't ready."

I nod. "I understand."

"I want things to work out between us," Cedric continues. "I hate that I made you feel unloved and betrayed. You have to believe me when I say that I never used or manipulated you. And I certainly never planned to
drop
you. Quite the opposite."