The Hunted (5 page)

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he spat at me.  His expression was now murderous.

I reeled; such was the force of his venomous tone.

“I don’t know how many times I have to say this - I don’t do relationships, Lucas.  No matter how good the sex is.”

“This is not about sex!” he bellowed.  He threw his hands into his hair and groaned in agitation.  “Can’t you at least give it a try?  Give us a try? Please, Issy.” he asked, his voice almost breaking with emotion as he said my name.

I closed my eyes, wondering why his emotional plea felt like it was tearing at my soul. 

“Let me spell it out for you.  I don’t do relationships.  I have only had one relationship with a man in my lifetime and there is no room for anyone else - and there never will be.  I’m sorry, Lucas.”  I turned on my heel and walked out of the courtyard, through the gate. 

Well, fuck me. I really didn’t see that coming.  It couldn’t have gone any worse.  Damn you, Lucas Hunter.  Damn you for being a sex god.  Damn you for not taking no for an answer. 

As I walked back to my apartment, my anger began to fade.  I felt so bewildered but I also began to feel other emotions. 
Why do I feel like such a bitch?  And why do I suddenly feel so alone?

By the time I had got back to my apartment, I felt like a real bitch.  I took no pleasure in seeing an alpha male looking so crushed.  I smiled at James as he opened the door for me, noting the concern etched on his lined face.  He returned my smile and I was grateful that he didn’t attempt to engage me in conversation.

As I exited the elevator, I desperately hoped that Angel wasn’t home yet.  I opened the door and put my head around it, thankfully noting that the apartment was silent and that my scribbled note was still on the counter. I grabbed it and tore it to shreds before depositing it in the waste paper basket. 
Thank goodness. 
Now, at least she wouldn’t know that I had met Lucas today.  I planned to act as though nothing had happened for the remainder of the weekend.  I would face the music next week.

I decided to immerse myself in work and soon, every available surface in the lounge was covered in color charts, fabric swatches and samples of various other materials.  I hummed along with Kings of Leon as I worked, finding the distraction very therapeutic.  I kept picturing the plans for mini Dakota and envisioning various themes and color schemes that I felt would be sympathetic to the original design but with a modern twist. 

I couldn’t wait to get started; I was sure that Lucas would calm down and respect our professional relationship so that we could move forward with mini Dakota.  I wished I could afford to live in one of the apartments when they were finished.
 
I felt in much better spirits as I made my final selections and began to tidy everything away. The intercom sounded and I smiled; Angel regularly forgot her keys.

“Miss Prince?” It was the desk.

“Yes.”

“I have a delivery for you.  Shall I bring it up?”

Oh, please don’t tell me he has sent me more flowers. 
I had been showered with flowers and expensive gifts in the past from guys who wanted more than a one night stand. 
Why do they assume that you will change your whole way of life for a bunch of flowers or a piece of jewelry? 
If it was a delivery of that nature, I didn‘t want it in the apartment. 

“I will be right down.”

I reluctantly went down to the front desk.  I couldn’t see a delivery person and I was relieved that I could neither see nor smell flowers.  I was handed a small white envelope.  I didn’t look at it until I was back in the apartment.  Perhaps Lucas Hunter wanted me to know how he felt so I braced myself for his hurtful words and turned the envelope over.  Sure enough, it had been addressed by his hand.

I used a knife to open the envelope and then stopped. 
Should I throw it away?  It will either be a heartfelt declaration or it will be a vindictive barrage of insults.  More likely to be the latter - just throw it away. 

I wavered, knowing that I would have to face him soon - perhaps as early as Monday. 
He’d said how keen he was to begin refurbishing mini Dakota and that he wanted my involvement at every stage, hadn‘t he?  There will probably be meetings with the architect within a few days.  Oh, just read it and see how insulting he can be.

My fingers reached carefully into the envelope.  I could feel a single sheet of paper. 
At least it will be brief!
  I pulled the paper out and stared.  It was a check … for half a million dollars.  I dropped it as though it had burned my fingers and my legs buckled underneath me.  I landed in a heap on the floor, next to the check which had landed face up, mocking me. 
Oh my god, he doesn’t want to work with me – he is buying me off.  I have lost the contract for mini Dakota!
I curled up into a ball and cried for a long time, wishing that Angel was there.

When no more tears could fall, I crawled over to the fridge, not trusting my legs to hold me.  I grabbed a bottle of wine and drank, straight from the bottle.  My head ached from crying and from the speed at which I poured the chilled liquid into my mouth.  When that bottle was empty, I opened a cupboard and grabbed the nearest bottle of alcohol.  It happened to be bourbon and I drank that straight from the bottle too.  The coolness in my mouth and throat from the cold wine was replaced by a burning that made my eyes sting. 
Yeah, that’s more like it.
 

I crawled over to the check, picked it up and struggled to my feet. I took the check and the bottle of bourbon into the living room.  I retrieved my iPod from its cradle and selected the one play list that was guaranteed to suit my mood.  I placed it back in the speaker and turned up the volume.  Then I sank to my knees and cried into my bourbon.

The next thing I knew, I was being rudely shaken and I became aware of several voices but I couldn’t hear what they were saying.  With some effort, I prized my eyes open and Angel’s face swam before me.  I tried to speak but I couldn’t and then my eyes closed again.

I suddenly felt an urgent need to pee. I attempted to get up, but my head protested loudly, although I hadn‘t even managed to lift it.  Instead, I attempted to open my eyes.  It was fairly dark and my head was fuzzy and my vision was blurred.  I could hear someone whispering … no, make that several people whispering.  I struggled to hear what they were saying but the pounding in my head made it impossible.  I was debating whether to attempt to lift my head again or whether to avoid that agony and just release my bladder where I lay, when I realized someone was stroking my hair. 
Angel! 

I licked my lips and managed to swallow.  My throat felt like crap.  I realized that the whispering had stopped. 
Where was I?  Why was there a drum banging inside my head? 
And then it hit me.  Half a million dollars hit me.

“Angel …” I managed to croak.

“Oh Issy, tell me what happened.  What did that bastard do to you?” she cried fiercely. 

My head almost exploded and I scrunched up my face and put my hands over my ears.  I immediately heard muffled conversation that could have been an argument.  I waved one of my hands to get her attention.

“Oh baby, what can I do to help?” she said, softly this time.

“Toilet,” I whispered.

I was gently lifted and carried to the bathroom.  I was placed on my feet but immediately veered dangerously until strong hands caught me and held me.  I pulled down my sweatpants and panties and tried to squat.  Those strong hands guided me on to the toilet and I peed instantly, sighing with relief but then almost instantly feeling that I was losing consciousness.  I was vaguely aware of being pulled upright and my clothes being pulled back up.  Then … nothing.

The next time I opened my eyes, daylight was streaming in through my bedroom window.
Ouch!
I closed them hastily but when I squinted, I found the pain in my head wasn’t too bad. I felt someone stir next to me and turned my head to find Angel watching me.  Her pretty face was pale and her beautiful pale blue eyes were ringed with redness.

“Hey,” she said softly.  “This might be a stupid question, but how are you feeling?”

I swallowed.  “I have felt better.”

“Here, you should take these.”  She passed me two painkillers and a glass of water from my bedside table. 

I slowly sat up and complied gratefully.  I knew that I had a hangover - I knew the symptoms too well.  I couldn’t remember actually getting drunk though.

“Do you think you could manage some breakfast?” she asked.  “I don’t think that you have eaten anything for 24 hours, have you?”

A sudden memory of a white bistro table and a loaded cake stand swam into my mind.  I tried desperately to hold on to the memory in the hope that it would trigger more.  I hated the unsettling feeling of drink induced amnesia but the memory flittered away to the far recesses of my alcohol laden brain.

“No thanks, but I could murder a coffee.”

Angel kissed my head before heading off to make coffee.  I forced myself up and into my bathroom.  Another cryptic flashback popped into my head. 
Someone helped me go to the toilet.  Oh, thank you Angel!

I staggered into the kitchen looking, no doubt, as bad as I felt.  Angel passed me a cup of strong coffee and we sat at the breakfast bar.  Angel seemed on edge and I got the feeling that she either wanted to tell me something, or ask me something but that she was refraining for some reason.

“Thank you for helping me to go to the toilet, last night,” I said quietly.  “The memory just came to me when I walked into the bathroom.  You are, without doubt, the best friend anyone could have.”

I was about to promise not to get myself in that state again so that she wouldn’t have to do that ever again when I noticed her wringing her hands together as she chewed furiously on her bottom lip.

“What is it, Angel?”

“Um .. well .. it wasn’t actually me that helped you in the bathroom,” she muttered.

Oh crap - don’t tell me that I brought a guy home last night and he helped me!

I covered my face with my hands and groaned.

“Oh, I take it that you remember Scott helping you now?” she asked, sounding sympathetic.

“What?  Scott helped me?” I cried, mortified.

“Yes.”

My head cleared momentarily. “Oh god.  How could you let him, Angel?  He held me as I peed and I am pretty sure that he pulled my pants back up!”  Shame flooded through me at the realization.  “I am never going to be able to look him in the eye again!”

“Issy, I couldn’t carry you, or even hold you up, the state you were in!  Scott was brilliant about it and he is such a gentleman that he would‘ve been more embarrassed than you.  He certainly wouldn‘t take advantage of you in that state - even just by looking at you.” She sounded hurt and I immediately felt guilty. 
It’s not her fault! 
“Would you rather it was Chad or Ethan that helped you … or Travis?” she continued.

“No, of course not!  I’m sorry Angel - I have no one to blame for getting in that state but myself.  And you’re totally right about Scott - he is always the perfect gentleman.”

She smiled, placated.  “Travis did offer … several times.  He offered to put you to bed too.  He was very keen … a proper Good Samaritan, by all accounts.”

We both burst out laughing and the atmosphere lightened considerably, as I clutched my aching head.

Angel insisted that I eat some toast which I took into the living room while she went to shower.  I wandered over to my iPod to put some music on, very quietly, for background noise.  I didn’t like silence much - I had experienced too much of it as a child.  When I clicked it on, I noticed the play list and it stopped me in my tracks. 

Too much alcohol and that play list meant only one thing.  I’d had a meltdown. Something had pushed me over the edge … but what?