No Strings Attached

Chapter Thirty-Three

My lashes flutter, letting in creeping rays of light, disrupting my peace.

Reluctantly, my eyes open fully, my forehead throbbing against the frozen glass of the window. My body is still upright against the wall of my reading nook, where I must have fallen asleep.

The ground outside is completely white, the sidewalks and streets still untouched, meaning it's still fairly early. I grimace, lifting my head from the hard glass, pressing my hand to the sore spot.

I love you, Scarlett.

My eyes close tightly at the sudden reminder of the night before.

Oh.

I remember ending things. I remember Giovanni slamming the door. I remember staring out of the window, trying to come to terms with what I'd done, what I gave up.

I still don't think I've come to terms with it.

But I know it was smart thing to do. It was smart of me to do it... for his career, for mine.

We'll get past this.

I sit up, my eyes reopening.

What if he doesn't want to get past it? What if he tries to get out of the contract?

I shake my head to myself. No, no, he signed. He knew the terms.

My mind, hating me, decides to shut down until I can get aspirin and coffee into my system. I go through the motions of getting ready for work, refusing to even think about anything but getting out the door and into some productivity.

Sitting here will only hurt me.

My driver is waiting at the newly plowed curb at eight on the dot.

"Good morning," he utters cheerfully from the front as I shut the door. I don't remove my shades, hoping to hide my sickly eyes until I get into work.

"Morning, Jimmy," I reply back, lacking as much enthusiasm as him. My phone begins to ring in my lap. Rebecca.

I pick it up. "Do you feel as shitty as I do?"

"I'm still vomiting," she grumbles. I roll my eyes, sighing.

"So, you're not coming in, I reckon?"

"I might feel better by lunch..."

"No, it's fine. Take the day. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

I nod, swallowing. "Yes."

"How did things with Ed go yesterday? Did you get some?"

I cringe inwardly. "Not exactly."

"Did he at least kiss you?"

Bits and pieces of my night are blurred, but locking lips with Ed is there. I remember that. Remembering that reminds me of Giovanni too and I push him back. I push him far back with the rest of the hard stuff.

"I'm in the car. I'll talk to you later. Feel better."

I hang up before she can argue with me. The drive to work is noisy and slow, traffic on Friday dragging on even in the morning. I climb out of the car, bee-lining for the doors to Norman White PR through the crowded sidewalk.

"Miss Bardot? Um, Miss Bardot?"

I slow, noticing a woman standing on her own, a black device in her hands.

"Yes?"

"I am Hayley Courtney, from The Morning—"

I smile, blandly. "If you have any questions for me or for the company, please call my assistant and we will see about setting up an appointment."