simply stop and
appreciate the fact, or if he was too busy lining up his pens on
his blotter and straightening his tie to notice.
Her steps slowed as she drew closer to what she
assumed was his office until finally she’d come to a complete halt.
Her hand found the neck of the schnapps bottle in her handbag.
Maybe schnapps hadn’t been the right choice. Maybe she should have
bought him cognac or a malt whiskey or something more suited to all
this wood and pomp and circumstance. She’d chosen the schnapps
because she could remember him trying some once and he’d commented
on how much he liked it. She’d figured that if she was going to
encourage him to drown his sorrows and wallow a little, he might as
well do it with something he liked.
She lifted her chin. Either she was going to do this
or she wasn’t.
She strode forward.
Apparently she was going to do this.
She stopped when she reached his doorway. He was
reading over some papers, wearing a pair of glasses that would have
looked at home on Elizabeth’s grandfather. Which, she guessed, was
probably where Martin took most of his fashion cues from.
Yet tonight, like the night he’d accosted her in the
street, he looked far more rumpled and less spic and span than
usual. He’d taken his jacket off and rolled up his shirt sleeves
and yanked his tie loose. Even his hair was mussed, standing up in
uneven spikes as though he’d been running his fingers through
it.
She cleared her throat. “Hi.”
He started. “Bloody hell! Where the blazes did you
spring from?”
Not the most welcoming greeting she’d ever
received.
“ Sorry. Someone was leaving
downstairs so I let myself in.”
He’d recovered from the surprise a little and he
settled back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he
eyed her darkly.
“ Come to gloat, have
you?”
“ No. Of course not.”
Martin stood, rounding the desk so he could face her.
God forbid he cede her the advantage of standing while he remained
seated.
“ You don’t have to be coy. We both
know this is a triumph for you. Elizabeth tossing over her stodgy,
anal-retentive fiancé at last and taking up with some bronzed
Aussie surf god.”
“ Bronzed Aussie surf god? What are
you talking about?”
He looked over his glasses at her.
“ A tip for you—the Little Miss
Innocent routine only works when there’s a credible belief that
innocence is possible.”
Violet glared at him. Screw trying to make amends if
he was going to insult her before she’d said more than hello.
“ You are unbelievable, you know
that? You want to throw around blame, how about you take a good
hard look at yourself and your stupid, prematurely middle-aged
life? This is the twenty-first century, not the 1800s. People have
sex in positions other than missionary, and lots of women like
doing it doggy style. And no, they’re not all prostitutes or porn
stars—they’re people who are in touch with their own feelings and
wants and desires. Unlike you, Mr. Stick-Up-Your-Ass.”
Martin flushed a deep red. “Charming, as always,
Violet. Your parents must be so proud.”
She could feel her own face flush with heat. “I
wouldn’t know, since they disowned me years ago. You should ask my
father about it next time you’re smooching ass over at the Savage
Club.”
His nostrils flared. “Well, I must say, this has been
a real treat. Goodbye, Violet.”
She stared at him, all the anger draining out of her
as she realized how quickly and easily they’d descended into
acrimony when she’d come here offering sympathy.
“ Look. I’m sorry. Okay? That’s what
I came to say.” She took the bottle of Schnapps from her bag and
put it on his desk. “I even brought a peace offering.”
He went very still, then his lips curled into a thin
parody of a smile.
“ Experiencing a little
post-manipulation remorse, Violet? I’m sure it will
pass.”
“ Martin. Just...shut up and listen,
okay? I think what’s happened between you and E
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