The Casanova (The Miles High Club) Page 35

  Andrew nods. “Yes, of course.”

  I wring my hands together nervously on my lap. “After you drop me at Elliot’s, can you deliver my suitcase to my brother’s house?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I nod as adrenaline surges through my body like a freight train.

  We fly through the streets of London and, for the first time, I understand why Elliot guards his privacy so stringently. Why he doesn’t give them an inch to work with.

  This is an absolute fucking nightmare.

  We drive into the underground parking lot at Elliot’s luxury apartment; the security gates close behind us and the car pulls up in front of the elevator. The guard parks the car and we all get out. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  The burly guards walk over to the elevator. “I’m fine from here.” The guards ignore me and walk into the elevator. “What are you doing?” I ask as I look at them in turn.

  “We’ve been instructed to deliver you in person, Miss Landon.”

  I stare at them and Daniel’s words from when I first met Elliot Miles come back to me: he’s a powerful man and not someone I would mess with.

  Suddenly I’m very aware that if Elliot Miles wants me delivered in person, I no longer have a choice. If I told them that I wasn’t going up to his apartment right now, they would make me go, regardless.

  A million things are running at full speed through my head, but the blazing emotion is . . . loss of control.

  We ride to the top floor in silence and the doors open into Elliot’s foyer, where he’s waiting. His eyes find mine and he smiles softly, as if relieved.

  “Thank you,” he says to the guards; he opens the door to his apartment and I walk in.

  I stand in the middle of his living room, determined to be strong.

  This man has brought me to my knees for the last time.

  Elliot’s eyes hold mine and he stares at me as if I’m a wild animal, about to run at any moment.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he whispers.

  I nod.

  “Can I get you . . . anything to drink?”

  “No.”

  He puffs air into his cheeks as if lost for words. “Are you going to sit down?”

  My eyes hold his and I just want to hurt him, for hurting me.

  For putting me through this fucking bullshit.

  “We need to talk, sweetheart,” he whispers.

  “For God’s sake, Elliot,” I yell, “don’t call me that. It’s no longer a term of endearment, it makes me a laughing stock. It’s you, taking advantage of my affection. Do not ever fucking call me sweetheart again!”

  His face falls. “I had to go . . . you know I had to go.”

  I stare at him.

  “You told me to go,” he cries. “I asked you what to do, and you told me to go.”

  “I told you to follow your heart,” I scream.

  He clenches his jaw, unsure what to say.

  “How long have you known it was me? How long have you been lying to me?”

  “You knew Edgar was me all along, you’ve been lying to me,” he says. “I told you who I was immediately.”

  “How long?” I throw up my hands.

  “You told me all about Edgar Moffatt the night when you were high on meds. You even showed me his messages on your phone.”

  My face falls.

  “Of all the people in the world, I couldn’t believe it. I told you the next day. You found out the very next day that Edgar was me,” he replies calmly.

  “Why are you so honest with Pinkie?”

  “Because she is easy to talk to . . . she doesn’t judge me. She is my friend.”

  “So . . . you lie to me?”

  “I knew I was talking to you, I never lied to you. Not once. I told you I was going to France to see her.”

  “But you didn’t tell me,” I yell in outrage. “You knew I couldn’t say anything.”

  “Because you were lying to me all along,” he cries. “And you fucking know it.”

  I drop my head, this is pointless. I sit on the couch and he falls to the floor on his knees in front of me. “Nothing happened with her, I promise you. Not even a kiss.”

  My eyes hold his.

  Is that true?

  “Kate.” He sighs sadly. “If I didn’t go, I would’ve always had that what if in the back of my mind.”

  “I know. So . . .” I pause as I try to get the wording right in my head. “You spent the week with her?”

  “No. We had the dinner and she made it quite clear that she wanted . . . more.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. Do I even want to hear this?

  “All I could think about . . . was you,” he whispers. “I knew I’d done the wrong thing, but I also knew that I had to go to her and find out. I couldn’t make a future with someone and always have a doubt in the back of my mind. It was a double-edged sword, Kate. I did what I thought I had to do.”

  I drop my head; don’t cry.

  “There was no connection with her, nothing at all.” His eyes search mine. “I swear to you—”

  “What if there was?” I interrupt. “What if there was a connection, Elliot? Where would I be now?”

  “There wasn’t.”

  “But there could have been.”

  He exhales heavily. “You’re not listening to me.”

  “And you didn’t answer my question. Where were you all week?” I ask.

  “I told her that nothing was happening, that I had someone back home.”

  “Something that you should have thought of before you went to her,” I cry, still outraged.

  “I’m here now,” he yells as he holds his hands out wide. “I’m yours, Kate.”

  Are you?

  “I took the week to think,” he continues. “I needed to clear my head.”

  My eyes rise to his and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. “About what?”

  “About life.”

  “You mean . . . about falling for someone who’s average.”

  He inhales sharply and I know I hit the nail on the head.

  My eyes well with tears. “I’m not your fairy tale, Elliot,” I whisper.

  “Yes, you are.” He stands. “It’s all bullshit. All along I thought I had to have signs. I thought that my gut would lead me to my soulmate.”

  Oh . . . this man hurts me. I drop my head, unable to look at him.

  “Kate, we hated each other for years.” He takes my face in his hand and he dusts his thumb back and forth over my bottom lip. “You can’t blame me for wondering if it was the real thing, or simply a physical attraction. You had to have had the same concerns.”

  My heart drops.

  Never once.

  I force a nod; I just want this conversation over.

  He falls to his knees in front of me again and looks up. “I love you.” He kisses me softly. “We can fix this. We can start again, and this time we know it’s the real thing. Nobody makes me feel like you do, Kate.”

  More lies.

  I pull back from his kiss. “I need a shower.”

  He smiles as he holds me in his arms. “Yes, let’s take a shower.”

  “Elliot, I’ve had the worst day in history and I’m tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow, please?”

  “Okay.” He nods as he pulls me to my feet. “You’re right, we have all the time in the world.”

  He leads me into the bathroom and turns the shower on. He slowly undresses me and I get in under the water.

  I shower in a daze, somewhere between heartache and relief.

  Now, I know.

  I get out and he dries me with a towel as he showers me in kisses. “Thank God, you’re here,” he whispers. “I thought I lost you.”

  I stare at him in a detached state: is he for real?

  He thinks he can say a few pretty words and all is well between us?

  I feel nothing . . . I’m dead inside. It’s like I’m talking to a stranger, one that I don’t even like.


  Whatever we had is gone.

  We get into his bed and our lips touch; his kiss deepens and I pull out of it. “Tomorrow, babe,” I whisper. “I’m not in the mood tonight. Honestly, I’m just too emotionally exhausted.”

  “Okay.” He reaches over and turns the bedside light off and snuggles in behind me, his arms around me, his lips at my temple.

  “I love you, Kate,” he whispers.

  “I love you too,” I whisper back. We lie in the darkness, so physically close and yet I’ve never felt so alone.

  If he knew me at all, he would know that.

  A tear rolls down my face in the darkness; it’s hot and salty and feels a lot like betrayal.

  Elliot Miles isn’t the only one who wanted a fairy-tale ending.

  I did too.

  And sadly, I know this isn’t it.

  Chapter 25

  ELLIOT

  I wake with a start, a bang in the distance.

  I look over to Kate, but I’m in bed alone. I sit up. “Kate,” I call.

  Is she in the bathroom?

  “Kate?”

  I get up and walk to the bathroom, it’s empty. Panic floods through me and I flick the light on. “Kate,” I yell as I look around. “Where are you?”

  I march into the living room. “Kate,” I cry with urgency. “Kathryn.” I look around, where’s her handbag?

  Her bag is gone.

  No.

  I run from room to room, screaming her name as my heart races.

  She’s not here.

  I dial her number, it rings out. I dial it again and it’s switched off.

  Anger surges through me and I kick the wall.

  I dial security. “Yes sir.”

  “Where’s Kate?” I growl.

  “Um . . . she’s with you . . . isn’t she?”

  “Explain to me . . . how the fuck she got out of here unnoticed,” I yell.

  “I don’t understand, sir, we’ve been on the doors all night.”

  “You’re fucking useless,” I cry. “Find her!” I hang up and begin to pace back and forth, my chest rising and falling as I grapple for control.

  I go to the window and look down over the street.

  “Kate,” I whisper. “Where are you?”

  I sit in the back of the car and dial Kate’s number; it goes straight to voicemail.

  I inhale sharply—I’ve searched for her all night. She simply disappeared into thin air.

  Not a trace.

  She hasn’t gone home, her phone is off.

  “This is the house sir.”

  I peer in. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, this is her brother’s house. We dropped her bag off here as she requested.”

  I get out of the car and march up to the front door, knock hard, and it opens in a rush. A young man comes into view, early thirties.

  “Hello, I’m Elliot Miles—”

  “I know who you are.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “She’s not here.”

  “I need to—”

  “You’ve done enough,” he snaps, goes to close the door, and I put my hand up to block it, push it open, and barge my way in. “Kate,” I yell. “I know you’re here.”

  “You’re too late. She’s gone.” He sighs.

  “Where?”

  “She flew out first thing this morning.”

  The room spins. “To where?”

  “That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”

  “What are you talking about?” I throw my hands up. “She has to work tomorrow.”

  He screws up his face. “You dumb fuck, she resigned last Wednesday, she’s taking a job overseas. If you’d have bothered to come back from your artist’s bed, you would already know this.”

  The earth spins on its axis.

  My nostrils flare as I battle for control.

  He shakes his head, with a deep exhale. “Just, get out, man. You’ve fucked it.” He glances at his watch.

  “Where is she, tell me,” I demand.

  “You’re too late, she will have already checked in.”

  My eyes widen, her plane hasn’t left yet. “I can still catch her then.” I turn and run for the car.

  “I didn’t say that,” he calls after me. “She doesn’t want to see you,” I hear in the distance as I dive in the backseat. “Heathrow Airport, quick,” I cry.

  Andrew pulls out into the traffic with speed and I dial Kate’s number. Ring, ring . . . ring, ring . . . ring, ring.

  “Come on, pick up. Pick up,” I whisper. It rings out and I dial her number again. I imagine her staring at her phone ignoring my call and my fury begins to boil.

  At her, at me . . . at this entire fucked-up situation.

  Why did she run out in the middle of the night, what was she thinking?

  When this is all over, I’m going to kill her . . . that’s if I don’t have a heart attack beforehand. I peer through the windshield. “Drive faster.”

  “I am.” Andrew huffs as he changes lane, then he changes lane again and I dial Kate’s number with my heart in my throat.

  Please pick up, baby.

  It rings out again. “Answer your fucking phone, Kathryn,” I yell as I hit my phone on the back of the seat in anger.

  Andrew’s eyes flick up to mine in the rearview mirror. “Don’t fucking start!” I growl.

  He puts his foot down and we fly through the traffic, and half an hour later we pull up at the airport.

  I dive out of the backseat and run in, my eyes scanning the check-in lines as I turn in a 360.

  “Where are you?” I whisper to myself. “Kate.” I begin to panic that I’m not going to find her, there are too many people. “Don’t do this, please.” I run along the back of the check-in queues as I search for her. I get to one end and run back to where I began: perhaps she’s already gone through.

  I run to the security checkpoint and stand in line. “Come on, come on,” I mutter. I look around the line to the security guards, working at a snail’s pace.

  Hurry the fuck up.

  I run my hands through my hair in a complete panic. Every minute that ticks past . . . is a minute I’ve lost to stop her.

  Finally I get to the checkpoint and walk through the scanner, and it dings.

  Fuck.

  “Just step back through sir.”

  “I don’t have time for this,” I stammer. I go back through the scanner, it dings again, and I bend and tear off my shoes and throw them to the side, rip my belt off and hurl it on the floor. I go back through the scanner and no alarm goes off.

  “Thank fuck.” I pick up my belongings and tuck them under my arm and I run as fast as I can, until I get to an intersection. Six huge corridors go in different directions leading to the departure gates.

  No.

  I swallow the lump in my throat as I look at my options: what way should I go?

  Umm. “Which way?” I’m panting as I gasp for breath. “Right.” I run to the right down a corridor. This is hopeless, I’m never going to find her. “Fuck’s sake.”

  I keep running and I just happen to glance to the side and I see the back of Kate, just as she goes through the boarding gate. “Kate,” I cry as I take off in that direction. “Kate.”

  She doesn’t hear me and she goes through the double doors.

  “Kate,” I yell as loud as I can. People turn and stare and I get to the flight attendants who are doing the check-in.

  I gasp for air. “I need to get someone off the plane,” I pant.

  “I’m sorry, sir, that’s impossible.”

  “No.” I put my hand on my chest. Fuck, I can’t breathe. “You don’t understand, it’s an emergency.”

  “You’re too late.”

  “No,” I yell. “Kate. I’m here,” I cry. “Come back.”

  Two burly security guards come and stand beside me. “Is there a problem here, sir?”

  I look between them as I gasp for air. “My girlfriend.” I pant, and point to the f
light. “Need . . . to . . . stop . . . her.”

  The guards exchange looks and with an eye roll, one of them says, “Leave now or you will be escorted from the building, sir.”

  Deflation fills me and I drop my shoes and belt and put my hands on my knees as I try to catch my breath.

  Fuck it . . . she’s gone . . .

  But where to? I glance up and see the flight destination.

  Honolulu

  Flight 245

  American Airlines

  I stand with renewed purpose, put my shoes on, and roll my belt into my hand. “Thanks.” I march off. Fuckers.

  I dial my security; he answers first ring. “Hello, Mr. Miles.”

  “Hi, have someone meet the plane, she’s landing in Honolulu, American Airlines flight 245.”

  “Got it.”

  “Do not let her out of your sight! I want an address.”

  KATE

  The transfer car pulls up in front of the villa, and the driver turns in his seat. “Here you are, Miss.”

  I peer out as relief fills me; looks okay. I always have that panic moment when I see a place I booked online.

  I pay him and he takes my suitcase from the trunk.

  Thank God I arranged all this last week.

  When I hadn’t heard from Elliot, when he was with her . . . the thought of seeing him at work was mortifying. I booked this holiday to give myself some space. I didn’t tell anyone about it except Brad. Not even Daniel and Rebecca. If they didn’t know where I was then they couldn’t accidently tell anyone, and thank God I didn’t. I had no idea how much it was going to be needed.

  I’m on Lanikai Beach, Kailua, on the island of Oahu, Hawaii.

  The sound and smell of the ocean overwhelms me, and I wave my driver goodbye and walk up the steps.

  The keys are in a lock box and excitement fills me. A hot shower . . . and some sleep.

  I’ve had a horrendous trip, and to be honest I was half expecting the Miles jet to pull up alongside us and hijack my plane, and for Elliot to board mid-air and drag me off.

  To get here alone and safe is a relief. The key turns and I walk in and gasp.

  Oh my God. “So beautiful.”

  It’s a little villa, in the shape of a hexagon, on the edge of a cliff. Huge windows with views of the sea are everywhere you look, and palm trees are on the edge of the waterline.

  This place looks straight out of a movie.

  I smile, lock the door behind me, and look around: one bedroom, a small, tidy bathroom, and an octagon-shaped living and kitchen area with light timber floors. Through large timber French doors is a huge deck, and I walk out to feel the sea breeze on my face.