The Casanova by T L Swan

Chapter 15

I storm up the road like a monster, my inner rage at an all-time high.

How dare he?

How fucking dare he?

Okay, so he didn’t want anything more . . . man up and tell me, you fucking spineless dipshit.

Last time I checked, when you spend most of a week inside someone’s body, you at least owe them a simple conversation.

Ugh, I’m furious. I can feel my blood boiling under my skin.

I guess this is the mission accomplished, given that I dated Elliot to try and feel something.

And I feel something for sure: thermonuclear atomic rage.

I march into my building.

“Good morning, nice day.” The doorman smiles.

Is it?

I fake a smile and keep walking. I can’t even make myself lie and agree with him.

Stay out of my way world, I want blood.

At 1 p.m., my email pings.

Kate,

I would like to see you in my office immediately.

Elliot.

Ha, I bet you would . . . you stupid fuck.

I reply:

Elliot,

Sorry, I am too busy.

Please email me your request and I will attend to it as soon as possible.

Kate.

A reply bounces straight back.

Kate,

Whatever you’re doing can wait.

Get up here now!

Now . . . exclamation mark . . . What?

How dare he?

My eyes nearly pop from their sockets.

I hit the keyboard so hard I almost break the damn thing.

Elliot Miles.

Go fuck yourself!

No, I sound like a child. I delete my message and I try again.

Elliot.

Are you so incredibly stupid that you can’t see out of your . . .

No, I delete.

Don’t give him the satisfaction of stooping to his level. I close my eyes and inhale deeply as I try to calm myself down. Don’t let him get to you . . .

Just ignore the stupid email.

I get back to work and half an hour later my email pings again.

Kate.

Are you on your way?

I’m waiting.

My pressure cooker boils to the breaking point. I write back.

I’m not coming.

As I told you, I’m busy. Please forward your request via email.

Stop wasting my time with unreasonable demands.

I hit send.

I don’t know who this guy thinks he is?

How dumb can a human being be?

I get up and walk to my filing cabinet and I slam it open, put the file in, and slam it shut.

“Stupid asshole twat-head,” I mutter under my breath. I sit back down and hit my computer keys. “Stop turning off, fucker.”

I exhale heavily, calm . . . calm . . . calm. Keep fucking calm.

My stomach is churning and, honestly, I haven’t felt this out of control and unstable for a long time. I can’t do this to myself, I already know that this isn’t a healthy relationship for me. I can’t let myself be pulled back down into darkness by a toxic man.

My office door opens and clicks closed and I glance up: Elliot stands before me. Perfectly fitted grey suit, square jaw, and dark hair. His presence instantly takes over the small space. Damn him for being so attractive. It really is infuriating. I drag my eyes back to my computer screen.

“What are you doing?” he snaps.

Don’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

“Working,” I reply calmly as I keep my eyes to the front.

“I asked to see you.” From my peripheral vision I see his hands go into his trouser pockets as he waits for my reply.

“And I said, email me your request. Now if you don’t mind, I’m very busy, Elliot. Please close the door on your way out.”

“I gave her a lift, nothing more.”

My eyes rise to his.

“She had a fight with her date and was waiting for a cab, I simply offered her a lift.”

I stare at him . . . is that true?

I turn back to my computer. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

He stays silent for a while as if assessing the situation. “What’s with the attitude?”

Fury bubbles dangerously close to the surface and I turn back to him. “It’s called work ethic, Elliot, and there is no attitude.”

“Good.” He tilts his chin to the sky in approval. “I’ll have Andrew pick you up tonight, around seven.”

A frown crosses my brow. Give me strength. I turn back to my computer and print out a spreadsheet. “I can’t tonight, sorry. I have something on.”

“Like what?”

Ignoring him, I stand and open the top drawer of my filing cabinet, and he swiftly puts his hand over mine and closes it, causing it to slam. “Like what?” he growls.

“Washing my hair,” I snap as I lose the last of my patience.

“So, you are angry?”

I sit down in a rush and twist back to my computer screen.

“What was I supposed to do, leave her on the street?” he replies.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“This is why relationships and me don’t work. There is always fucking drama. It was a lift.”

“We are not in a relationship. You have already made that crystal clear and I really don’t care if you want to take Varuscka Vermont on your stupid Miles jet. This has nothing to do with giving someone a lift home. Get out.”

“So?” Amusement flashes across his face. “You did see the story.”

“Elliot, I’m not interested in this game. I’m tired of it already.”

He puts his hands on his hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means . . .” My voice trails off.

“We had a deal.”

I roll my eyes. “Do you mean the deal about you not being seen or photographed with me but it’s perfectly fine for you to be seen leaving with another woman, or do you mean your deal of nobody knowing about us and you speaking to me like a piece of crap whenever you feel like it? Newsflash, it isn’t that appealing, Elliot, excuse me if I want to pass.”

“I had a stressful day on Monday,” he barks.

“I’m having one now,” I growl back.

His eyes hold mine. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you may as well go out with Varuscka. This arrangement isn’t going to work between us.”

“What?” he explodes.

My door opens without warning. “Do you want a coffee?” Kellie asks.

“Knock before you enter an office,” Elliot snaps.

Kellie’s eyes widen as she looks at us. “Sorry,” she whispers as she swiftly closes the door.

Elliot glares at me, his nostrils flaring as he grapples for control. “Are we done here?” he sneers. I can feel his anger as it radiates out of him.

“Stop being a drama queen.” I keep staring at my computer; I don’t want to look at him.

“Kathryn,” he bellows.

“Do not speak to me like that and then barge in here with demands. I’m unsure how things work for you with other women, but I can assure you, it doesn’t cut it with me.”

I can almost feel the atomic bomb as it goes off. Tangible fury radiates out of him.

Without another word he storms from my office and slams the door. The windows rattle from the bang.

Beep, beep.

The horn sounds out on the street. I peer out of my bedroom window and smile and wave when I see the small truck.

Excitement fills me: I get my brother to myself for a whole twenty-four hours. I’ve taken some leave. We’re going back to Mum and Dad’s to pick up what’s left of our things—Elanor has put them into a storage unit for us. Brad has hired a removals truck and I’ve booked us a hotel to stay at tonight.

We’re going to go out for dinner and chill and hang out. Spend some much-needed family time together.

After the shitty week I’ve had, this weekend is a welcome distraction. Elliot Miles is the epitome of cold. He hasn’t looked at me since that day in my office, let alone made eye contact, not once.

And it’s not that he hasn’t had the chance; he’s walked by me in the corridor without any acknowledgment and even caught the same elevator as me this morning, and still not a word.

It’s like I imagined the whole damn thing, and maybe I did?

I don’t know, but I’m sick to death of myself overanalyzing it. If he can move on so easily, I really did do the right thing.

Not that it hurts my feelings or ego any less.

I grab my things and make my way downstairs. “Bye, I’m going,” I call.

Daniel comes out of his room. “Have fun, darling.” He kisses my cheek. “And forget all about Douchebag Miles.”

I smile up at him as I flick the hair out of his eyes. “Who’s that?”

He taps my nose. “That’s the spirit.”

“Where’s Beck?” I ask.

“In the shower.”

“Okay.” I head toward the door. “Say goodbye to her for me.”

“I will . . . oh, and I’ll be here to help you unload tomorrow if you need me.”

“It should be okay, Brad will help. Have a good night,” I call as I head out of the door. I’m hit with the icy conditions and I wrap my jacket around me tighter. “Fuck off, snow,” I mutter under my breath.

I run across the road and climb into the truck. Brad is wearing a trucker cap and he flexes his arm muscle. “Gangster as fuck, in the truck.”

I giggle as I put my seat belt on. “You’re ridiculous.”

He chuckles and pulls out into the street. “Let’s go get our shit.”

“I’m here to collect the belongings from storage unit 405 please?” I smile at the receptionist.

“Of course, we’ve been expecting you.” She turns and goes to the key cupboard and produces a set of keys with a little yellow tag. “Go down aisle five and then turn at the last right. Your unit is the last on the left.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I walk back out and Brad links his arm with mine. This is a hard day, one I never thought in a million years I’d be doing. With trepidation we follow the girl’s directions and get to the storage unit, and Brad puts the key in the lock and slowly pulls up the garage door.

Ten lonely boxes sit at the back of the practically empty locker.

We both blink in surprise; we were expecting a lot more.

“Where’s the rest of it?” I whisper.

Brad shrugs.

Panic sets in—my parents’ whole entire life does not fit into ten boxes. “Where’s the rest of it?” I stammer. “She said she kept everything important.”

Brad takes out his phone and dials Elanor’s number. “Hey. Are we at the right unit? There are only ten boxes here.”

I can hear her talking fast in reply, and my heart begins to hammer hard in my chest. She does that when she’s guilty.

Brad’s haunted eyes meet mine and I know that it’s all gone.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Brad growls. “You knew that we wanted everything, how fucking dare you do this to Kate? I personally had more than ten boxes of things kept at Mum’s and Kate did too.” He marches off as he screams at her and I screw up my face in tears as I look around the virtually empty unit, my heartbeat banging hard in my ears. The thought of losing all their beloved possessions and all of our childhood memories is like losing them all over again.

No . . . she couldn’t do this.

She wouldn’t.

Nobody is that heartless.

“Tell me.” He listens for a moment. “What fucking charity shop, Elanor?” I hear him cry from up the aisle.

I drop to my knees in despair; she donated almost everything. Even Brad’s and my personal belongings. We had so much there, the attic was full of memories.

Mum’s Christmas decorations . . . Her china from Grandma, her tapestries. Dad’s tools. All my hobbies . . . gone?

Oh, this hurts.

I put my hand over my stomach as the air leaves my lungs.

Brad’s big arms come around me and he pulls me into an embrace and he holds me as I cry. “I’m so sorry, Kate. I’m so sorry.”

We sit at dinner, both staring into space, the mood somber and sad.

We are feeling a deep sense of loss all over again.

“I just don’t get it,” Brad says softly. “How the hell is she genetically related to us?”

I stare at his sad face, he’s as torn up about this as I am.

“Elanor looks after Elanor.” Brad sighs. “She needed the sale money and wasn’t prepared to wait for us to sort it.”

“You know, if she was going to do this, why wouldn’t she just tell us?”

“Because she knew we’d say no.”

We sit in silence for a while.

“Did she say where she was?”

“She was on a business trip.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know, probably Ibiza partying with some rich guy. You know how she operates, they fall at her feet, I don’t know how she gets them.”

“She’s beautiful, that’s how.” I sigh.

“Nobody is this fucking beautiful.”

“What is it with her and money anyway? Why does she like it so much? We aren’t like that and we were brought up in the same house.”

Brad shrugs. “You know, she’s after your boss.”

I frown. “What?”

“Yeah, we had breakfast together a few months ago and she was reading out the rich list that had just been released in the paper. Told me she was going to snag herself that Miles chap.”

The air leaves my lungs. “Which one?”

“The head one.”

“Jameson in New York?”

“No, the English head one.”

“Elliot.” My heart begins to beat fast in my chest.

“Yeah, that’s him. She brought him up on her phone and showed me a picture of him and everything.”

My eyes widen in horror. “You’ve got to be joking.” I frantically search for a picture of Elliot and I hold my phone out for Brad. “Is this him?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Reckons she already had things underway.” He rolls his eyes in disgust. “Stupid witch.”

My stomach drops; Elanor is way more suited to Elliot than I am.

I know how she operates, I know her appeal to men, they have no resistance against her.

If she really wanted him, she could have him.

Elanor is extraordinary. Dread fills my every cell.

I get a vision of her turning up at a family event with him and I feel my chest tighten. I know that one day I’m going to have to watch him with someone else.

But please . . . not her.

Anyone but her.

Its 11 p.m. on Thursday night and I sit alone in the darkness.

I type:

Dear Ed,

How are you? I’m sorry, I only just saw your message from last week. I’ve been really busy.

We haven’t spoken in a long time, just checking to see if you’re okay.

Pinkie.

ox

I haven’t spoken to Ed since Elliot and I had words last Tuesday. He messaged me that night and I haven’t got back to him.

What would be the point? It would only make me feel more crap than I already do.

I mean, how much could I actually mean to him if he’s chasing a conversation with Pinkie, and yet being an asshole to me, the actual woman who he’s sleeping with?

It’s blatantly clear that I am last on Elliot Miles’s list, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t sting, because it does. More than it should. I knew the rules of this game before I started playing and yet stupidly, I jumped in anyway.

Hindsight, what a slap in the face you are.

This week has been taxing. I’m stressed out and being haunted by the prospect of getting an invite to my evil sister’s wedding to my dream man.

I mean, he isn’t really my dream man, but . . . he was mine first and this is my fantasy, bitch.

Back off.

Elanor told Brad that she had things underway with Elliot—what does that even mean? Is that code for she’s hooked up with him already in the past?

My stomach rolls at the thought.

Please no.

I see the dots, and my heart skips a beat. He’s replying.

Hi Pinkie,

I missed you.

All good here, nothing new to report. How is everything at your end?

How is your romance going?

Ed.

I exhale heavily. I can’t even tell him the truth, I can’t even let on who I am. I’m too deep in this lie now, but I guess there’s no reason to fess up right now, he’s not going to be seeing Kate in the future anyway. This isn’t good for me though and I do need to cut off from him completely, this can’t go on. I don’t want to hear about his future conquests . . . or fucking Elanor.

Ugh, kill me now . . . Imagine?

I lie.

Romance is great, he’s perfect.

I go to hit send and then I pause . . . and add:

How’s Kate?

I hold my breath as I wait for his reply. I know it’s going to be hurtful.

That was a stupid thing to ask.

Kate and I are over.

I close my eyes in regret and I type:

Why, what happened?

I was too attached to her.

I sit up in shock. What?

My heart beats hard in my chest.

What makes you say that?

On the first day back at work I hadn’t seen her for twenty-four hours and I missed her.

I didn’t like it.

My eyes widen . . . what the fuck?

Did you tell her?

No, I was angry that she had me like this after a week so I snapped at her . . . two days running, and I haven’t heard from her since.

I jump from my chair. What the hell?

Is that how he saw it? What will I write?

I begin to pace back and forth, wave my hands around as I try to think.

Umm . . .

Maybe she liked you too much.

Perhaps she was scared of getting hurt?

No, I’m sure that’s not it. I’m not wasting my time on someone who walks away over something so trivial. She wouldn’t even have a conversation about it.

It obviously meant very little to her, I don’t have time for stupid drama.

I’m done.

My heart drops and I slump back in my chair . . . Fuck it.

Damn it . . . you idiot, Kate.

He’s right, why wouldn’t I at least talk to him?

Fuck’s sake . . .

What the hell do I write now? Damn it, I hate how I can’t tell him who I am.

This is one colossal fuckup that has to stop.

I write:

That’s a shame, what have you got planned for the weekend?

Busy weekend planned. Moving into my new house tomorrow and then going to an art auction tomorrow night. I guess, unpacking all weekend.

What about you?

I puff air into my cheeks. I want to write . . . pining over you all weekend, but I refrain.

Nothing much, quiet one here.

Okay, I’m turning into bed, great to finally be in touch.

I missed you.

Goodnight.

Ed

Ox

I read through our messages again.

I was too attached to her.

I flop onto my bed.

He was too attached to me . . . Did I read that right?

I get up and read it again and again. No, I didn’t dream it.

It’s written right there in black and white.

He was scared . . . and maybe I was too?

A goofy smile crosses my face.

There is hope for us yet.