The Casanova by T L Swan

ELLIOT

“Your paintings have arrived, Mr. Miles,” Andrew says from the door.

I look up from my computer. “What?”

“Your Harriet collection has arrived out of storage, I know how much you missed it.”

I run my hand through my hair in disgust. “Oh.” I pause.

I don’t want to be anywhere near those paintings; I left Kate for those.

All they do is remind me of what I no longer have.

My girl.

“Umm.” I pause as I try to articulate my answer. “My apologies, Andrew, can you have them delivered to my apartment in London please?”

Andrew’s face falls. “But—”

“But nothing,” I cut him off. “I don’t want them in this house.”

He frowns as he stares at me.

“That is all, Andrew,” I snap, dismissing him.

“Very well, sir.”

I inhale a shaky breath and go back to my computer.

This is fucked.