Authors: Shelby Reed
She looked away, tears clinging to her lashes, not yet plump enough to trickle down her cheeks. “I don’t know, Adrian. Nothing.”
“Something.”
Her gaze shot back to his.
Admit your feelings for me
.
He waited, as though he knew what she would ask.
In the end, she drew a trembling breath and said, “Your name.”
A frown creased his forehead. “That’s all? Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I just want to know who you are.”
He lifted his fingertips to her face and let them trail against her cheek, his gaze following the path of his caress. “It’s Christopher,” he said in that same easy, soft tone that hardly rent the thick silence.
Christopher.
“Christopher Antoli?”
“That’s right.”
Billie’s face crumpled under the urge to cry, and quickly she righted the reaction, sucking in a deep, healing breath even as she stepped back from his tender touch.
“Okay, then. We’re even. That’s all I wanted.” She turned and grasped the doorknob, her pulse so heavy it stirred waves of weakness through her limbs.
“I don’t know if this matters to you,” his voice came quietly behind her, “but I would’ve never allowed you pay for this night, Billie. I already took care of it with Maria.”
A sad smile touched her lips. Something deep within her had already known, but hearing him say it stood as a bittersweet send-off.
“I hope you find your place in this world, Christopher,” she told him without turning around. “I don’t think Avalon is it.” And before the deluge of tears broke, she slipped out the door with her dignity somehow intact.
154
The Fifth Favor
For a long time after the door shut behind Billie, Christopher Antoli stood in the middle of the room, listening to the static clamor of his own heart.
A slow ache had begun to stir in its general region; a sense of emptiness that wiped out every stronghold he’d built around himself in preparation for this night.
The silence around him was keen, agonizing. He moved out of sheer need to break its thickness, systematically picked up a champagne flute and set it in the sink of the wet bar, straightened an already smooth duvet, returning order to a room sterile and uncluttered.
In the bathroom, he released the drain on the tub and stood watching the scented, steaming water seep away, waiting for the knock on the door that would announce Azure’s arrival, and the advent of his subtle torture under her smug regard.
At last it came…a soft, unassuming tap.
Wiping his hands on his thighs, he approached the door and opened it, then stepped back to allow her entrance.
She’d changed outfits, from trademark white to a black, form-fitting pantsuit. He knew the look; she cloaked herself in sultry darkness whenever she ventured out to prowl the city in search of new companions for Avalon.
Her hair hung silky and gleaming behind her shoulders, untethered by clasp or band. A smirk curved her lush lips, as though she couldn’t contain her triumph long enough to stand before him with the solemn air of chastisement he’d half-expected.
“Your client has left prematurely. Tell me, Ad, did you fail to perform with her, too?”
“Yes.” His tone was emotionless as he moved to gather his things. His life at Avalon was over; he’d known it the minute Azure consented to allow Billie’s name in the appointment book. Opening the closet door in the bathroom, he removed a leather duffel bag and returned to set it on the bed. Nothing belonged to him in this room, save two bureau drawers filled with fresh clothes and a few garments hanging in the closet.
Behind him, Azure watched, her gaze searing him with contemptuous glee.
“I’m afraid that’s two dissatisfied clients in a week. Make that three, including Finola Casselbury at the party, when you blatantly abandoned her to pursue your dear Ms. Cort.” Her tone tightened. “I hope the reporter’s worth it, Adrian. You realize she’s cost you your position here at Avalon.”
He continued to pack without responding, as though she weren’t skulking behind him with fangs bared.
“Did you hear me?” Irritation snapped through her words. “I’m releasing you.”
155
Shelby Reed
“I heard you, Azure.”
He headed back into the bathroom, grabbed a few toiletries and stuck them in the duffel. Then he zipped it, moved around her and retrieved his shoes, all in excruciating silence that vibrated with Azure’s mounting rage.
When he sat on a wingback chair to put them on, she approached him, her exotic scent rising off her like radiant heat. It reminded him of sex and humiliation.
A long white envelope floated into his view from between her manicured fingers, and he hesitated, let his attention rest on the familiar handwriting for a moment before recognition sank in. Then his spine slowly straightened and he lifted his gaze to hers.
And knew. Instantly.
“This came a short time ago,” Azure said, watching his face with narrowed eyes.
“I’m afraid it must have gotten lost in the mail. You know how unreliable the postal service can be on our block.”
Swallowing the knot in his throat, Christopher took it from her fingers and stared at the postmark. It was dated two days after Lucien’s suicide.
Lying bitch
.
He clenched his jaw and met her gaze squarely. “Thanks.”
The acknowledgment hung in the air, an icy, gritted dismissal. Her pleasure faded.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
“I’ll read it in private.”
“As you wish.” She gave a careless shrug and started toward the door. “Don’t you want to know whether I contacted the police and shared the letter with them?”
His fingers tightened on the envelope. “Tell me, Azure. Did you contact the police and share the letter with them?”
“Of course, darling. Failure to do so would be withholding evidence.” Her expression melted into one of benevolent tenderness. “You’re utterly off the hook.”
Lips tight with rage, he managed a curt nod and rose to tuck the letter into the duffel. Then he paused and cast her a look of sheer disdain. “Anything else?”
“You can’t have that letter, Ad, even though it stands as monumental proof of your impressive ability to devastate everyone around you. But that’s the original copy. Leave it on the bedside table so I can deliver it into the proper hands. If you want a photo copy for posterity, let Maria know before you leave.” She opened the door, her graceful fingers lingering on the knob. “I’m sorry it’s ending this way, Adrian. You must know that.”
“My name is Christopher,” he said, and slid into his jacket. When he looked up again, she was gone, a wisp of shadow, a bad memory.
Christopher waited until he was certain he was utterly alone before he allowed himself to breathe. Then with shaking hands, he withdrew the envelope, pulled out Lucien’s letter and began to read.
156
The Fifth Favor
* * * * *
“Hold your horses!” Billie muttered, juggling two bags of groceries as she blindly searched for her key.
Inside her apartment the telephone rang with cheerful insistence, and she cursed it as she dug through her purse’s crowded pockets. The answering machine was broken and she hadn’t yet replaced it, relishing the peace and inaccessibility it temporarily granted her. Now the anxiety she experienced more than made up for the peace and quiet of the past few days. Her fingers closed around the key ring, but then her purse strap slid off her shoulder to the crook of her arm and the keys hit the ground.
Cursing, she set down the groceries in the hallway, snatched up the keys and jammed the right one into the deadbolt. Her mood, already as gray as the rain clouds choking the afternoon skies outside, darkened an additional three shades of gloom. She picked up the bags again and shouldered her way into the apartment. The shrill, unrelenting demand of the phone pulled at the wayward hope that refused to die in her heart. No one was so important that she had to kill herself to get to the phone, not even…
Well, no one was that important.
She forced herself to calm as she kicked the door closed behind her and set down the bags in the kitchenette. She would not run to pick up that damn receiver. There was no need to rush.
It wouldn’t be Adrian. Christopher. Whoever the hell he was.
Pacing her steps with studied decorum, she crossed to pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“I’m trying to reach Billie Cort,” a woman’s clipped voice said. “Do I have the right number?”
Ever wary of being trapped by a solicitor, Billie hesitated. “Who’s calling?”
“This is Rosalie Baxter.”
Billie drew a blank. Then her heart tripped and thudded in her chest, and she eased herself down to the padded bench beside the telephone. Not Adrian.
But his
sister?
“Yes, hello, Rosalie,” she said finally, breathless from exertion and surprise.
“You’ve got the right number.”
“How are you?” The other woman’s question was laden with a heavy emotion Billie couldn’t identify.
“I’m fine, Rosalie. How about you?”
“I’m—well, I got your number from information. Actually,” she said ruefully, “I called about fifteen Corts in the District before I found you. Not a very friendly bunch.”
“I’m sorry. I swear I’m not related to a one of them.” Billie hesitated, unsure of what to say next. Before she could scramble for polite conversation, or even entertain why Adrian’s sister was calling in the first place, Rosalie rushed on.
157
Shelby Reed
“I’m sorry to bother you like this, Billie, but have you seen Chris? We haven’t heard from him since the night you came for dinner, and I’m starting to get worried.”
Chris Antoli. Chris Antoli
. The name played like a singsong rhyme in her mind. She straightened and pushed her hair back from her face, a frown knitting her brows.
“Truthfully, I haven’t seen…Chris, uh—in a couple of weeks. He and I…we—”
“You didn’t break up.” Immediately the concern in Rosalie’s tone shifted to brittle disapproval. “Did you break up? What happened? Why would you break up? Who did it, you or him?”
“It just didn’t work out.”
The other woman made some derogatory remark in Italian. “He did it, then.”
Billie closed her eyes and swallowed against the lump rising in her throat. “You know how these things go.”
“With my brother, yes, all too well.” Rosalie sighed. “I’m sorry, Billie. I thought you were good for him, you know? He just seemed happy with you.”
“He wasn’t.” It came out more sharply than she’d intended, so she quickly added,
“And truthfully, Rosalie, I don’t think it had anything to do with me.”
“Yeah, I know. He’s too closed off, too secretive, but something’s wrong in his life and we all know it. He thinks he can hide it, but his family—we know.”
Not well enough. Billie rubbed her left temple, where an ache had begun to tighten in spiraling circles. “He’s lucky to have you.”
“Yeah, well, damn him. I’ve left fifty messages with his hoity-toity answering service and he hasn’t returned a single one. But if you two are having trouble…that might explain it. Maybe his heart is broken over you.”
“Doubtful,” Billie said wryly. “But thanks for trying.”
Rosalie released a little huff of mirthless laughter. “I ought to strangle him. But it’s not like him to be out of touch so long. Maybe I’ll drive out and check on him tonight.”
She paused, then groaned. “
Dio
—Sophie has cheerleading practice until seven, and David’s out of town.”
Billie braced herself and winced, innately knowing what would come next.
“Billie, what kind of terms are you on with Chris?”
“I haven’t seen or talked to him in a while,” she said, dread lodged in her chest. “I have a publication deadline tomorrow morning so I’ve been incredibly busy, and I’m sure he is, too. He could be out of town.”
“He could be, except he always leaves Rudy with us when he goes away.” Rosalie drew a breath. “So would you say you parted on good terms?”
“Civil,” Billie allowed, eyes closed.
“So if you, for example, knocked on his door—”
“He wouldn’t slam it in my face.” She muffled a deep, weary sigh. “You want me to drive over to his apartment and make sure he’s okay.”
158
The Fifth Favor
It must have sounded more like an offer than an observation, because Rosalie exclaimed, “Oh, you sweet—thank you, Billie! You’re such a good girl. My brother’s an idiot, yes? When you get there, look him in the eye and smack his beautiful face
twice
.
Once for me, for scaring his poor sister to death, and once for yourself, for spitting in God’s eye when He would send such a beautiful girl to that undeserving…
sciocco
!
You’re a jewel, and Zio should know it.”
Billie laughed in spite of herself. “Thank you for the kind words, Rosalie. I’ll give him your message and I’m sure he’ll call you right away.”
When she hung up the phone, she sat and stared at it, her heart banging out a frantic rhythm. She had just agreed to see Adrian again, to hear his voice, to step foot—
even briefly—in his world again, where she wasn’t welcome and didn’t belong.
“
Sciocco
,” she muttered, closing her eyes as she recalled Rosalie’s fervent proclamation.
It meant
fool
.
* * * * *
First she called his private number at Avalon, her pulse doing back-flips while she let it ring once, twice, three times.
A husky male voice finally answered, “Jean-Pierre.”
Billie paused. “I’m sorry—I was trying to reach Adrian’s room.”
“You did not misdial,” Jean-Pierre told her in a clipped Parisian accent. “Adrian can no longer be reached here.” He paused. “How did you get this number?”
She straightened on the bench and clutched the spiral phone cord. “He gave it to me. Is he…has he left Avalon?”
“I’m afraid I cannot answer that. Is there anything else?”
“No.
Merci
,” she added tartly, and hung up the phone.
Darkness had fallen by the time she reached Adrian’s condominium building on Connecticut Avenue. She circled the high-rise, looking for a parking spot along the car-lined side streets, and was relieved to see Adrian’s navy blue BMW parallel-parked near the rear of the building. It didn’t guarantee he was home, but something inside her clung to the hope that she’d find him holed up in his luxury condo. Maybe he was taking a good, hard look at the real world for the first time in eight years.