“So, Miss Stevens, How’s life
treating you? Are you still working for Dream?” His low, modulated
actor’s voice filtered out from behind the galley.
“No.” Izzie folded her arms.
“They fired me. Just after you left—after you left me.” A cup crashed
down on to a saucer and she jumped. She noted his
hand shook. But to her surprise, he
“Oh, how easy it is to distort
history. Still, I suppose I do owe you an apology. I presume they got rid of
you on account of our little “fling”? Is that why you’re here—for
compensation? I’ll see what I can do. I think there’s a few million
still in my account.”
“How can you even think that?”
Izzie gasped. “Do you think I’d put a price on what we shared? I don’t
care about the bloody job! I wouldn’t change anything and it wasn’t just
a fling—at least not to me.”
“Bravo! What a touching little speech
and so eloquently delivered.” His back was turned, but Izzie read the
tension in his shoulders.
“So why did you come?”
“To say sorry…for hurting you.”
His laughter reached out and slapped
her in the face.
“God, you’re priceless! Now why on
earth would you think you hurt me? As I said, it was a fling. Get over it! I
have. Actually, sod the tea. I need a drink.”
Izzie watched as he reached in the back
of the cupboard and pulled out a dusty bottle of burgundy.
“Sorry, I’m all out of Krug today.
We’ll have to slum it.”
“David, please…” Izzie hated the
desperation in her voice but his vicious words cut her heart in two and she
struggled against tears. “Don’t be like this…”
“And what would “this” be
exactly?” He walked out of the kitchen carrying two glasses. He stood so
close she could smell the apple scent of his shampoo. She felt herself
drowning as his eyes probed hers, dark and cautious but devoid of the love
that had once lived there. His masculinity threatened her and yet every
fiber in her body tingled. She longed to reach out and touch him, to have
him hold her close and tell her everything would be OK.