She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Jonathan!” She glared at me before walking back inside. “He’ll be right out, Claire.”
I began to count the seconds with nervous taps of my foot. I was on the verge of more tears when I realized that five minutes had gone by.
I took a step forward, tempted to step inside and confront him, but I saw him walk across the room. He took a long sip from his glass and slammed it down on the table. Then he turned towards me.
He came to the door and stared into my eyes, expressionless. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he shook his head and started to close the door.
“Wait!” I held my hand against the doorknob. “Please listen to me, Jonathan! I am so sorry—I didn’t know what to say! You caught me off guard and you know I’m—you know I’m not the public-type but that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. I do. And I want to be with you. Please just...I’ll go get Damien, bring him here, and tell him that—”
“Miss Gracen, I don’t have time for any unscheduled meetings. I have enough on my plate this week with seminars and tech demonstrations.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his business card, handing it to me. “Feel free to schedule a meeting with my secretary at your earliest convenience. However, I’m booked through the end of the year so don’t expect an immediate appointment.”
“What? Jonathan, you can’t be serious. Please let me—”
“Security?” He held his phone up to his ear. “I have an unapproved guest bothering me at my suite and I’m not exactly sure where she came from or where she belongs.”
I gasped.
“Enjoy the rest of the conference, Miss Gracen.” He shut the door in my face.
“Wait!” I knocked on the door again, as forcefully as I could manage. “Open the door, Jonathan! You didn’t mean that! Come back! Come back!” I started kicking at it, twisting at the doorknob, screaming at the top of my lungs.
Before I knew it, Greg was picking me up and carrying me back onto the private elevator.
“Put me down, Greg! I need to talk to him! Don’t let him do this to me! He said he doesn’t know me and you know that’s not true!” I’d never behaved so erratically in my life. “Please! I need to tell him I’m sorry again! He didn’t understand me! Please! Please!”
He set me down on the floor as soon as the doors shut and hit fifty two—Damien’s floor. He ignored my pleas and kept his face completely stoic.
When the doors opened again, he gently grabbed me by my shoulders and walked me down the hall to my room.
He pulled another handkerchief from his jacket, and as if he knew that I was too broken to do anything but cry, he wiped away my tears as they fell—waiting until they’d completely stalled.
He reached into his pocket and handed me a bottle of Benadryl. “I suggest you tell Mr. Edwards that you were lost and ended up at the gift shop on the other side of the resort. He called the front desk twice, wondering if you’d bought your medicine yet.”
My hands shook as I clasped the bottle. “Thank you, Greg...Um, I know you don’t have any obligation to me but....Could I ask you for a favor?”
“Anything, Miss Gracen.”
“Could you tell Jonathan that I said, ‘I love you’? And that I meant it when I told him that?”
He looked sympathetic. “Of course, Miss Gracen. Have a good night.” He patted my shoulder and walked away.
Chapter 33
Claire
My reflection was lying to me. Again.
She was showing me a happy woman in bright red lipstick and bronze eye shadow, a woman who looked like she was having the time of her life—not a heartbroken woman who’d spent every night this week crying herself to sleep.
You can do this...You can do this...
I screwed the top onto my mascara and placed it into a bag. I stepped back from the mirror and twirled around in my dress—the sparkling nude colored one that Jonathan had picked out months ago, the one I would’ve worn to the IPO ball.
I’d hoped that by wearing it tonight, he would at least acknowledge my existence.
Ever since I’d snuck up to his room a few nights ago, he’d gone out of his way to avoid me: He and Stacy were supposed to sit at our table all week for the daily breakfasts, but he had his seat changed. He was supposed to present Damien with an award at the Value Ball two nights ago, but he claimed he had an emergency, so he created a video for the audience to view instead.
I saw him a few times in the hallways, and each time I would walk towards him and try to get his attention, but the security guards always kept me from getting too close.
“It’s our last night here, sweetheart.” Damien walked into the room and smiled at me. “I see that you’ve saved your best dress for the occasion.”
I hate being called “sweetheart.” Why haven’t I told him that?