‘Miller?’
I cast my eyes to the left and see the woman. She’s followed us and her cherry-red, pursed lips tell me she recognises me despite the makeover. Then I look up to Miller. He looks totally detached as he stares at her. This is awkward, the tension ricocheting between all five of us tangible, and for very different reasons. I feel like an interloper, but it doesn’t stop me from letting Miller guide me away from the awful scene.
He’s silent as he leads me down some stairs and through a maze of corridors until we’re at a door, where he curses while bashing in a code on the metal keypad before pushing his way through. I expect to be released after he’s kicked it shut, but he doesn’t let up, instead directing me to a big white desk and spinning me around. He pushes me onto my back, pulls my thighs apart and lays himself all over me, grabbing my cheeks in his hands and forcing his lips to mine, his tongue pushing past and starting an impossibly smooth rotation in my mouth. I want to ask him what the hell he’s doing, but I know I’m going to savour this. I won’t, however, savour the heated words that I know will be exchanged following this kiss, so I accept it. I accept him. With this kiss, I’m accepting everything that he has done tonight and before that, when he’s played with my heart – filled it, and then quickly drained it again, leaving it a mass of aching muscle in my chest.
He moans, and my hands skate their way up his back until they’re resting on the back of his head, pushing him in closer to me. ‘I’m not letting you do this to me again,’ I mumble weakly around his lips.
His mouth working mine doesn’t let up, and I don’t try to stop him, despite my words. ‘I don’t think it’s a matter of letting me, Livy.’ He pushes his groin into my core, putting more friction on my pulsing flesh. I whimper, searching for the willpower to stop this. ‘This is happening.’ He bites my lip and sucks it, pulling back and looking down at me. He moves my hair from my face. ‘We’ve already accepted this. It can’t be stopped.’
‘I can stop it, just like you have plenty of times,’ I breathe on a whisper. ‘I should stop it.’
‘No, you shouldn’t. I won’t let you, and I should never have stopped it either.’ His eyes run over my face and he dips, kissing me tenderly. ‘What has happened to you, my sweet girl?’
‘You,’ I accuse. ‘You’ve happened to me.’ He’s made me reckless and irrational. He may make me feel alive, but he makes me feel lifeless just as quickly. I’m playing the devil’s advocate with this man disguised as a gentleman, and I hate myself for not being stronger, for not stopping it. How many times can I do this to myself, and how many times will he do this to me?
‘I don’t like this.’ He pulls my hand from his back and looks down at my red nail polish. ‘And I don’t like this.’ He drags his thumb over my red lips as he watches me. ‘I want my Livy back.’
‘Your Livy?’ My brain engages fast, my heartbeat quickening. He wants the old Livy back so he can walk all over her again. Is that it? ‘I’m not yours.’
‘Wrong. You are very much mine.’ He pushes himself up and clasps my hand, pulling me up to a sitting position. ‘I’m leaving this office to tell your friend that you’re coming home with me. He’s going to want to speak to you, so you’ll answer your phone when he calls.’
‘I’m coming?’ I slip off the desk, and he immediately places me back on it.
‘No.’ He points over my shoulder. ‘You’re going into that bathroom, and you’re going to remove that shit from your face.’
I recoil, but he’s not perturbed. ‘Are you going to go out there and tell that woman that I’m going home with you?’ I grate, anger bubbling as he watches me closely.
‘Yes,’ he answers simply and swiftly. Just yes? I have nothing to say to that, drunkenness blocking all rational thinking, and when he’s finished studying my dumbstruck face he walks out, shutting the door behind him. I know I hear a lock click into place, so I jump down from his desk and run over to the door, jiggling the handle, fully aware that I’m wasting my time. He’s locked me in.
I don’t go to the bathroom; I go to the glass drinks cabinet, seeing some champagne on ice and two used glasses, neatly placed at just the right angle. That’s Miller’s doing, but the rim of one glass caked in cherry-red lipstick isn’t. I start to shake with fury and grab a glass, pouring in some champagne and downing it before refilling my glass and tipping that down quickly, too. I’m drunk enough, I don’t need this, but control is slipping rapidly away.
Just as Miller promised, my phone starts bleeping from my bag and I retrieve it from the desk, fishing around and finding Gregory’s name on the screen. ‘Hello.’ I try to sound cool and collected, when I want to scream down the phone, vent and lash out.