His gut roiled, the tension from earlier returning a hundred-fold.
He didn’t believe in coincidence.
Oh, no, darling Diana. You can run. But you cannot hide. And once I catch you, I will get the truth from you, no matter how many times I have to fuck you to do it.
Chapter 8
For Diana, that morning had started off with a kick in the gut—at least that’s how it felt. Like a belligerent donkey got free from its pen and took offense at something she’d said.
The night before, she went to bed a little earlier than usual because she hadn’t felt her usual self. The lasagna her mother had made looked delicious, but the idea of consuming it made Diana shudder. That was a crime, a down right travesty. Her mom’s lasagna was better than sex…and now that she knew just good sex could be, she had to disagree. Not that she’d tell her mother that. Heading upstairs, she’d shucked her clothes, took a hot shower, and crawled into bed after downing three Advil. She’d slept fitfully, not able to stay in dreamland longer than an hour at a time, and when she finally slapped her alarm clock at 5:45 the next morning, she felt like a lump, rolled in shit, and then served with a glass of piss. And it wasn’t just the ickiness that kept her from sleeping restfully, it was the naughty, filthy, downright unholy fantasies. Dreams of a man who stole her breath, took her virginity, and gave her memories she had serious doubts would ever be replaced by a romp in another man’s bed. They’d had sex twice, not counting the times he’d made her come with just his fingers and tongue. She’d come five times that night. Five times she lost her damn mind, screaming and panting, her whole body given over to him.
And then she left him like a thief in the night. She’d woken up, hung over from vodka cocktails, and slipped from the bed. She might have been a novice at the one-night stand thing, but she knew enough that sticking around would only lead to awkwardness and probably humiliation. Once a sober David got a look at her in the bright, revealing light of day, he’d sneer at her, disgusted. She had no doubt he’d been a little drunk that night—why else would he seek her out, pull out all his charms, and then actually strip her naked, touch her with unexpected reverence… It had been a fluke, a drink-induced mistake. Right?
Yup.
Honestly, she had enough confidence in herself to do whatever she damn well pleased, but she was also a realist. When was the last time a wealthy, gorgeous man gave a second glance to a woman who wore a size sixteen? Yeah, she was pretty enough, she knew that, but what did she have compared to woman like Christina Hendricks, who had curves, gorgeous looks, and all that sexy attitude to go with it? And then there were the women she’d seen at the law practice’s monthly clients party. Those women were statuesque, brilliantly beautiful, dripping in diamonds, and easily capable of catching the eye of men like David Brenner.
And he’d taken her to bed. Her.
She was more than a little confused about it, but she didn’t have the time nor desire to dwell on it. It happened, it changed her life, and now it was time to move forward.
She was sure David Brenner already had. She’d seen pictures of him during his trip to Asia; gorgeous exotic-looking stunners who looked at him like he was a caramel apple dipped in gold. Delicious but also rich.
When she’d come down stairs that morning, Diana’s mother was in the kitchen, cooking her sister a breakfast of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and toast. The smells made her mouth water, but her stomach screamed “Hell No!”
Bypassing the kitchen on her way out the door, her mother, ever the perceptive woman, stopped her, her clear blue eyes scouring Diana’s face. She noticed something was askew. It didn’t help that Diana was as pale as death and no amount of Cover Girl was going to make the circles under her eyes disappear.
“Di, honey, is something wrong?” Betty Bluth asked, rushing to Diana and placing the back of her hand against Diana’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
Diana shook her head, offering her mother a weak smile. “I’m just feeling the effects of the stress, that’s all.” She’d been working so many hours over the last several months, she felt like she should be living in the office. Ayers was more than willing to push her out of the office every night at 5PM, but the extra hours meant extra money, and her family needed the money. Mortgage, car payments, and tuition payments for Deirdre, who was attending Rutgers to earn a bachelor’s in finance. There was too much riding on Diana’s shoulders, and she refused to be conquered by it.
Diana Bluth, Paralegal Warrior, and Part-Time Glutton for Punishment.
So, to appease her mother, she promised to make an appointment with Dr. Mellon for that afternoon. She had grabbed her purse to leave the office for the appointment six blocks away when Mr. Ayers had called asking her to bring him some documents from his desk.
It was unlike Mr. Ayers to forget anything, so when he’d called and asked, she was more than willing to do so. The restaurant, La Petite, was on the way to her doctor’s office so she saw no reason to not just stop by and give him what he needed.
Hopping from the taxi, she asked the driver to wait a tick so she could run in really quick, and then she headed inside. La Petite was a posh lunch spot where the crème de la crème of Manhattan business had their midafternoon power lunches. She’d never had lunch there but, then again, she couldn’t afford a drink there, let alone an actual meal. She’d seen the cost of the food
