Seb slammed the lid of his computer closed, sent her another fulminating, furious look and walked out of the room. Instead of slamming the door, as she knew he wanted to do, he closed it quietly. Its snick was the soundtrack to her heart cracking and snapping.
Crap; she was so screwed.
* * *
‘You look awful, darling.’ Grayson Darling looked at her across the table in the English tea room and then at an original artwork just beyond her head. ‘Love that painting.’
‘Gray, I’ve drunk the tea, eaten the scones...can we talk netsukes now?’ Rowan demanded, in a thoroughly bad mood. Then again, she’d been in a bad mood since she’d left Cape Town two weeks ago and it was steadily getting worse. Having to spend two hours with Grayson, making small talk over high tea, was just making her feel even more cranky—which she hadn’t believed was possible.
She needed to do this deal with Grayson; the money she’d made arranging those parties and bartending was almost finished and she was sick of sleeping on a friend’s pull-out couch.
She needed money. Fast. She’d played this song to death; hopefully after today she wouldn’t have to hear it again.
Grayson wiped his fingers on a snow-white cloth serviette and sighed dramatically as he pulled the box towards him. ‘Where is the charming Rowan I enjoyed so much?’
Back in Cape Town, with her heart. With Seb. Seb... Her heart clenched. She missed him so much—missed her heart, which had remained behind with him. Without it she was just existing, just skating.
She didn’t skate. She didn’t exist. She lived. It was what she did. But no longer. Not any more. Not without Seb. She’d thought that she’d been so clever, leaving Cape Town before she fell in love with him. But love, she realised, didn’t stop to count the miles between them and had snuck inside her anyway.
‘Oh, Rowan, these are wonderful,’ Grayson said, appreciation in every syllable as he lined up the netsukes between them. ‘Fantastic composition, brilliant condition. But you’re missing one... Where’s the Laughing Buddha?’
‘It’s not for sale.’
‘Of course it’s for sale; it’s the jewel of the collection.’ Grayson looked at her in horror. ‘It’s the one I want.’
Seb’s the one I want... Okay, stop being a complete drip, Dunn, and concentrate. ‘Sorry, Grayson. I gave it away.’
Grayson closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Dear God, you are a basket case. Get it back.’
‘It’s gone. Move on. Make me an offer on these,’ Rowan demanded, exhausted.
She watched as Grayson examined the netsukes again and allowed her mind to wander. She recognised the light of acquisition in his eyes and knew that within a day she’d be a couple of thousand pounds richer than she had been when she’d emptied her bank account a month ago. Good grief, had it only been a month? How could so much have happened in so short a time?
Forcing her mind away from the path it travelled far too frequently straight back to Seb, she tried to make plans on where to go from here. Back to Thailand or west to Canada? Or home to Cape Town.
Every cell in her body reacted when she thought of Cape Town. She didn’t want to go anywhere else. She wanted to go home, to Seb.
Being deported and being broke had catapulted her into a situation where she’d had to slow down, move beyond the good-time surface and come face to face, heart to heart, with another person. With Seb. And she’d loved what she’d found. She’d resisted it, resisted love, with everything she had, and it was hard to admit that freedom didn’t stand a chance against not having Seb in her life.
She loved him. Just loved him with every atom in her body. He was her freedom, the next world she had to discover, understand. He was what had been missing from her life, what she’d been searching for all over the world.
And he was right. She ran when she most needed to stand and fight.
‘Fifty thousand and not a penny more for all of them,’ Grayson said.
Rowan blinked, smiled and held out her hand. ‘Deal. When can I have the money?’
Grayson looked horrified. ‘Rowan, dammit, you are supposed to negotiate! Haven’t I taught you anything?’
‘I know you’re low-balling me, Gray—’ Well, she did now. ‘But I don’t have the time to argue with you. How much do you have on you?’
‘Ten thousand. Okay, I’ll give you sixty,’ Grayson muttered. ‘I’d feel like I was robbing you if you took less.’
Rowan held out her hand. ‘I’ll take the ten and you can transfer the balance into my account as per normal. Maybe by then you’ll realise that you are still screwing me and up the offer again.’