Page 55 of Enemies Under One Roof

He barked out a laugh.

Easy? Far from it.

Gut wrenching. Definitely.

Heart attack inducing. Possibly.

But she was worth taking the ultimate risk. And if she didn’t want him, he’d somehow learn to live with it.

He checked his watch, and with no time to waste, he sprinted to the garage.

* * *

Four and a half hours later his car screeched to a halt outside the five-star London hotel where Annie was staying.

Throwing his car keys and a wad of notes at the valet, he sprinted up the steps into the lobby, hoping she hadn’t already left.

He scanned the room while making for the concierge, until a surge of electricity suddenly shot through him and he pivoted to see Annie exiting a lift.

His heart stalled before recommencing its frantic beat, taking in her yellow dress that fell to midcalf with long bell sleeves flapping at her wrists.

‘Annie!’ he called and raced towards her.

She whipped around, her mouth falling open.

He stopped in front of her, close enough to smell a hint of springtime, see strain around her mouth, the smudge of mascara under her eyes.

‘You’re here?’ she said, fidgeting with her clutch.

‘You don’t have time for this, Ivy,’ the woman beside her, whom he hadn’t even noticed, snapped.

‘She’s not Ivy,’ he bit out.

‘Kirstin! As I’ve already explained to you more than once, you no longer work for me. Excuse me,’ Annie said firmly and turned back to Ethan.

The woman huffed and stormed off.

‘What are you doing in London?’ she asked.

‘I need to speak to you,’ he said.

‘I was on my way to see you,’ she admitted at the same time.

Speaking over each other in a rush, they finally processed each other’s words.

‘You were?’ he asked, afraid he was hearing things.

‘Yes.’ She put her bag under her arm and clasped her hands together.

‘What about the premiere?’ He clenched his hands to hide their tremor.

‘I’m not going.’ She raised her chin.

She wasn’t? Had something happened? Something to do with Ben? Her rigid pose gave no clue. The magnitude of the moment hit, and all the things he wanted to say, that he’d spent the last four and a half hours rehearsing, stuck in his throat, and it wasn’t only due to being in the opulent lobby with a rapt audience.

‘I’ll book a room,’ he said.

‘What?’ she squeaked, and just like she’d telegraphed her thoughts, images of them in bed danced through his memory.