S H A D E S

She's Mine

Bone weary, I dropped my purse on the end table near the front door and leaned bodily against it. What a fucking day, I thought miserably. For the rest of the afternoon I had Paul's little tirade whiplashing through my head until I was emotionally and mentally exhausted.

I'd been pressed to the edge of my limits after my morning talk with Collin and wound up taking it out on him. When I'd left my office to look for him and say as much, Paul was nowhere to be found. His computer was off, his chair tucked in neat to his tidy little desk. But no letter, I thought with a measure of relief. He was likely half way to London by now and already into...sightseeing. Tuesday. He would be back on Tuesday. I'd straighten matters out with him when he returned next week.

Checking my phone, I frowned at the lack of communication from Tristan. His meeting request had prompted more than a few questions, which I wanted answered. Immediately. The only explanation he cared to give was a single email sent shortly after Paul swept out of my office in a snit.

And it contained five meager words.

I need some space. Trust me.

The request for some time alone wasn't a problem, or an issue. We'd spent almost every night for the last three weeks together; a breather was absolutely appreciated and welcomed. Where I hadn't been concerned before, the ominous tone left something to be desired. After the evening of the film fest, between clashing schedules and late evenings at the office, we hadn't had much time or opportunity for much...sightseeing.

Was the timing for this an indication of something bigger? More disconcerting? Or perhaps I was only being sensitive and over analytical. I'd never considered myself one to pry or to push for answers or attention. He'd come around on his own. And I had enough on my plate right now then to spend unnecessary and needless energy stressing over Tristan Shade and a million what if's. So instead of heading over to his place with confrontation and demands, I came home.

To the quiet, empty and silence.

I'd put in a long day, to prolong the inevitable of facing my empty apartment, the last hour immersed in a late night conference call with Nishizawa. I was still circling the drain. Closer, but not quite there. After a solid week of burning the candle at both ends for most of the week I wanted nothing more than a large, chilled glass of something alcoholic right—a heavy-handed knock rattled the door at my back.

"F-cking hell." I cocked my wrist, read the time in the mother of pearl face. Almost midnight. Whatever—whoever it was, I wasn't in the mood. And yanked it open to say as much, when my breath and voice squeaked out in a gasp.

"Anthony?"

Bloodshot eyes lifted and he lurched forward, feet heavy. "Laura." With the forward momentum of his body came a rush of acrid booze. The sharp scent of malt coat my tongue in a slick, burning layer that made my eyes water. He pushed past me with a thrust of his shoulder, knocking me back a step.

"Changed the place," he said, words thick and slurred. His normally perfectly coifed dark hair was unwashed and longer then I'd ever seen it. His clothes had the distinctly rumpled look of a man who'd slept in it for a day. Or two, judging the underlying hint of body odor.

I glanced at him, shifted my attention to my door and wondered if I had enough strength in me to haul him back and throw him out. We were matched in height, and I knew I was strong for my size, thanks to my devoted and strict workout regimen. But alcohol and temper, both emanating from Anthony in gut roiling waves, could give him an edge.

 I turned to face him, but kept my door open behind me. I wasn't about to seal myself in a room with him, even if that room happened to be in my own home.