Free Three and a Half Weeks by Lulu Astor Page A

bloody wound healed— albeit covered over with lumpy scar tissue—and my life kept on trucking.
    But now? Now it’s going to start all over again and the only thing left for me to do is answer the phone.
    I pick it up on the fourth ring. “Ian.”
    I can hear the tremor in my voice so clearly—can he?
    There’s a moment of… not silence but emptiness, as if the single word, his name, needs to travel across a great divide of emotional distance.
    “Hello, Ariel. Is this a convenient time for you to speak?”
    Exhale. Inhale. Breathe, you idiot. “Yes, fine.”
    “Good. I trust that you are well?”
    I try to laugh, keep things light but it sounds more like something’s lodged in my esophagus. “As well as can be expected, considering the circumstances.”
    “Yes. My attorney provided me with your number, informing me that you and I are to meet to discuss the matter between the two of us. Is that plan agreeable to you?”
    “It is.”
    “I was given to understand that you are no longer residing in Portland?”
    “Correct. I’m currently in Los Angeles.”
    “Ah. Would it be terribly inconvenient for you to make a trip to Oregon? I could send my corporate jet to pick you up?”
    “ That will work. Yes, fine. Are we still on for tomorrow evening?”
    “If that’s acceptable to you, then yes.”
    So polite, agreeable even, but that’s how he sucks his prey into his lair to ravage, isn’t it? “Okay. So how do I… where do I meet the plane?”
    “I’ll have the pilot text you with the flight information tomorrow morning. You should plan on leaving Los Angeles no later than two o’clock. It’s about a three-hour flight, and you’ll want time to check into a hotel and get changed, I presume… Unless you’d care to stay with me?”
    “No,” I say far too quickly, hearing him laugh quietly in the background. Damn him, he said that just to get my back up and I fell for it. I should have accepted—that would show him.
    “Well, then, if you could text me with your hotel information, I will pick you up at 7:45 so we could make an 8:00 reservation. Agreed?”
    “No, just text me the name and address of the restaurant. I’ll meet you there.”
    “If you prefer. I’ll have my driver pick you up at your hotel and deposit you at the restaurant.”
    Deposit me? As if I’m a check to be cashed? But I suppose in a way I am some kind of deferred payment for his trials over my silly little book. “I’ll check for the flight information first thing tomorrow.”
    “Very good. I’m looking forward …”
    I disconnect the call without saying goodbye. My heart is hammering in my chest, my hands are so sweaty that my phone is slipping out of my grasp, and I think I might regurgitate my salad any minute now. In just about twenty-four hours, I get to see him again. It should feel like an onerous burden—after all, the man is suing me. But all I can think of is how much I want to see him, kiss him, hold him… and my very next thought is—what the hell am I going to wear? I’ll have to go shopping tomorrow morning.”

Chapter 7

    Pierre has a room ready for Ian when he arrives at the restaurant. What he really would have preferred was to host the dinner at his house but he knew Ella wouldn’t feel comfortable with that arrangement. Not now. Still, their discussion required discretion and privacy so he selected the French restaurant for its private dining rooms.
    “Is this acceptable, Mr. Blackmon?” the maître d’ is annoyingly fawning.
    “Yes,” he answers tersely, “it will do nicely. When my companion arrives, please ensure she is directed to join me here. Her name is Ariel Strong.”
    “Very good, sir. I’ll send a waiter up immediately to take your drink order.”
    Ian nods at the man and pretends to look at the menu, effectively dismissing him. I’m nervous , he realizes with some small amount of shock. When was the last time I felt this out of control? Was it when she left me? I’ve never