It was a struggle to get this done in time. Thanks to my editor and my Fibby. You guys helped me so much more than you ever know with your encouragement and suggestions. To the rest of the people following my tale, thank you for your support and kindness these last few weeks. It means the world to me. I really to feel blessed to be part of such a special group of people.
As for our dear couple, I only write happy ever afters. I have not decided if this will have four more chapters or 8 more. It depends on how much I want to stretch out the angst. I have another two chapters complete before I hit the point of my writer's block. I have been writing the last few days, but nothing all that exciting. I still haven't decided where to go after Chapter 11 - so many decisions :) I do hope you enjoy!
Girl Is On Fire Chapter 9 Part 1 -
"Seven whole days and not a word from you.
Seven whole nights and I'm just about thru.
I can't take it, won't take it.
Can't take it no more. " Toni Braxton
Elizabeth woke up the next morning after her fight with Darcy with eyes salty from crying. Raising a hand to her brow shielding her eyes, she sat up slowly. She felt as if she had been baked in an oven. Over-warmed. When she had gone to sleep the previous night, she had forgotten to pull the blinds on the only window in the small den. She blinked a few times at the bright sunlight streaming into the room. It shouldn't be here. The sun shouldn't even be up yet. But, it was. And, from its position, it had been for a while. She grabbed her cell phone in confusion. It was well after nine. There were no messages or missed calls.
Elizabeth moved into the kitchen. As she brewed her morning coffee, she checked the clock on the microwave in the kitchen and the one in the bathroom above the sink when she brushed her teeth. Darcy always called. Every morning. Promptly at six-thirty. No matter where he was in the world, no matter who he was with, and no matter how much they'd fought the previous day. No matter what. It had been that way since she'd signed his infernal contract. Not hearing his voice made her feel odd. It had become a part of her daily routine. It was hard to get started without it.
Certainly, he couldn't still be mad about yesterday morning?
As soon as Elizabeth had the thought, she dismissed it. This was William Darcy. The recording mogul, millionaire, a man use to dating movie stars and famous women. Like he would really be upset about anything to do with her. She was inconsequential to him. Besides, no previous argument had ever stopped his morning call. In was not in his nature to hold a grudge. He'd never stayed mad at her previously.
No, something else must have kept him from returning her call. Maybe Darcy didn't recognize her new number when she called him yesterday. She knew how busy he was, how many interruptions he endured, how many people called him on his private line on any given day. It was possible that he hadn't had time to check his voicemail. After all, he had Yvette lined up for his night's entertainment. Maybe his night had spilled over to the morning? Imagining him doing what he had to her with such enthusiasm to another woman made her uncomfortably queasy.
For the rest of the day, Elizabeth developed an unnatural sensitivity to the ring tone of her new phone. Just when she was convinced it wasn't working properly, Dr. Tanner's office and then her father got through to her. Besides those, though, her phone remained frustratingly quiet. Before the bar opened for the evening, she called him again.
"Hey, it's me." She paused feeling awkward talking to his voicemail. Usually, he picked up when she called. "Look, I'm helping out behind the bar tonight at The Hole. Why don't you stop by? I'll even buy you a drink." She playfully added, "I'll even splurge on one of those fruity ones with the umbrella to remind you of Cabo. Anyway, stop by, or call me." She paused, then added honestly, "It was strange not hearing from you today."
On the third day, she met with Dr. Tanner, who informed her she was halfway to her goal weight. She made it to the lobby before fishing out her phone. She excitedly told his voicemail. "Hey, stranger! You were the first person I thought to call. Let's celebrate! Maybe Stan's? Tonight? I'll even treat. Though, there will not be any desert! No, siree! Well, I could be talked into a small piece. . . ." She stopped as she exited to the street. She frowned. Had it really only been three days since she'd heard from him? It felt so much longer. "Even if you don't want to go to Stan's, call me back, okay? I'm starting to worry about you."
On the fourth day, Elizabeth received a large package via courier as she was setting up the bar with Daisy. A large package from one William Darcy. Even though Malcolm was curious about its contents, she rushed upstairs to the apartment to open it in private. He'd never sent her a present before, and she looked at it with all the enthusiasm of Christmas morning. Thrilled, she grabbed some scissors from the kitchen and opened the plain, brown wrapper. Inside, she discovered were her light blue pajamas, freshly washed, and several items that she'd left behind from the purchases Georgiana made for her. She searched the contents looking for a note. There wasn't one. Confused, she called him again.
A fifth day turned into a sixth and then a week without a word from Darcy. Elizabeth had been slow but finally got his message loud and clear. She wouldn't call him again. The next move was his. If he wanted to talk to her, he would just have to call her. After all, it would occur to him eventually that they had recorded an album together and that he'd need her help promoting it, right?
However, Elizabeth's decision did nothing to stop the fact she missed Darcy. The sound of his voice, his opinions, his moodiness, even the irritating way he thought himself above other people. The arrogance and confidence was an integral part of him. Somehow, he had seeped into her life and infected her. He'd become the voice of reason in her mind.
After a week without hearing from him, she even missed their arguments.
The nights were the worst. Lying alone in the dark without the convenient distractions of the day, Elizabeth's mind replayed their night together - every kiss, each caress, all of the compliments in his low baritone. It was torment. When she was able to sleep, she had disturbingly realistic dreams of him. Sometimes they were at the studio. Sometimes they were at her old apartment. But, most of the dreams, were at his penthouse.
Elizabeth had to put him from her mind until he reached out to her.
That feat was easier said than done. Darcy seemed literally everywhere. Watching American Idol with the fellas, the guest singer featured was Salvatore. He was fresh out of rehab and spoke candidly about his experience. His popularity with teenagers and young people had made his denouncement of drugs and alcohol more effective than any public service announcement. He raved about the support that was given to him by Darcy Records in general, William Darcy specifically. He credited the man for his salvation and putting him on the path of his sobriety.
At the grocery store to buy items for the bar with Daisy, Elizabeth found herself facing a picture of Darcy dressed impeccably in one of his fitted three-piece suits on the front page of the Wall Street Journal in the checkout lane. An article titled "Will Darcy's Ship Comes In Again!" was about his investment in some fledgling shipping company, based out of Atlanta, which had made him a huge profit when the company went public recently. Elizabeth didn't understand much of the technical jargon used, but she read with interest what the CEO Fred Wentworth said about him.
"The best piece of luck I ever had was being roommates with Will Darcy in college. He gave me the two greatest gifts in my life: seed money to buy my first boat and a reintroduction to my wife, Anne. He has been, and always will be, a man I admire and respect. A truer friend would be hard to find."
A week later, at the dentist's office, the woman who sat across from her was reading an old issue of In Touch. Prominently displayed on the cover was a picture of Darcy escorting Aubrey Richardson to her Italian premiere. Elizabeth buried her face in Sports Illustrated, but the minute the woman was called, she swapped out magazines greedily reading the article.
The opening paragraphs were devoted to Darcy's confirmed bachelor status. Over the years, she read eagerly, many women had tried to tame the notorious bachelor but all had failed miserably. Along the margin of the page were a collection of headshots of several famous females who had attempted the feat. Looking at them, it was no wonder his ego was the size of Texas!
The writer of the article indicated sources inside Darcy's inner sanctum had confirmed that he and Aubrey were dating. This time it appeared serious. Elizabeth mulled over this information. Clearly, the starlet was the reason for his visit to Italy, but Darcy had never spoken of the women in her presence except for when he made his travel plans with Maggie. Elizabeth recalled Esme's comments from the night she sang Collide for the first time. Was this beauty the woman who had been the source of Darcy's misery? The woman who had made it past all of his barriers? The timing definitely fit.
The last paragraphs speculated that Ms. Richardson was definitely the sort of woman who could threaten Darcy's resolve to remain single. Elizabeth could well believe it. The actress was stunning. An Academy Award nominee, she was talented and the embodiment of womanly perfection—full lips, slender waist, long bony legs, and artificial, gravity-defying breasts. Yeah, she was definitely his type, all right. The women probably hadn't eaten a carb in years!
Quite unexpectedly, all the insecurities Elizabeth ever felt since Darcy had offered his initial assessment of her surfaced. Anger coiled within her stomach. With women like this chasing him, there was no way their argument could have caused his silence. No reason for him to punish her so. When she was called in for her cleaning, she dropped the magazine in the trash receptacle where it belonged.
*(*(*
"Will, I - I shouldn't have said what I said this morning. It was mean and unfair. Even though we quarreled, you mean a great deal to me. I wouldn't have everything I've ever wanted if it weren't for you." Elizabeth didn't have to be so brutally honest. He had no illusions of his importance in her life. Their argument in his penthouse had provided him a clarity he had been lacking. Her empty platitudes hurt. He didn't want her gratitude. Nor did he want a half-assed apology that sounded very much like an after-thought. Had he really mattered to her at all?
His finger hovered over the delete button, but he could not bring himself to press it, to shut the door on her voice, to hear her say his name. Instead, he pressed the prompt for the next message. "Hey, it's me. Look, I'm helping out behind the bar tonight at The Hole. Why don't you stop by? I'll even buy you a drink. I'll even splurge on one of those fruity ones with the umbrella to remind you of Cabo. Anyway, stop by, or call me. It was strange not hearing from you today." Cabo? He had wanted to take her there with him. Elizabeth on the beach, frolicking in the surf, fucking in his bed.
Darcy didn't need her to buy his drinks. He poured himself another. He knew he was drunk. For days, he had been. Another drink. Another message. "Hey, stranger! You were the first person I thought to call. Let's celebrate! Maybe Stan's? Tonight?" He didn't think he'd be able to go back there. How did she not realize how special she was to him? The increasing need to be with her. His jealousy. The desire to do anything to make her happy. "I'll even treat. Though, there will not be any desert! No, siree! Well, I could be talked into a small piece. . ." It reminded him of their dinner. Her flirtation.
"Do you like it?" Her smoky eyes were wide, her lips curled into the most seductive smile. Her voice husky with desire for him. "Do you want another bite, Will?"
Darcy threw back a shot and grimaced. No matter how much he drank the memory of her would not drown. He wanted that night at Stan's back. Or, the following morning at her apartment. It had been in that stairwell at that dump, he had realized startling that he wanted to be with her. Not like he normally wanted a woman. It was where he had told her how he felt for the first time.
The message continued. "Call me back, okay? I'm starting to worry about you." She was worried about him? Unlikely. She was probably worried he wasn't going to release her album. That he would let his personal feelings dictate his business decisions. He ran a hand through his hair. His first reaction was to destroy the cursed CD. Ruin her happiness as she had his. Of course, he couldn't do it. He couldn't trash the only link they had together. Their music. Forever twined.
How could he call her? How could he pretend that she had not shattered him? He couldn't talk to her until he was able to hide this - overwhelming emptiness - and could match the casual air she projected. And, that was something he could not do. Yet.
Another message. "Hey, I got my clothes." Georgie had sent them to her. He laughed bitterly at the memory of his sister's reaction to his news of his fight with Elizabeth. His timid, sweet sister had become someone else in those moments. A defensive lioness and he her cub. "I know you're really busy, but I didn't hear back from you about Stan's. Maybe we could do lunch at the bistro? We haven't been in what feels like ages. What do you think?"
The bistro? Was she deliberately trying to drive him insane bringing up every spot they had gone together? Cruelly remind him, as if he could ever forget, all their special places. Places where he had over time, unconsciously, surrendered pieces of his heart to her. How had he not known what was happening to him? How she had become so important? So vital?
Darcy had written of heartbreak, but he never fully comprehended the concept. His fingers rested on the keys of the instrument before him. They moved aimlessly from memory before he realized he was playing the introduction of Start of Something Good and stopped. Swaying, he stood up from the piano bench. There was no reason to stay here. The music had silenced, as suddenly as it had started, the day he threw Elizabeth out of his penthouse. He shuffled into the great room pausing, seeing her specter everywhere. Cold, shaken on his couch when she arrived. Naked and pliant in his bed. Angry and ashamed when she left.
"Maybe I should hear all the rules? Isn't this the time for them?" Disgust had contorted her beautiful face. She had been disgusted by their night together. "Or do you usually tell the woman before you fuck them how you're going to fuck them over." He had tried to explain. They hadn't fucked. He had made love to her. She'd laughed in his face. "Someone like you isn't capable of loving a woman!"
Elizabeth was wrong. He was capable of loving a woman. One woman. Her. Their night together had been magical. For him. He'd always enjoyed having sex. Enjoyed bringing a woman to completion. Everyone knew cumming felt fantastic.
But loving her was so very different from sex with others.
What had happened in his bed between the two of them was not only a physical exercise. He'd felt connected to Elizabeth. He had made love to her. For the first time in his life, he understood what that sentiment was like. He'd woken that morning a changed man. Unrecognizable from what he had been before their first kiss. He accepted his feelings were not a passing fancy. Gradually, so gradually he had not noticed, he had fallen deeply in love with the siren.
Memories from that morning assaulted him. Her curled around him, her body warm and soft, and he could do nothing for a long time but watch her sleep. The wonder of her. He knew he'd never be the same. He had been incandescently happy for those few short hours. Feelings of euphoria of spending such a perfect night with her.
To know, she had such a different opinion of their night rattled him. A different opinion of not just their night, he corrected himself, but their entire relationship. While he had been falling in love, she had been what? Putting up with him? Humoring him? Suffering him?
Their argument was fuzzy in places, but he remembered her answer when he asked if she regretted their night together. It was seared into his heart. "Yes, I regret it! Women are just conquests, games to you. None of them mean anything to you. I don't want what you are offering, Will. You'd be the last man in the world that I would have sex with if I was in my right mind."
Elizabeth thought women didn't mean anything to him. By extension, she didn't mean anything. How could she believe that? He pulled at his curls. Maybe it was a blessing that she didn't know how much she meant to him. What did it matter? She didn't want him. She had been ashamed of their night together. She had wanted it forgotten, kept a secret.
He threw his glass against the wall watching it splinter like the organ in his chest. Immediately, he regretted doing it. He could hear Georgie approaching. He wiped at his tears, trying to conceal them, but more took their place. The sympathy in his sister's eyes was devastating all its own. He screwed his own shut so he wouldn't have to see it, but he felt her arms around him as she steered him toward a sofa. Sitting side by side, for the first time in William Darcy's life, he allowed his sister to comfort him as he sobbed uncontrollably in her arms.
*)*)*)*
By the end of two weeks, Elizabeth felt she was losing her mind. The apartment was the gathering point for so many. There was nowhere to escape from either Malcolm, Phillip, workers at the bar, members of the band, or the friends of her popular hosts who just dropped by. There was no place to just think. The walls felt like they were growing smaller with each passing day. It was not the fellas. She adored them. She appreciated the fact they had taken her in, but she knew it was time for her to find her own place.
In receipt of the settlement from her renter's insurance, Elizabeth began her search in earnest. It turned out to be much harder than she anticipated. While she had the money for a deposit and the first six months' rent, the apartment buildings she now considered suitable—ones with working smoke alarms, adequate security—wouldn't rent to someone who didn't have a dependable source of income. Regardless of the fact she was under contract with Darcy Records, she was unfortunately considered too much of a credit risk.
Depressed by the experience and under the influence of several strong Cosmos, Elizabeth broke down and told Darcy's voicemail all about it. She spoke to his machine as if she were speaking to him. She wanted to be funny, tried to be amusing, but upon reflection the following morning, strongly suspected she ended up being nothing short of pathetic. By the time Phillip had coaxed her from the den with his homemade hangover cure the following afternoon, she was surprised to find that she had several missed calls on her cell phone.
"Your dad again?" Malcolm asked, as she took off the last of the messages.
"No." Though it was a good guess. Since the fire, her dad called almost every day, trying to convince her to come home. "It was actually one of the property managers. They're offering me an apartment."
"That's great, Lizzy. Which one?"
"All of them." She held up the notepad where she'd made a list of her calls. "Every single last one of them."
While Elizabeth had slept, she had miraculously transformed into the ideal tenant. Each of the property managers who had rejected her had left the same sort of message for her within a few minutes of one another. Nothing would make them happier than to rent to her. She could, whenever convenient, come by and pick up keys. To any unit. Any time. It would be their pleasure to lease to her. Could she please give them a call back?
Malcolm took the notepad, whistled and handed it back to her. "Well, your Mr. Darcy certainly had a busy morning."
"He's not my Mr. Darcy." How pathetic was she that she couldn't even obtain a lease by herself?
"If you say so." Malcolm brushed his long hair in the mirror in the hallway. He insisted the light was better there than anywhere else in the apartment. Looking over his shoulder at her, he added seriously, "You know, maybe I was too quick to dislike him. Really, he can't be as bad as I thought when there doesn't seem to be anything he won't do for you. All you have to do is ask."
"I didn't ask him for his help. " If they were on friendly terms, Elizabeth would have been happy for his intervention. But, now? It was only proof he had gotten all her calls, had listened to them, but simply wasn't returning them. He obviously had interfered on her behalf. She just didn't understand. Why would he have gone to such trouble if he was still mad at her? It didn't make sense. "I don't even know how he knew who to contact since I didn't tell him which apartments I went to look at."
"Who cares how he found out? Girl, you won the lottery, snagging a man like him! Don't you know that? I say, take advantage of his help and then run over to his office in something that flaunts your ta-tas. Then, repay the favor and let him take advantage of you in person." Malcolm, of course, demonstrated what he meant for her. "Maybe he'll arrange to furnish your new place too if you play your cards right! At least, get you a decent bed. I'm sure he wouldn't mind breaking a new one in. It had to have been difficult on that futon."
She was appalled. "It's not like that between Will and me!"
"Uh huh." Malcolm winked at her, unaware of her thoughts. "One day, you're going to spill all about you and him. A man like him surely does not disappoint."
"There's nothing to spill because nothing happened between us," Elizabeth lied quickly. A little too quickly from the knowing expression on her friend's face.
Excusing herself, she returned to her makeshift bedroom, shut the door quietly behind her, and drew the curtains across the room's one small window. When the fellas assumed she was feeling the after effects of the alcohol she consumed the night before, she did not correct them. Nothing seemed to help her current mood more than remaining in the dark space for the rest of the day.
Elizabeth kept looking at the display on her cell phone, willing Darcy to call her. What she wouldn't give to hear him telling her about some boring meeting, or how his day was going, or just simply yell at her. She just wanted to hear his voice. Have him back in her life. Rolling on her side, she knew one thing for certain. The bubble of excitement of finding her own place had popped.
That evening after the bar closed, Malcolm lured her from her bed with her favorite treat, ice cream sandwiches from the nearby Melt Bakery. She made a late dinner of not one, but two, of the delectable treats. When she reached for a third, she stopped. Knowing it was unhealthy to deal with her grief, and it felt so much like grief, she called Sierra.
It wasn't so bad getting back to her normal exercise routine. Sierra only mentioned Darcy's absence once, and then never brought it up again. It had nothing to do with the fact that the one time she'd asked after him, Elizabeth had burst out crying. Right in the middle of the gym. Right in the middle of her workout. Poor Sierra had to guide her to the office, kicked out a perturbed Pike, locked them both in, and waited until Elizabeth regained her composure.
When she was done, Sierra didn't mince her words. "He may pay my salary, but Will Darcy is an absolute asshole!"
"No, he's not. Well, not always. Just sometimes." Elizabeth laughed through her tears then shook her head. "Sometimes, he's the best friend I've ever had. I think he understands me more than I understand myself."
"Then, what's the problem?" Sierra frowned, sincerely worried for her. "Whenever you're here together, he can't take his eyes off of you. It's rather noticeable. I always thought you were crazy for not giving him more encouragement when clearly he—"
Raising a hand, Elizabeth was pretty sure that she'd lost his regard, if she ever truly had it. "Can we please talk about something else?"
Sierra looked like she'd rather pursue the subject, but nodded. To distract her, her trainer suggested that they discuss changes she wanted to make to the current exercise regimen. At her suggestion, they supplemented her workouts with some of the classes offered at the gym. Elizabeth attended a cycling and a Pilates class in addition to her other five hour sessions before that second week was over. Her endurance was improving.
It was at the gym running on the treadmill when she heard Stronger on the radio for the first time. She was so used to it that it took a moment to realize that the song wasn't coming from within her memory, but actually from the speakers mounted in the ceiling. Shocked, she tripped and was nearly thrown backwards.
"Lizzy, are you okay," Sierra said, helping her regain her footing.
"That's me! On the radio. That's me singing!"
Sierra cocked her ear to the speaker and listened to the words, and then she had Pike turned up the volume. Elizabeth stood in a room full of New Yorkers exercising but felt nothing but painful isolation. The song could only remind her of Darcy. The look he gave her after it was recorded.
Later, the song came on again on her way home on the subway—by caller's request—while she was surrounded entirely by strangers. By the time Elizabeth reached The Hole, she'd heard it a total of three times on two different stations. She called him, then Georgiana, then Richard, reaching voice mail on each but hung up without leaving a message. It may have been for the best since she couldn't put into words all that she wanted to say to them.
The following morning, her phone rang blissfully at six-thirty.
The sound was so welcomed and her relief so profound that Elizabeth nearly broke her neck, falling off the couch and banging her shin against the coffee table, trying to reach it before it rolled to voicemail. She answered breathlessly, "Will?"
"Oh. My. God!" her younger sisters shrieked loudly and collectively into the phone. They told her excitedly that all the radio stations in Cincinnati were playing her song and that the local callers had just the night before voted it a hot track.
The disappointment at not hearing Darcy's voice on the line made it hard to stomach the incessant screaming and talking of all three of her sisters at once. After their call, she'd crawled back into her bed where she cried herself back to sleep.
How much longer was he going to punish her? Going to ignore her?
Later that same week as she was helping with opening with the bar, Elizabeth was informed by Doty that Ryan Seacrest had announced Stronger was number 20 on America's Top 40. She hugged her tightly, swinging her around. Elizabeth faked enthusiasm. After all, they had all worked hard on the album. Their success was intertwined with hers.
Reading from his cell phone, Ricky added that her single was the highest debut by a new artist in the last four years. I-tunes was reporting record sales. For the rest of that day and night, she accepted the congratulations of the regulars at The Hole as she helped Phillip behind the bar. Each time someone mentioned the song it was like picking at a scab. It had been their song. They'd done it together. Several patrons begged her to take to the stage and sing the popular song live for them, but she declined since it would have been a violation of her contract with Darcy Records.
That's not to say that Elizabeth wasn't singing. She was. Before the bar opened each day, she practiced with The Hole House making sure she they stayed sharp, kept their timing tight. She had become the task master - hearing his voice in her head, forever correcting the small errors they made. Forcing them to become better. Preparing for the eventual call when Darcy decided it was time for her to promote their album.
It was in one of these sessions that Ricky suggested they create a dance version of Stronger. When paired with a fast pace drumbeat and his sound techno effects, the song went from being a beautiful, inspirational song for women everywhere, to a club anthem. While Elizabeth liked both versions, she favored the original. Their version. Even though she gave Max a wide birth, she enjoyed collaborating with the others.
According to the disc jockey on Fresh 102.7, plans were going forward with the release of her CD, slated for the first week of December. She was glad to be informed. Curiously, no one from Darcy Records had been in contact with her. Shouldn't she be doing something for the release? Darcy should be breathing down her neck, demanding she promote the album, working her to bone-weary exhaustion. No matter what he felt personally for her, he was a business man. He liked to make money as much as he liked to bed women!
Feeling despondent and needing a cheering up, Elizabeth called Charlotte.
"Maybe he's working with another artist?" Her best friend suggested to explain Darcy's unnatural silence. That was a possibility. He probably went from one artist to another like his romances. "When Darcy was producing you, he was always with you, right? He could just be too busy to call you back because he's trying to get the best out of another performer. Think about it. When he thought you needed his help getting an apartment, he gave it to you, without asking, didn't he?"
"That's true." She chewed at her finger nail, then stopped, aware that several were down to the quick. Her manicure was ruined.
"Lizzy, from what you've told me about Darcy, it doesn't make sense he'd give you such a cold shoulder without a real reason." Elizabeth hadn't shared the time at his penthouse with Charlotte. She hadn't talked to anyone about it. She held back a sob. It was times like this that she missed Jane desperately. She'd know what to do. The line was quiet for a long time. "You asked him to give you some time after the CD was finished. Maybe, everyone is giving it to you? Perhaps, you should just tell him you are ready to get back to work."
Elizabeth realized that she'd never indicated that she was ready to get back to work. Their last conversations, prior to the incidents surrounding her fire, were all about her getting time to herself. Could that be it? It felt strangely like she was clutching at straws.
The next day Elizabeth headed to Darcy Records. She decided it was up to her to make this effort. After her behavior at his penthouse, she deserved to be the one who extended the olive branch to him. Swallowed her pride. Be the professional he had always demanded from her.
Instead of being waved passed as usual, the building security guard, a bulky man with a sweet voice named Jacob, seemed sorry when he stopped her. After finding out Elizabeth didn't have an appointment, he informed her that Mr. Darcy didn't accept visitors without one. He had to ring up to her employer's office to see if anyone was available to see her. The line was answered somewhere, he was transferred, a short conversation took place with someone, Jacob apologized more than once before being placed on hold, and the two stared uncomfortably at one another.
Someone else came to the line, and Jacob was given further instructions. Sighing, he hung up the line, looked away from her, and dialed another number. The routine repeated, a conversation centered around a Ms. Stein and the fact she was out of the office. He was routed to another person, and then he handed the phone to her.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that Mr. Darcy isn't available to see visitors today. If you want to leave your name and number with me, I'll make sure he gets your message." Maggie sounded every bit the part of a disinterested secretary of a man whose time was in high demand. She'd never been put through to his secretary before. "Hello? Are you still there?"
"It's not necessary, Maggie. He has my number."
"Elizabeth?" So much pity was relayed in that one word.
She twisted the telephone cord around her finger, aware Jacob was watching her sympathetically. She willed herself not to cry. Not here. Not in the lobby of his building where everyone could see.
His people had to do this every day. Dealt with those he didn't wish to see. She remembered vividly how Darcy dispatched his mail at his receptionist desk each morning. This is what it felt like to be in the 'not interested' pile. To be discarded. Just how many broken hearted women had waited in the lobby while she'd been blissfully unaware at his side all those days? All those weeks? Months?
"Let me try his line again. He can't know you're here."
They both knew that wasn't true. There was little point in pretending it was. "Maggie, he knows."
"Let me tell him you want to see him! It's been so long since you were last here and," her voice dropped to a whisper, "he's not been himself these last few weeks. Let me tell him you've come to talk to him. Let me —"
"No!" Elizabeth already appeared pathetic. She wouldn't have his secretary beg him on her behalf. She gave the message she had come to relay. "Can you tell him I heard my song on the radio? Let him know I'm ready to do whatever he wants to promote the album. He has my number, if and when, he wants to use it. Goodbye, Maggie." Without waiting for a response, she handed the phone back to Jacob, gave him a warm smile, and left the building with her head held high.
Her bravado did not last very long.
On the subway, Elizabeth found a seat in the rear of the train and doubled over at her waist. She felt sick. Hurt all over. From the inside, out. Darcy didn't want to see her. He didn't want to talk to her. He no longer wanted to have anything to do with her. His parting words rose from her subconscious.
"I can't stand the sight of you."
He had meant it!
As the train traveled through the tunnel beneath the city she loved, Elizabeth finally admitted that she'd never taken his feelings into consideration at all. While she knew sex meant little more than a handshake to him, she should have explained herself better that morning. If he was one thing, William Darcy was a proud man. A caring man. A sensual man. For one night, no man could have been more perfect. He'd been charmingly concerned before his detour into such unexpected passion. Their night together. She'd never forget it. Never. She touched a finger to her lips remembering the feel of his against her own, then she chastised herself for such indulgence.
The swirling emotions inside her solidified into anger. Anger not at him, but herself. Deep down she had known he was avoiding her. Thinking back on that morning, how had she expected him to react? Her treatment of him had been infamous. He was a man, after all, and she'd rejected him. Quite thoroughly. Insulted him. While her reaction was not so much about him as it was an acknowledgement of her own limitations, he did not know that. He didn't know that she had to push him away - had to escape him - before she did the one thing she could not afford to do. She could not fall in love with him. A man like him was not meant for a woman like her. She had missed her opportunity to explain how she felt.
But, pulling a pen from her purse, Elizabeth could explain herself now. Even if he wouldn't listen to her, she could write about it. She found a scrap piece of paper and began to work through her emotions. The confusion. The passion. The fear. The mistake of that morning. What had worked so well for her in the past, would work again. It simply had to. She had lost her songbooks to the fire, but that didn't mean she couldn't write more. It didn't mean she couldn't write different songs. She could still pour herself into music.