Do Not Respond Read online

  DO NOT RESPOND

  Not for resale or redistribution

  © 2018 M. R. Field

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and are coincidental. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All products mentioned in this book belong to their rightful owners.

  I do not claim any of these products to be my own.

  'Any song’s’ lyrics used are not affiliated with the author.

  Edited by Lauren Clarke

  https://www.facebook.com/pg/LaurenClarkeEditing

  Proofread by Faye Gemmellaro, Gaelle Pain, and Eva Lenoir

  Formatted by Max Effect

  www.formaxeffect.com

  And by Down Write Nuts

  www.facebook.com/pg/downwritenutsbooks/

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  To Cindy,

  From coffee to cocktails, I wouldn’t have Cole without you. I hope he makes you smile.

  Love, Mez x

  To Junis,

  Who has been with me from the start of my writing journey. I couldn’t do it without you.

  Love, Mez x

  As always, it takes a village to help create a novel. I am so grateful to each and every person who has helped me on this journey.

  To my husband for keeping the kids occupied while I finished various parts of Cole and Letty’s journey. Special shout out to my mum for being there for me too. Thanks also to my family and friends for coming along this ride with me, again.

  Thank you to Hang for an incredible cover. You captured the idea of Cole beautifully and made my standalone amazing.

  To Lauren for your flawless editing and constant belief in my craft. Thank you for believing in me.

  For Max for your stunning formatting and answering all my pestering questions.

  To Jennifer for coming to my rescue and making my novel look amazing.

  To Junis for your insight, love and friendship. Thank you for being my ultimate beta. I am so grateful.

  For Anja for your attention to detail, pushing me to do and be better. You absolutely nailed it.

  To Faye for your care and faith in my novel. You are a beautiful soul.

  To Eva, Gaelle, Eli and Nicola for keeping me on track and motivating me. Nailed it!

  To Kylie and the gang at Give Me Books, thank you for helping to promote my novel!

  To Joseph, Ben, Amy, Nancy, Charlotte, Tara, Barb, Celine, Jill, Lisa, Tamara, Bex, for your various input to DNR, whether it be character profile questions or coffee shops in Toronto. Thanks for your contributions.

  To my reader group- Thank you Lo’fers for cheering me on and supporting me! You rock! #Nutella

  To my tribe- you gals are the best. Thanks for keeping me sane and being freaking incredible. You made me stronger this past year. We’ve got this. #FT

  Thank you to the various authors, bloggers and fans who reached out to me and have supported my novels. I adore you! Your reviews make my heart sing.

  Thank you to the readers both new and old, for giving my novels a chance.

  Authors appreciate reviews. Please consider leaving one.

  Letty

  The lights flicker across his face, and despite the darkness in the club, I know it’s him. I’ve known those eyes my entire life. How did he find me?

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I shriek as he walks closer to me. The strobe lights flicker along his face and his shoulders sway slightly, highlighting his movements as he strides with predator-like intent, narrowing the gap between us. The beams of light shadow and flash against his features. Strong jaw, striking eyes, and smooth lips. The longing I have for him intensifies, sending a pang so forcefully to my chest that I can’t help but feel breathless. I swallow, curling my fingers around my drink, secretly urging my need to touch his unshaven jaw to die down. The sensations that his mouth used to give me scramble my thoughts. Hot breath, heavy pants, fingers gripping me …

  No way. You will not do this to me again.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” He moves entirely into my space until all I see and smell is him.

  “I don’t want you here,” I seethe through gritted teeth. His aftershave lingers between us, causing a thrum to beat under my skin.

  “If you really felt that way, I would have never received that email.” His lips tilt up in a grin.

  “Like that matters in the grand scheme of things.” I step back, too tempted by his close proximity. I can’t have him touch me.

  “It does to me. You wanted a grand gesture.” He opens his arms out widely, taking up too much room around him. People near us begin to stare. “Well, here it is!” he shouts, and my face reddens. His eyes sparkle with hope as he stares back at me.

  “I can’t.” I turn my head, my heart thundering within my chest. Once, I would have gone willingly. But that was before he ignored any chance of there being an us.

  His bitter words resurface. “I blamed you. I hated you so much.” I shudder as I stare down at the floor. Each bitter memory builds on the last, and aches, as he continues to call to me.

  “I dare you, Letty.” His voice lowers, begging me to go to him, but I turn, dropping my glass to run past him into the crowd. The glass shatters, along with the remaining pieces of what was left of us. I don’t know how to forgive him, or if I ever will.

  Letty

  Six months ago

  May

  I stand by the office window, looking out into the city below. Early morning traffic and pedestrians litter the streets as they weave and duck along the roads, whilst the morning light flickers along the buildings. I take a moment to watch them and the flurry of motion. For some, working in the concrete jungle of the city would be a burden, but for me, it is an artist’s paradise.

  I love the movement, colours, and textures, from the flat pavements to the cobbled edgings. The smooth to rough, and how they just fit together inspires me to conjure up various projects in my mind. I picture running my fingers along the edges and feel them under my fingertips, creating a concept I could feature for my next project, or exhibition.

  When starting a project, some architects see the structures they design, but I visualise the creation. Despite canvases being in vogue for the moment, I crave the textured art of sculpture. These quiet minutes spent looking out into the world, admiring how it is put together, are mine alone.

  Cricket-chirping from my desk drags me out of musing, and I turn back, seeing my
phone light up. Smiling, I stroll over a few steps and pick it up, noticing a text from my sister, Odette. Swiping my thumb across my phone, my smile falters slightly as I read her text.

  Odette: Sorry, babe, can’t Skype as I got held back at work for the fifth time this week. Boss is up my arse again for this deadline. Can we do later in the week?

  Letty: You’re standing me up again? (I’m frowning at you!) Hope your boss isn’t actually up your arse as this’ll be a totally awkward convo. ;)

  Odette: Ew and no way! Never screw your bestie’s brother!

  Letty: Thought I was your best friend!

  Odette: Yes, you are! But you’re all the way over there and Anja’s over here.

  Letty: You’re in Canada, you goof! Of course, I’m far away at the moment.

  Odette: You could be here too, you know. Right now, in fact.

  Letty: Yeah, yeah. Too much going on. Work is hectic here too. But I’m still coming in a few months. Just be patient.

  Odette: ‘Spose Cole is still being a dick?

  Letty: No more than usual. We seem to always end up with dickhead bosses.

  Odette: Don’t we ever. Okay, gotta go. Sorry we can’t Skype, but chat soon. Love you. x

  Letty: Tell your boss to piss off.

  Odette: I will, when you tell Cole to eat a bag of dicks.

  Letty: That might happen sooner rather than later. Say hi to Anja. Love you too. x

  Odette: xx

  I lock my phone and toss it on my notebook before opening my laptop and turning it on. I was looking forward to seeing Odette’s face today, but I know the work strain she’s under. Often our chats are while she’s still at work, when she could use a break. It pains me to see her tired face, but I’d rather see that than a blank screen. Yet, she loves being in Toronto and working as the PR rep for a soccer team, even if her boss is a bit of a commanding dick. I only have to look in my inbox for the daily report and be reminded of my own.

  I tidy around my desk to postpone looking at my emails for a moment longer. Technically, I still have another twenty minutes until he arrives, but he always has an email waiting for me. It’s like opening a glitter bomb minus the glitter—and the fun.

  I walk over to the large conference table in the centre of our open-plan office and straighten the chairs, looking over at the desks around the edge of the room. You can tell who sits where from how they keep their workspace. Steve with his family photos, Nige and Brad have their opposing football team banners on coffee mugs, and Theo has a little jade dragon statue and all his folders in a neat and tidy pile. Some of the boys choose exercise balls to sit on instead of chairs, but there is no way I am coordinated enough for that. I’d spend more time on the floor than on the ball. To the side, a small bathroom is behind a wooden door complete with a shower that Cole uses regularly when he rides his bike to work.

  I walk back to my desk, past Cole’s, bare from any form of personality and demands, for those that don’t know the quirks of the man who sits at the desk. No photos, no knickknacks, nothing. It only takes ten steps to reach Cole’s desk from mine, close enough for me to rearrange his pens out of coloured order while he’s in the bathroom, if he crosses the line in his dictatorship.

  My desk only has a few mementos: multi-coloured and scented pens, Post-It notes, and notepads, with my family photo smiling at me alongside the small sculpture of a seashell that I made when I was eighteen. Plus, my Bold and the Beautiful mug with Ridge on both sides declaring his love for Taylor and Brooke. Soap operas and reality TV are my absolute weaknesses.

  Clasping the spray bottle on my desk, I spray my lucky bamboo plant in the hope that I’ll have a few more precious moments to enjoy before caving and reading the emails. I have a strict rule of not checking them on weekends as I’ve learnt the hard way that seeing Cole’s bossy commands will ruin my free time. It isn’t the actual email messages that unnerve me. It’s the way he responds to me that makes me want to turn the nozzle of my spray bottle towards him. If someone had told me that one day, I’d be working alongside my once best friend, now turned mortal enemy, I would’ve thought they were a lunatic. I’d laugh and ask them if they’d had a few too many elixirs.

  I refocus my thoughts back to my plant, which is now well and truly watered. Cursing under my breath, I replace the bottle on my desk, wheeling out my chair slowly, my fingers clenching the cold wood as I know it’s coming. I move my finger along the mouse pad to waken my computer and log in. Here we go. My bottom barely touches the seat before the silent air is punctured with a ping from my inbox causing a heavy sense of dread to form in my stomach as I scan the emails. Damn, he emailed. Points for his predictability.

  Like a petulant child, I scan through all the other emails before his and respond promptly, telling myself that his email message can wait, as I still have a few minutes before I technically start. Confirming appointments and adjusting my schedule, I take a breath and look at the clock. 8:59. I close my eyes for a moment, pray that he’s had a soul transplant, and click on his email.

  Leticia,

  The following needs to be done before 10a.m. today as I have a few important client meetings to follow up.

  Re-confirm schedule to meet with Mr Macaro at Blue Café for 2p.m.

  Innovator project conference needs to be finalised, with all relevant details for Steve and Nige to attend.

  The water cooler is making a noise. Schedule a maintenance appointment.

  The photocopier is running low on toner. Replace it immediately.

  Proofing paper needs to be restocked as we are running low. This needs to be refilled on a regular basis. Create a restocking schedule.

  Spiders were seen in the far back corner towards the noisy water cooler. Check when office was last sprayed.

  Attached is the progress report on current projects that will need all their relevant and current information catalogued into folders and taken to the storage room.

  I continue reading through his list, making mental notes of what to prioritise first, before responding to his demands in a quick email. Opening the progress report, I begin working on that before a dreaded ping is heard from my inbox, so quickly after I sent an email. Looking to the folder, I see his name, Cole Lawson, stand out like a slap on the butt. I just knew that he’d respond within minutes. Despite not being in the office right now. How he does this when he rides his bike to work is beyond me. He’s some freak of nature who can ride and compose an articulate and arseholey email.

  Most people probably want to hear from their boss regularly. You know, to help develop a rapport of some sort. Not me. I’d prefer to have a few emails in between ones from him trying to tell me that I have a hidden fortune from a never-before-heard-of relative. Or one asking if I need a penis enlargement. I wish I had the guts to forward those emails straight onto my boss.

  Still, for Cole, documenting every detail of what he wants, in multiple emails throughout the day, would drive even the most patient person insane. All requests or commands are distributed through email, even though my desk is only a few feet away from his. In an open space. Where a sneeze can hit you in the face, if the perpetrator isn’t covering their mouth. Yes, I’m speaking from experience, and I responded by throwing my highlighter at that workmate.

  Rather than talk to me, we’ve kept that form of communication a constant since the beginning. It is difficult to try to maintain it at times, but I try. Oh lord, do I try. Sometimes, my eyes have a way of their own and just happen to roll backwards while reading his demands. Another reason why I don’t use an exercise ball as a seat.

  Scanning the email, my body experiences the same sensations it does every day. I am surprised my back molars still exist from all the grinding I do. Cole continues to prove that he has a knack for knowing how to press all my buttons, preventing me from feeling any sense of proper accomplishment. All while referring to me by my full name—Leticia. He knows I despise my full name. Only my great aunt calls me that, and I hate her. How far is that pole
shoved up his butt? Does it have spikes? Hopefully it has barbs running the length of it.

  There is no happy medium with Cole. He runs his firm like it’s an iron-clad warship and I am his PA lackey. I know it’s my job, but talking isn’t a sin. I think he’s also forgotten that I am female. Especially as he refers to the whole group of us as “lads.” He is pedantic, stubborn, and infuriating. A boss may be meant to dictate, but being subjected to an anally retentive one was never specified in the advert for this jerk face. You hear about bosses who are difficult, but Cole? He takes it to a new level. If I hadn’t needed this job so much to prove to my parents that I could get by without their help I would have left a long time ago, in spite of our past.

  Cole and I grew up together. Our families were firm friends, and I remember countless holidays at the beach where I crushed on the older boy with the toned body and mischievous smile. He was the boy who held my hand firmly as we sailed off the cliffs, into the waves to explore the caves. “C’mon Letty! Let’s go find some of those shells you like!”

  His father’s death changed all that. Cole stopped wanting to be my friend, and our camaraderie turned sour as he began running through my sand castles. Our hands no longer linked to go exploring; instead the divide between us, grew into an impenetrable wall. The only time I saw any real emotion from him, was when he met my boyfriend, Damian, on the day I applied for this job job (with the encouragement from my mum). I thought he’d talk to me more about the job, but the second Damian stepped towards me, he lost interest and turned away. That wall stood higher than ever before.

  So I bit my tongue and held firm. I would only be working for him for a short time. After all, if I wasn’t going to follow in Mum and Dad’s footsteps, the least I could do was earn a living until this “artist phase” passed—or I could live independently from it. I didn’t let Cole’s cold shoulder get to me. I gave up trying to be his friend many years ago. No point trying to retrain a stubborn horse.