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“Are you there, Cat?”
“Yes. I’m here.”
“We’re prepared to make you a five-hundred-thousand-dollar offer.”
My jaw drops to the ground. “Can you repeat that?”
“Five hundred thousand dollars.”
I don’t let myself react. “Liz is still the agent on record for my option. I’ll need to talk with her, coordinate my new representation, and get back with you.”
“When?”
“By Monday.”
“It’s already Monday. Wednesday.”
“I’ll try. I make no promises. If you want to pay me that kind of money to write about this trial, I can’t miss it.”
“Fine. Monday.”
We disconnect and I start walking, trying to calm down. It’s a huge offer, but it’s not an offer for me. It’s for Reese. I can’t accept it. He’s effectively made my career about him. It’s not even my money. I remind myself that he was trying to protect me. I know he was, but it’s a big red flag. Every man in my life has tried to protect me by taking control. And you don’t just take control of my career. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m grateful. How do I feel all of those things at one time?
He’s taking over my life. I’m losing my independence. And part of me doesn’t care with this man. What is wrong with me?
I arrive at the food trucks and pass them right by, walking to the benches I normally sit on with Reese. “Cat.”
I rotate to find him walking toward me, all loose-legged swagger and confidence that I can’t dare rattle right now, right before he returns to court. I don’t know what I’m going to say or do.
Chapter twenty-five
Cat
Reese stops in front of me, and when he reaches for me, I step back. “No. I think I’m angry with you.”
His brow furrows. “You think?”
“Yes. I might be. I need to think. I’m confused right now, and when I’m angry, I prefer to have that anger fully vetted. And I know I can’t have an angry conversation with you right now, anyway. Not before you go back to trial. So I’m going to leave now, you can have your lucky hotdog, and I will see you after court adjourns.”
“Why are you angry?”
“I said I think I’m angry. I need some time to think about what I feel right now. I mean, why would you— No.” I hold up my hands. “No. No. This is not the time. Eat and go back to court and win your case.” I try to walk around him.
He catches my arms and pulls me around to face him, and apparently my body is not one bit angry with this man, considering I’m warm where he touches, and pretty much everywhere I want him to touch. Bottom line, I’m warm. All over. “Talk to me, Cat,” he orders softly, stepping into me.
Now, I’m really warm. “Not now,” I say, wishing he didn’t smell so good and feel so good.
“Now,” he says. “I want to know now.”
“You know what you did.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “Sweetheart, I’m getting to know you, but I’m not used to you walking around things.”
“You have court.”
“Cat,” he bites out.
“Why would you call my publisher?”
