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I’m not really sure because she got me good. Tied me in knots and had me believing—well that doesn’t matter.
Or maybe not opening it was a big screw you to me.
Who knows?
I worked from home today because after she left yesterday, I didn’t think another day of me like that inflicted on my staff would be good for morale. The unemployment line, perhaps, but not morale.
Standing, I go over to the tightly shut window and think about letting in the light of day or what’s left of it, but I don’t see the point in that either. There’s something big and dark and restless in me. And it weighs me down. It’s also got claws and it feels like I’m bleeding inside.
My phone rings for about the hundredth time that day and I ignore it. The last few were Jenson. I don’t want to speak to him. Or my brothers. And certainly not my mother.
Scarlett has taken my advice and kept away, and I tell myself I’m glad.
When it rings again, I stalk over to it and pick it up. I could smash it to pieces, but the short-lived satisfaction isn’t enough for the headache that will bring. And…it’s Jenson. Again.
“What?”
“Charm like that and you’ll be mistaken for your father,” he says in smooth tones.
“I’m not in the mood. I left word the meeting’s canceled. It’s all canceled. You win. My father wins.”
He pauses a moment, and I can hear the leather of his chair as he shifts. “It’s not a competition.”
“Yeah?” I rub a spot on my chest that both feels heavy and empty and aching all at once. I know I should try and get what’s mine here. I’m built for this. To win against the odds, to find the way in and trick the system. Smart over hard work, that’s the rule. And do whatever it takes.
I should, but I ease down on the settee I think I might hate. I’ve never thought about this room much. It serves its purpose with certain guests. But right now, it feels like I’m in some bespoke hotel and nothing seems to fit.
“So, by your message and…this I take it you’re just giving up?”
“Why would you care?” I’m taking it out on Jenson and I’m trying to feel guilty, but when I look at it, everything comes back to him. If he’d quietly lost that fucking letter, I wouldn’t have met Scarlett and I wouldn’t be feeling like this. Lost and broken.
I’m just not sure why.
I like her. I’m into her—or was. I find her hot and insanely fuckable. But hormones and attraction are reactions, not anything more.
“Because it’s my job.” For a man who keeps it bland and calming there’s a lot of sarcasm in that answer but I let it slide.
“Fine. Yes, I’m giving up. I made a mistake. Happy?” I don’t give him time to answer. “I was a fool and I fell for someone who only wanted money.”
Those words were an attempt to perhaps pave another path in, but as I say them there’s something to them, something I don’t want to go near at all.
I could have almost any damn woman I want. They practically throw themselves at me and my brothers, so why her?
“There’s no other way, Hudson. Say the word and I’ll meet up and we’ll have that interview. Maybe you and your girl can work it out.”
“She’s not my anything. Not anymore,” I say. “So what’s the point? I lost.”
And I disconnect the call.
My words ring in my head. Loud.
I lost. In more devastating ways than a trinket. More than family history. That last one shocks me. Family and tradition and the history and sanctity of the Sinclair clan is important to me, but all I can see is Scarlett and that dark honeyed hair.
I’m hurting and I’m furious because she’s not what I thought she was, not what I was discovering and continuing to discover. All I’d found was a pretty bundle of lies.
The door rings and I rise and stalk out of the room and down the hall and pull it open.
I can’t breathe.
