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He nodded glumly. “Message received.”
Weston and I were in bed, facing each other, his fingers gliding through my hair in long strokes. My lids were heavy, but I fought off sleeping in case he wanted to talk.
And he did.
“I shouldn’t have left him behind,” he murmured.
“You didn’t know.”
His hand stilled, flattening on my cheek. “But I did. Not about the violence, no, but our home wasn’t warm or loving. I found that with your family and never wanted to go back. I should have brought Miles with me.”
“You were a kid.”
“I didn’t even think about him. That’s the raw, ugly truth.”
“And yet, he’s still here. He still wants to be your family.”
He shuddered, his thumb spreading to graze the curve of my bottom lip. “I can’t even look at him right now without wanting to kill him for using you as his whipping boy when he should have been lashing out at me.”
“Then look at me. Seeme, West. I’m alive and well.”
“I see you,” he whispered. “You’re all I see anymore.”
That made me smile. My grumpy man was capable of being incredibly sweet.
“I love you.”
His forehead rolled over mine, and he released a ragged sigh. “I love you too, Elise. I wish I could give you what you’ve given me. All I have is a dysfunctional family and a company I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for the last decade. It’s not enough.”
“Good thing I don’t want anything other than you.” I dragged my nails along his scruff. “Keep giving me you the way you have been and I’ll be a happy girl.”
“That’s all I want. You happy.”
He didn’t understand he held the key to that. Diamond necklaces and cooking lessons were beautiful and special, but when it came down to it, Weston’s time and attention were all I would ever need from him.
Chapter Thirty-two
Weston
Afterasolidweekof negotiations, Andes officially broke ties with Brian Lewis and the insufferable blowhard Dominic Peters. Marisol’s team had found us a third supplier more than willing to follow our terms in order to land the contract.
Miles was still in my guest room, but he wasn’t bothering me as much as he typically did. That was due in part to him lying low. He was keeping his mouth shut and his dirty socks in his room. But I couldn’t discount the fact that I was actively attempting not to be annoyed with him. I had never given him a chance to be anything other than my fuckup little brother.
This weekend, I might even carve out some time to spend with him.
I was shutting my computer down, my mind already out of the office, when Renata knocked on the door.
“Yes?”
She pushed it open. “There’s a reporter from theTimeson line one for you.”
I frowned at her. Renata knew I didn’t give interviews unless they were scheduled and vetted well in advance. “Why? Send them to PR. I don’t have time to talk to reporters.”
“Weston…” the way she wrung her hands had me sitting up, alarm bells ringing, “I really think you should speak to her.”
I reached for the phone but stopped myself. Impetuousness wasn’t my style. Acting without planning would only lead me to disaster.
“What is this about?”
