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“Seriously?!” Her frame propels itself away from mine. “You won’t ever go out in public with me?
“No.”
“Not even if you wear your mask and your hoodie and your gloves and a fucking Geordi La Forge bar over your eyes so no one can see those either?!”
“No.”
“No?” Disbelief increases her volume as well as her rage. “Just…no?! Not a ‘we can talk about this shit later’? Or ‘let’s revisit when we’ve been dating a while’? Or even a ‘maybe for your birthday’?!”
“No.”
“That’s it?!” Additional bewilderment bulldozes itself through her gaze, shoving shame into mine. “We can only be together here? On the USS Addam’s Family Enterprise?” The narrowing her eyes indicates the remark was rhetorical. “Like I’m your dirty little fucking mistress the world will never know about? That’s what I’m hearing?”
“It is.”
Her eyes widen once more.
“I leave the estate to put flowers at the door of my parents mausoleum.” My frame shifts itself to a standing position. “That. Is. All.”
“But-”
“There is no but.” Coldness coils itself around my words to cement my seriousness. “There is no discussion. There will be no discussion. This is not up for debate or negotiation, nor will it be simply because you decided you’d rather have me between your legs than some piece of shit vibrator you’re gonna lose again between eventual moves.” Her jaw falls in what I imagine to be hurt prompting me to rush to apologize, “Bryn, I-”
“You,” she snips at the same time she yanks at the material around her neck, “have made yourself and your feelings crystal blue waters fucking clear, Mr. Wilcox.” The object dramatically hits the ground prior to her declaring. “So now, I’m gonna make mine.”
Her body roughly shoving past me tempts me into pleading for her to wait, for her to give me a moment to reword my callous statement, to better explain all the ramifications that could come from granting what she feels is an innocent request, yet I say nothing.
I do nothing.
I simply allow the first person I’ve invited into my life to walk out of it demonstrating exactly the type of monster I’ve become.
Chapter 15
Wes
I unhappily grunt at the same time I drop the tablet back onto the tawny colored coffee table of my upstairs office beside the haphazard stack of documents. “These are awful.”
“I love when you mince your words,” J.T. good naturedly jabs in return, sapphire suit jacket covered arms stretching along the length of the leather couch across from me. “Gives me Riker goosebumps.”
I used to have no idea what that meant.
However, after two nights of watching Star Trek: The Next Generation alone in bed longing to feel like Bryn was beside me instead of hiding in her guestroom – where I can’t see her – refusing to speak to me, I now have a small inkling.
And needless to say, I am not amused.
“I’m serious.”
The rolling of his hazel eyes irks me. “I’m aware.”
“Then behave like it.”
His head tips slightly to one side in a curious nature. “Is this why Bryn’s refusing to talk to you? Because you talk down to her?”
There’s no stopping my glare from narrowing. “This isn’t about her.”
“Well, it sure the fuck isn’t about me,” he swiftly bites, forcing my body to retreat. “Because we both know I already knew the designs for the hospitality event were shit, which is why I’m headed to Fire & Ash with the lead event planner to correct and elevate everything to the high bar of our brand.”
Guilt has me glancing away.
