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“Can I finish?” she asked, a pleading note in her voice.
“There’s more?” I demanded, incredulous.
She nodded, her face a picture of regret. “I haven’t seen Foster in years. I’d occasionally read about him in the tabloids, but that was it. He was living in Florida and other places. I didn’t want to know him after what he did to me.”
“What did he do?” I asked, leaning in, the anger simmering beneath the surface.
“He sucked me in and then dumped me,” she confessed, her voice cracking. “I could barely function. If it wasn’t for Morgan, I would’ve flunked out of college. Our relationship was intense, passionate. I was so young, and he told me things no one else had… even restored my faith in men. We went out all the time, he bought me gifts. A few months after we started dating, he asked me to marry him. I thought it was real, so I said yes.”
“Is he the reason why you can’t commit to me?” I asked, my voice laced with bitterness. “Did he ruin you?”
“Part of the reason,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “Part is my parents too.”
“I’m not him,” I swore, my voice rising. “I’ll never be him. I would never hurt you like that.”
She put up a hand, silencing me. “Let me get this out. You’ll hate me when I do.”
A wave of nausea hit me, and I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat. “I could never hate you.”
“Foster is back,” she said, the words dropping like a bomb, “…and he wants me.”
I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. The blood roared in my ears, drowning out rational thought. “You’re mine,” I snarled, the possessiveness in my voice shocking even me.
“I’m nobody’s,” she snapped back, fire in her eyes.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rage boiling within me. “Finish,” I urged, knowing the worst was yet to come. I braced myself for the final blow, the one I was certain would knock me off my feet.
“I had a showing on Saturday morning,” she began, her voice barely audible. “I met my client, but it turned out to be Foster. He…”
“Did he touch you?” I cut in, my voice a low, dangerous growl.
She looked down at her lap, her hands twisting together. The seconds ticked by in agonizing silence, and a tightness spread across my chest, making it hard to breathe.
“Erika?” I repeated, the words burning in my throat. “Did he touch you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, so softly I almost didn’t hear it.
I barely stopped myself from jumping up from the couch. Rage coursed through me, a red-hot wave of fury. “I’ll fucking kill him.”
“He kissed me,” she continued, her voice shaking, “and I kissed him back.”
My world tilted on its axis. “You kissed him back?” I echoed, disbelief and betrayal seeping into my voice.
Erika broke down, her shoulders shaking as sobs tore through her. “I kissed him because I still have feelings for him. After everything he did to me, they haven’t left.”
“I can’t believe what I’m fucking hearing!” I exploded, the anger finally boiling over. “You want to be a doormat for someone who broke your heart? I would never do that to you!”
“Find someone who won’t betray you,” she begged, her voice raw with emotion. “Someone good and decent. It’s not me, Lincoln.”
I stood, staring down at her as she buried her face in her hands. My heart shattered, the pain of her past-tense declaration ripping through me. I had to get away before I lost it completely.
Snatching my jacket off the back of the couch, I stormed past her, my vision blurred with unshed tears. She didn’t look up as I left, and that hurt almost as much as her words. I had to get away.
The minutes ticked by, putting time between my confrontation with Erika and my future. She betrayed me. I wondered if this was how Michael felt, again—how he felt seeing the woman he loved in the arms of another man. I was well aware of Foster Black’s reputation and his movements from one woman to another. He was a billionaire in his own right, having parlayed his trust fund into hundreds of investments and businesses.
He was also a formidable opponent for Erika’s love, and what’s more, they had history Erika and I didn’t. But Foster did something I’d never done: broke her heart. Yet in turn, she broke mine. Defeated, I went home and grabbed a bottle of Wild Turkey from the cabinet, not bothering with a glass. The heat of early August was unbearable, but I didn’t care. I sat on the terrace in the approach dusk of the evening in my dress shirt and slacks, sipping directly from the bottle.
My phone rang several times, but I didn’t retrieve it from my pocket. My clients could go fuck themselves. I was having a crisis and had nothing left to give them. I drank until the bottle was half empty, the amber liquid swirling around as I drunkenly placed it on the tiles next to my chair.
