Page 57 of The Billionaire's Promise

"If you'd answer your phone or return one of my calls, I wouldn't have to come by," Brayden said with exaggerated patience. Just the sound of his voice put my teeth on edge. "I didn't get everything of mine out of the house. I need to come back in and go through some of the closets. I lived here for three years, and my stuff was spread all over. Unless you've been through every single room, you don't know that I didn't leave anything, and I know that I did, so stop being such a bitch about it."

"I will call you tomorrow," I said, slowly and deliberately. "I'm not letting you in the house tonight. We're tired, Rosie's tired, and I just want to go to bed."

"Why not just let me in now?" Brayden said. His refusal to leave was irritating the hell out of me. I didn't think this was about me, about us, but the next thing he said made me wonder. "You think you've got it all figured out now, don't you? Shacked up with Winters and his kid? You think I'm the asshole for breaking up with you and cheating on you. Maybe I am. But you're the stupid one.

"You're a fucking doormat. You let me get away with murder for years—I let you pay the bills, I was cheating on you, and I strung you along with an engagement when I had no intention of marrying you. So yeah, I'm an asshole, but here you are letting this guy do the same fucking thing. He gets a kid all of a sudden, and now you're what? His girlfriend or his nanny? Just remember that while you're blowing me off, thinking he's got your back. He's doing the same thing to you that I did. At least I'm willing to admit it."

Brayden got into his car and slammed the door. Vance's hand tightened on my shoulder and he jerked me backward, out of the way, as Brayden hit the gas, tires spinning, and flew past us down the driveway. I stood there, frozen, Brayden's words ping-ponging back and forth inside my head. There was something vindicating about his admission that he was an asshole.

I hated having it laid out that way, how he'd intentionally used me. It was humiliating that he’d admitted it so easily. It was also liberating, in a way. Yes, I'd been an idiot. I knew that. But it reminded me that the real failure in our relationship had nothing to do with me. It was him. Brayden was an enormous flaming jerk. The only thing I'd done wrong was put up with him.

Which left me with Vance. That part of Brayden's little speech stung. Vance was not Brayden. He wasn't. I knew he wasn't. I wanted to believe that I'd learned my lesson. I wasn't a doormat. Not anymore. But what Brayden had said was so close to Sloane's accusations. Vance himself had admitted to Sloane that he wasn't looking to be anyone's husband.

I wasn't expecting a ring. We'd only been together a few weeks, but I had to be honest with myself. He and his daughter were living in my house. If he wasn't thinking that we were a family, didn't see himself as a husband, then what were we doing? I felt a little sick. I was in love with Vance. He was my closest friend, and I'd fallen in love with him. My whole life was wrapped up in him.

I shook my head, trying to banish my uncertainty. Vance was not Brayden. It might look the same from the outside, but I was not making the same mistakes with Vance I'd made with Brayden. I wasn't.

"You okay, Babe?" Vance asked. "If he shows up again, don't say a word to him. Just get back in your car and call the police. I don’t like that he’s so insistent about getting into the house.”

I nodded numbly, saying only, "Do you need help with Rosie?"

"I've got her," Vance said, studying my face in the dim light outside the front door. "You sure you're okay? You're not letting him get inside your head, are you?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm just tired," I said. I was saying that a lot tonight. I was tired. Everything would look better in the morning. I took the keys from Vance and unlocked the front door. I didn't want to talk anymore, and with everything tumbling around in my head, for the first time, I didn't want to have sex with Vance. I couldn't think when he touched me. My body trusted him, wanted him, and my brain didn't trust my body.

I washed my face and changed into a nightshirt while Vance was busy with Rosie. When he came to bed, I pretended to be asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

MAGNOLIA

I woke up to the sound of the baby wailing, my eyes sticky with sleep, my head aching. I'd fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow the night before, but I felt as though I'd cried myself to sleep. Rosie was moving around in her crib, fretful and unhappy. Vance was nowhere to be seen.

I sat up and pushed the covers back, shaking my hair out of my eyes. I had to get to Rosie. I stumbled into the bathroom to brush my hair and splash water on my face before I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Rosie's diaper was wet and worse. I loved that baby to death, but good God, her diapers were horrible.

I got her cleaned up and made her a bottle, which stopped her crying and left me desperate for coffee. Both Vance and Scout were missing when I went downstairs, a note leaning against the coffee maker telling me they were out for a run. At least the coffee maker was full, but it would've been nice of Vance to ask if I wanted to go for a run instead of leaving me with the cranky baby and that toxic waste dump of a diaper.

I put Rosie in the floor gym as soon as she finished her bottle and I'd burped her—mercifully, without her throwing up in my hair—and sat at the island to finish my coffee.

I'd told myself that everything would seem better in the morning. I'd been wrong.

I was just as confused as I'd been when I'd fallen asleep. I was frustrated with Vance and more frustrated with myself. The mess I was in wasn't really his fault. It was mine. It was me. I was the one who let him in—into my house, into my bed. He never made me any promises, never declared any intentions other than wanting to have sex with me.

I knew Vance cared about me, but I didn't think he was in love with me. And I sure as hell wasn't going to ask him. I was tired of feeling like I was begging for love. I was head over heels for him, and head over heels for Rosie. I was putting myself out there, my heart on the line, and I was going to end up shattered. When it happened, it wouldn't be anyone's fault but my own.

I stood in the kitchen, looking out the bay window to the backyard, missing my grandmother with every fiber of my being. She was the only time I'd ever known real love. Unconditional love. The night before, at Winters House, love had been everywhere. Those couples glowed with it. Love was the backbone of the Winters family. They'd been through so much and they would fight to the death for each other. The only person I'd ever had who loved me was my grandmother, and she was gone.

Was I going to spend the rest of my life satisfied with crumbs? I realized, too late, that the reason I'd been okay with Brayden's lack of devotion was that I'd had Vance. By the time things had started going wrong with Brayden, I'd already been working for Vance and we'd grown close. Nothing had ever happened between us. It wasn't a romance, but his friendship had turned into my main source of emotional support.

I hadn't needed Brayden to be perfect, because I'd had Vance. When things eventually fell apart with Vance, I would be alone. Truly alone. As if my mind had conjured him up, Vance appeared in the backyard, Scout at his side. He was shirtless, his golden skin gleaming with sweat. Scout followed him through the yard to the carriage house in the rear of the property.

A lot of carriage houses from this era had been turned into guest houses. This one was really no more than a glorified garage that no one used because my grandfather had added an attached garage in the 80s. The building was in good structural shape and had been freshly painted, but the inside was a disaster of disorganization. Decades of the Henry family's junk—stuff we were attached to or too lazy to throw away.

When Vance opened the door, I was half curious as to where he'd gotten the key and half worried the interior would collapse on his head in a wave of boxes and papers and broken bicycle parts.

He disappeared into the carriage house. It was at least ten minutes and half a cup of coffee before he reappeared, a determined expression on his face, and headed to the back door.

"What's with the carriage house?" he said as soon as I opened the door.