Page 315 of Manhattan Bossholes

I sucked in a sharp, disbelieving breath. The space smelled absolutely divine. As I came upon the second set of shelves, I spotted the plywoods and MDF. The next one had rolls of upholstery fabric, leather, and foam for cushions. There were top-of-the-line power tools, bins of screws and nails and fasteners, and drawers upon drawers of hardware—enough to form a lifetime supply.

I veered away from the shelves, toward the far end of the warehouse which was divided into a massive workstation filled with table saws, band saws, and sanders and a temperature-controlled finishing station stocked with paints, stains, and varnishes. I turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. This was every furniture designer’s dream workshop, and my heart raced at the thought of what I could create here. It made my current workshop look absolutely pathetic.

Footsteps echoed behind me, and I twisted to find Trent approaching. He looked really good—better than anybody had a right to. A hint of a smile curled his lips, and there was a bit of dark scruff covering his cheeks, just the way I liked. I caught my breath from the sight of him. He was so devastatingly handsome, and this was so not fair. I’d stumbled right into his trap. Stacy’s comment about kicking him in the balls resurfaced in my thoughts, but it wasn’t funny anymore. This was the man that had taken everything from me, including my heart. Seeing him now, in person, hurt way more than it had that day I’d delivered Dee’s bookcase to Long Island.

Stacy was wrong. I definitely shouldn’t have come. I should have taken that key, stuffed it back in the envelope, and put it right in the trash.

“I’m really glad to see you,” Trent said, drawing close enough that I’d usually be able to smell his cologne, but all I could smell was wood.

“How’d you even know I was here?” I asked. “Were you staking out the place?”

He laughed. “No. The lights trigger the security cameras.”

“Right. So, you were spying on me?”

“Not spying,” he insisted. “But it did let me know when you’d showed up. And I headed right over. I’ve been looking forward to showing you this place. It took me a bit of time to track down the rarer woods. The bocote and purpleheart mostly.”

So, I was right. It had been purpleheart I’d seen. No, wait! Don’t let him do this. I couldn’t let him talk himself back into my good graces. He didn’t get to come waltzing back into my life when I’d finally started to get it back together. He didn’t get to look into my eyes and make me want him just when I was figuring out how to make life work without him.

“What do you think?” Trent asked, striding across to an office area with a desk. “I had them put this in so you could take meetings while you’re here or use the space to collect inspiration. There are places for you to sketch things out,” he touched a massive sketch pad, “which will transfer your designs right to the computer. And the printer is wireless. Print as much as you want. And these boards are cork, so you can pin ideas for new lines.” He dropped his hands to his hips, grinning. “I thought it could sort of be like your inspiration station.”

“It’s magnificent,” I said, unable to lie to him. “And incredibly thoughtful.” Which was also true. But I couldn’t let that lure me into dropping my defenses.

“It’s for you,” he said, surging toward me. “All for you to do whatever you want. Build and dream and create until you run out of ideas, though I know that’ll never happen.” I took a small step back, and he slowed, his expression growing more serious. “I was a giant idiot, Natasha, to accuse you the way that I did. I never should have said those things, and I hope you’ll accept this space as a token of how sorry I am for the way I treated you.”

I bit my tongue, stopping myself from lashing out in anger. Did he really think an apology and some money thrown around was all it took to wipe away the pain he’d caused me? His presence was enough to mess up my mind, to fill my senses and make me doubt the hurt I’d felt, but I couldn’t let myself be distracted by a nice gesture.

“What is it?” he asked.

I swallowed hard, struggling to gain control of my emotions as the frustration threatened to burn a hole through my gut. “You accused me of selling you out. And now you’re trying to buy my forgiveness with this place. After everything that’s happened, you get how messed up that is, don’t you?”

“Well, when you put it like that…” he said, scowling in that way he did when he begrudgingly conceded someone else’s point. “I guess I do. I just…” He reached for my hand. I didn’t pull away, but I also didn’t tangle our fingers the way I once would have. “Okay, ignore all of this because this is just stuff. Though you should know, I wasn’t trying to buy you with stuff. That wasn’t my intention.”

“Yes, it sucks when your intentions are misconstrued, doesn’t it?”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Please, Natasha. You have to know how sorry I am. I never should have said those things to you. I let my mother get into my head, but that’s not a mistake I’m ever going to make again.”

I shook my head, smiling softly at him—sadly. “You say that you’re sorry, and part of me believes you mean it.”

“I do!” he insisted.

“But I also believe that you meant what you said before—about me selling you out just to line my own pockets. It was awful and cruel and untrue, but you believed it when you said it. You weren’t just spouting off. No, you were actually convinced that I’d stabbed you in the back. You were so quick to mistrust me—and so rigid in your refusal to hear me out or let me even try to explain.”

He squeezed my hand. “I was wrong. I know that now.”

“You were, but just because you’ll admit that now doesn’t mean you won’t make the same mistake again, later on down the road. How can I trust that you’ll give me the benefit of the doubt? Or that you’ll have enough respect for me to hear me out? To listen to my side of the story before making assumptions? How can I trust that you’ll believe I’m a good person?”

“I’ve changed,” he said, the words barely a whisper. “I’m not going back to the person I was—the one who didn’t trust anyone. How can I show you that?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I’m not sure you can. I thought you were someone I could rely on once. Someone sturdy. Someone who would be there to catch me when I fell. But I did fall, Trent. And you weren’t there. Instead, you were the one cutting the safety nets out from under my feet.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you like that. I wish…” He looked down at our joined hands. “I wish I could take it all back.”

“That’s the thing about life. You don’t get to go back. Only forward. And I don’t think I can make the same mistake twice.”

He looked stricken, and I fought to keep myself from being moved by it. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice choked.

“I can’t take the chance that you’ll let me down again.” I pulled the key to the warehouse from my pocket, handing it to him. “I’m sorry, Trent. But I have to protect myself.”