CHAPTER TWO
“How did it go last night?” Maxon asks me early the next morning.
Funny how natural it feels to resume the habits we shared three years ago, like checking in first thing each day. As I got on the stationary bike for a spin at six thirty, I rang him. He picked up right away, obviously already getting aerobic himself.
Now I hesitate replying. Once, Maxon was the person I trusted most. Well, as much as I trusted anyone. I know now he didn’t do me wrong and I utterly overreacted. Keeley and I have talked a lot about trying to believe the best in people, rather than assuming the worst. She keeps telling me I have to take a leap of faith if I ever want to be happy.
Trusting my own brother seems like a good place to start in learning how to jump. Besides, I owe him.
“Disastrously.” I fill him in on the reunion, including the reason for Britta’s impromptu party.
“What are you going to do?”
Is he really asking me this? As if he doesn’t have the same instincts? “What would you do?”
“Well…” Maxon pauses again. “Keeley is always telling me I should listen and empathize and—”
“Let’s be real here.”
Maxon sighs as if he hates to admit the truth. “If I had a son I wanted to know by a woman I was estranged from? I’d figure out how to ingrain myself in every level of her life until I wore her down and she gave me what I wanted.”
“Bingo.”
“I’d be calling an attorney to find out what my rights are and how to exercise them fully.”
“I’ve already left him a voice mail,” I assure my brother.
“I’d also be learning her schedule.”
“Yep. I plan to work on that today. In fact, I’ll be quizzing you later.”
“Every time I saw her, I’d insist that I want to meet my son.”
I nod. “That goes without saying.”
“Then, I guess that’s it—if all you want is to have Jamie in your life.” He pauses. “But you want more. You want the woman.”
“Of course I do. What would you do in that case?”
When he hesitates, I wince. I probably hit a sore spot. I have no doubt he feels lost without Keeley.
“In your shoes, I’d do everything humanly possible to separate Britta from Makaio.”
I grin. “I’m already thinking of a strategy.”
“But I’m trying to think less like a cutthroat bastard and more like a reasonable human being,” he says as he breathes through his run. “For Keeley.”
“I get that. I’m just not convinced the Mr.-Nice-Guy thing will work. I’ll try, but I’m prepared to be more…persuasive if she won’t listen.”
“I think relentless might be a better term.”
“Probably. I walked out on Britta when she was pregnant. It doesn’t matter that I didn’t know. What she remembers is that I left her to give birth alone. Now, I have to convince her how badly I want Jamie. I also have to give her opportunities to see me as something other than the enemy. Once she’s reassured of that, I’ll start working with her on us.”
I would prefer to claim both of them simultaneously. If she thinks she’s marrying Makaio, I have to change her mind and her heart. On the other hand, I know Britta. If I press her too hard too fast for something more than co-parenting, she’ll shut me down. She doesn’t trust me at all. I have to fix that, and it will take time. But I also can’t let her believe I’m only back in her life for Jamie’s sake. Which leads me to something I’ve been thinking…
“You know, for the duration of the Stowe contract, I think you and I should work really closely together. In fact, we should work out of the same office.”
Maxon jumps on my train of thought a split second later and barks out a low laugh. “Oh, Britta will hate my guts for agreeing to this.”
But my brother does agree. That’s what’s important right now. “I’ll make her very happy in the end.”
“You can’t walk away from her this time. I’ll kill you myself,” he vows.
“That’s absolutely the last thing on my mind, I promise you.”
“So you really still have feelings for her?”
“Yes.” I don’t have to think about it. I know. In fact, I knew the second our eyes met last night. Whatever she once felt for me may have utterly changed, but despite the years and my parade of faceless flings, I love Britta. I’ve always loved her. I was too stubborn and too stupid to tell her that when we were together. For now, I can only add that to my pile of regret.
“We converted your former office into a storage and conference room, but we could do without it for a while.”
I smile. “Excellent. You know, Sheila is having a grandbaby soon,” I say of my assistant. “She’s been eager to visit her son and daughter-in-law in Seattle. I think she’s earned some time off.”
“A month or two ought to do it.” Maxon laughs.
Of being in the same office with Britta and of her being my assistant, too? “Agreed.”
If I have her in my sights all day, I can work on her slowly. Maybe we’ll tackle projects and have lunch together. I’ll look for opportunities to see her after hours. Once I meet Jamie, I will insist we do things as a family…and encourage our natural connection until she no longer has any interest in marrying another man and raising our son with him.
“We just have to secure the listing first,” Maxon points out. “Can you show up about eight thirty? I’ll go over the preso with you. We’ll figure out how to split it up, then make our pitch at ten. I think George and Vivienne Stowe will be pleasantly surprised.”
I hope. Since I fucked it up yesterday, I’d definitely like to make them happy clients now. “Perfect. Maybe you can ask Britta to help me clear out my former office afterward so I can move in again?”
“I could do that. I really hope it works out for you two.”
“Thanks. Once you’ve spoken to her, I’ll take it from there.”
“Cool. Now that we’ve got business behind us, um…have you talked to Keeley lately?”
“Last night. Nothing has changed since you and I met over dessert.”
“I wish I could talk to her.” My brother sounds glum that he can’t.
“Don’t rush her, man. That’s not how she works.”
“I know.”
And he clearly doesn’t like it.
“There’s every chance she’ll come around. Don’t worry. I’m supposed to talk to her later, so I’ll keep you posted. If nothing else, I have to pay her back for the CD of music she left in my car.”
At that, Maxon laughs. “That woman and her songs… Do I dare ask?”
I fill him in on the first few tunes she laid on the disc. “Then it got worse. You’re better with music than me. She passed on this damn tearjerker, ‘Pictures of You?’”
“The Cure?”
I’m vaguely familiar with that band. When we were kids, we had a Goth babysitter who was obsessed. “Yeah. But this version was stripped down. All acoustic.”
And poignant as hell. Stab me now with the lyrics. Something about remembering her standing in the rain and running to her to be near. Yeah. I close my eyes, imagining that. Fuck. The next verse I see all too clearly, too. Her falling into my arms, crying for the death of her heart. I remember that awful morning we split up so sharply it eviscerates me even now. My anger, my righteous sense of betrayal, my need to lash out.
I wish I could take every bit of it back and that Britta and I could go on as if it never happened.
But it’s way too late for that.
“Huh, you’ll have to share that version,” Maxon suggests. “I’d like to give that a listen. What other songs? Because I know she left you more than a handful. That’s how Keeley rolls.”
“I had to turn it off after that wrist-slashing emo ballad. I’ll try the CD again later.”
I couldn’t handle more after seeing Britta and leaving her house feeling infuriated, slightly defeated, and worried like hell I’d never have the chance to tell her I’m sorry, that I still love her, or that I want to make her happy. She’s not ready to hear any of that now.
Did she give Makaio a celebratory fuck last night? Or fuck him as a fuck you to me? If I let myself believe that, I’ll only add to my growing fear that I’m going to be miserable for the rest of my life. I blame myself mostly…but I kind of blame Keeley, too. Before her, I was an emotionless bastard and I weathered any twinges of sadness with booze and pussy. It’s hardly an original tactic, but it was effective enough. Now? That shit won’t fly anymore.
“When you listen to the rest, brace yourself,” Maxon recommends.
“Yeah.” Even now, I’m working like hell to tamp my shit down. But I feel it simmering just under the surface. “See you in a couple hours.”
I’ll see Britta then, too. I hope she doesn’t rip my balls off before I can make her understand.
I arrive at Maxon’s office—in the building we used to share—at ten minutes before eight. It’s like déjà vu parking in the lot I shared with my brother for over six years. I see he’s already here. He’s doesn’t lease the same car he did when we were partners, and I will totally have to rib him about driving his SUV day to day. I own one, too. I can’t show property in a two-seater. Admittedly, his Range Rover convertible number is pretty sweet. But…
As I climb out of the car with my coffee and briefcase, I shove my phone in my pocket and lock up, then stride for the front door. I see the tall wooden sign in the grass out front. It used to have a white background where we had REED BROTHERS PROPERTY ASSOCIATES carved out and painted a really flashy, masculine blue. Maxon didn’t replace the sign, just covered it with a canvas he’s tied to the legs, so it reads MAXON MAUI REALTY. I snort. I thought it was a stupid name when I first heard it. I think it’s a stupid name now.
I’ll be sure to rib him about that, too.
Most of all, I don’t see anyone else in the lot. We’ll have a few minutes before Britta arrives.
I push the door open, and Maxon looks up from his desk. It’s still the same furniture in the same location. I’ve seen this sight a hundred times, but seeing it again now is like a revelation. A homecoming. I smile.
Damn, it feels good to be back. In fact, I feel more like me than I have in years.
“Morning,” I call out.
“Bro…” He goes back to tapping on his keyboard as furiously as he’s able.
I take a sip of my brew as I approach and drop into the chair opposite his desk. “I see you’re still a lousy typist.”
He lifts one hand from the computer long enough to flip me off. “I see you’re still an insufferable asshole.”
I grin. “Oh, I haven’t even started yet. Let’s talk about that mom-mobile you’re driving.”
“That’s a nice fucking vehicle,” he argues.
I scoff at him in mocking tones. “Sure, if I was taking a passel of kids to school on my way to join the ladies’ coffee klatch before my run to the grocery store…”
“Bite my ass. At least I’m not driving an overpriced phallic symbol that looks like compensation for what I don’t have behind my fly.”
I bark out a laugh. “What’s behind my fly has never been the problem. You’re a Reed. You should know that.”
“Okay, true enough. Besides, I think your ‘personal number’ is even scarier than mine.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I have no doubt he’s right. “So, what do you want to tackle first?”
Maxon sips his coffee and puts on his older-brother expression. “Before we dig into the presentation for the Stowes, we should talk.”
Uh oh. Here comes a lecture.
“Lay it on me.”
Because he will, regardless.
“We need ground rules, man. I’m all for giving you time with Britta so you’ll have the opportunity to meet Jamie and maybe the three of you can finally be a family, but there are a few things you can’t do.”
“Like sexually harass Britta at work. I know.”
“Exactly. I don’t think she’s the type to sue, but right now she enjoys her job. I’d like to keep it that way. I’ve done her enough favors over the last few years to keep her from quitting the instant she realizes you’re officing here. But those favors will only go so far. If you push her too hard or too fast, she’ll resign.”
“You think so?” That doesn’t sound like Britta. “She values loyalty more than almost everything.”
Another reason getting her back will be an uphill battle. She probably thinks I left her to boink Maxon’s ex, Tiffanii, the moment they broke up. Nothing could be further from the truth.
“She does but she already threatened to quit earlier this week.”
“Really?” That shocks the hell out of me. “Why?”
“Britta thought I was grooming Keeley to be your next lover and she hated that idea.”
I smile. Britta being jealous is good news. It means she still gives a shit what I do. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“That Keeley was really in your camp and you two decided to make her my downfall? Yeah. How did you never fuck her? God, I wanted to in the first ten seconds.”
I shrug. “I needed her digging in my head and trying to straighten me out so badly that I just didn’t see her sexually. It…wasn’t there for us. How have you never touched Britta?”
Because I want to every single time I see her and I always have.
Maxon shakes his head. “She’s like another sister to me. Besides, she’s always belonged to you.”
I’m eternally grateful for that, especially since I’m the one who stepped over the line. “Thanks. You could have been a real bastard and repaid me in kind after I slept with Tiffanii, but then I would have had to kill you.” I’m half joking. Kind of. “I’m sorry about your ex.”
He shrugs. “I was mad at first. Then I realized I was only pissed off because you went behind my back, not because I actually cared about her.”
Thank God.
“The other thing we have to be clear about is this: the Stowe estate is going to be high-maintenance. We have to stay focused.”
“Of course.”
“Your dick leads you astray. You lose concentration about everything but sex. And Britta is your Kryptonite. You can’t let her mess with your brain. Or we’re screwed.”
I want to argue…but he’s got a valid point. Historically, I’ve been a fuckup when I let sex twist my cock into knots. It started with my one and only school play at fifteen. I got banned from the set for caring more about the contents of Sarah Morrison’s bra than the background I was supposed to be painting. It continued when I interned for my dad in high school. I knew he was banging his secretary, AnnaBeth. She was happy to do me, too. I didn’t say no. She was twenty-three, stacked, and loved giving blow jobs. One afternoon, I totally zoned out while she had her head between my legs, and I missed a phone call that my father wanted me to attend a meeting on his behalf. We lost the account. No one took me seriously after that. Dad fired me.
“I’m aware,” I tell him. “The good news is, this isn’t about me getting laid.” Well, not exclusively. “I have to stay focused all the way around or I’ll lose out to Makaio. What’s up with him, by the way?”
“He’s not right for her.”
“No shit.” I am.
“He’s a banker. Nice enough guy.” Maxon shrugs.
Maybe too nice. “Does he have any balls?”
“I haven’t seen them. But he treats Britta decently and he seems good to Jamie. I can’t say anything negative there.”
Maxon is being fair. It’s my problem that I hate it. “Does he love her?”
“I haven’t seen them together lately, but my impression was that he has definite feelings for her.”
I’ve been hoping she couldn’t possibly return those feelings, but I have to find out what I’m truly up against. “Does she love him?”
“No.”
His swift, emphatic answer fills me with dizzying relief. “You’re sure?”
He nods, slowly at first but the gesture picks up speed and conviction. “This past Monday when she threatened to quit? That same day, she admitted…” He sighs. “God, you can’t ever tell her I told you this.”
“Sure,” I promise. Anything to hear whatever secret of Britta’s he’s keeping.
“She admitted she still loves you and thinks about you every day.”
A big smile spreads across my face. I want to fist pump, let out a whooping holler of joy, hug someone. The only person here is my brother, who would poke fun at me for all three. Instead, I opt for the truth. “Well, it’s mutual.”
“Now you just have to convince her.”
“Yeah.” I already know Britta won’t make that easy.
Waiting for her to arrive is making me nervous. To pass time, I check my emails on my phone. Predictably, Keeley has sent me a YouTube link to a song. Because I really need more food for thought. It’s called “Where I Stood” by Missy Higgins. I read my bestie’s accompanying message:
This one’s an emergency. Now that Britta is engaged, you need to give this a listen before you decide what to do. Reverse the genders. You’ll understand.
Dreading this more than a little, I drag out my earbuds. If I don’t give this hear this now, she’ll just hound me. And okay, I’m curious.
After a single strum of the guitar, the vocalist jumps in. The first few lines nail me—utterly. I don’t like what I’ve done. Or who I’ve become. I’m not even sure I know me anymore. But back then, something told me to run, that I should go, that Britta and I should end. Like a dumb ass, I listened.
As the song rolls toward the chorus, I’m amazed that Keeley continues to locate these dead-on tunes that make me think at the same time I want to throttle her for forcing me to feel.
The music changes, and the vocalist admits a terrible, painful truth…just like I should. I don’t know who I am without Britta. And I certainly don’t know if I could stand another hand upon her…but I left, and I’m no longer the man in her life, so I should.
I listen to the next lines roll around. They seize my breath. I tear the buds from my ear and kill the music. Britta might think that bastard who dares to stand where I stood would love her more than I could.
She’s wrong.
A moment later, the front door creaks open. I turn to the sound, disappointed to find a slightly familiar guy with bad eighties hair striding toward us. I’ve never met him in person, but I know of him.
When he hits the threshold, he takes one look at me and shoots me a death glare.
“Morning,” Maxon calls. “Come in and meet my brother. Griff, this is Rob.”
I stick out my hand. He ignores it.
“You didn’t follow through?” he asks Maxon obliquely instead.
On his ridiculous plan to use Keeley to distract me into fucking up a multimillion-dollar deal?
“No.” I drop my hand. “News flash, dude. Keeley is my best friend. If anything, I sent her to seduce your boss, not the other way around. There was no way she was going to succeed in undermining me.”
“What he said,” my brother backs me up. “So we’ve decided to do the Stowe deal together. Are you really going to quit over that?”
He must have threatened to at some point. I wince.
“You stupid motherfucker,” Rob mutters. “You’re going to split the money and glory without a fight?”
This guy sounds like a kinder, gentler version of my father. The garter snake when compared to the rattler, my dad. But at the end of the day, they’re both still snakes.
“Yeah. And if everything goes well, we’ll merge firms and go into business together again,” Maxon says. “There will be plenty of work for everyone. I’d love it if you stayed.”
Rob’s face says he could give a shit about the motivational speech. I’m not a fan of the guy’s attitude, but if my brother wants him here, I’ll try.
“I’m not going to cause trouble,” I swear. “You’re my brother’s marketing guy, right? You do a hell of a job. Don’t leave because of me.”
“I’m against this.” He ignores me and tsks at Maxon. “Griff fucked you over once. What’s to stop him from doing it again?”
Ouch. That’s a hard blow…but not an unfair one. “I’ve learned since then.”
“We’ve talked, and I believe him,” Maxon insists. “He’s family. He’s staying if he wants to.”
I tend to rate pretty high on the macho scale, but I have to admit that my brother’s words give me a warm fuzzy. “Thanks, man.”
He nods in acknowledgement without looking my way. “Are you in, Rob? Or packing up your desk and pouting your way out the door?”
The other man hems and haws, shaking his head as if he’s trying to reconcile himself to something he really doesn’t want. “Son of a bitch… Do we need to go over the presentation before the call?”
“That’s next on our agenda,” my brother assures as he gestures to the other chair in his office, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Have you talked to Britta this morning? She’s not usually late.”
Rob shakes his head. “No.”
I frown Maxon’s way. Britta is always punctual. Worry nips at my gut.
“She’ll be here,” my brother insists. His phone dings two seconds later, and he plucks the device from his pocket. “She says she just dropped Jamie off at daycare and she has to swing by to see Mr. Kāle, then she’ll be here.”
“Who?” Rob asks.
“Makaio’s father?” I raise a brow at Maxon.
“I guess so.” He sounds as confused as I am.
“Why would she see him on the morning you have the biggest presentation of your career?”
“Our career. I can’t think of a reason.” Now he sounds as troubled as I am.
I rake a hand through my hair. “Shit.”
“It’s probably nothing. Let’s start rehearsing the presentation. We’ll figure out what she’s up to later.”
You can bet on that.
After a quick run-through, we hammer out a few issues. I give input based on my conversation with the Stowe heirs yesterday, and Maxon looks grateful for the insight. We’re done prepping about forty-five minutes before show time.
Which leaves me to stare at the clock.
I have a good feeling about this pitch. The Stowes will be thrilled. We’ll get the listing, sell this mansion that once belonged to the Vermont syrup-maker’s widow, and Maxon and I will start doing great things together again.
I’m hoping the future looks even half as bright for Britta and me.
As I pace in worry at how slowly the hands are moving on the clock, I see Rob head to the restroom. Maxon takes a phone call from what sounds like another client. I leave his office and pace the main area, hovering around what’s obviously Britta’s desk. It must be. Rob’s is cluttered with empty soda cans and Snickers wrappers with a few empty bags of Cheetos. Britta is too meticulous for her workspace to resemble a dumpster. And when I peek at the surface, I hit the jackpot. She has framed pictures of all sizes of Jamie. My heart stops. It’s like a visual history of his young life.
The first pic that catches my eye is of Jamie asleep and swaddled in a gauzy blue blanket like a papoose in a wicker basket with sprigs of greenery all around. He looks weeks old at most. I see a picture of him on his first birthday, grinning at a chocolate cake covered in frosting soccer balls, half of which is smeared across his face. There’s a photo of him and Maxon at the beach, and another of him and Britta in a go-cart. I spot a still of him and Makaio at the library, solemnly reading a book together. At that, I grit my teeth.
On the cubicle’s left wall, she’s tacked up more recent pictures—Jamie waving good-bye as he walks into daycare, him playing beside another boy with some Lincoln Logs, my son running across the backyard at Britta’s house with a big grin. He’s cute, yeah. But the glimpses of everything I’ve missed and can never experience for myself wrench at my goddamn heart.
A glance toward the far side of her keyboard reveals another photo, this one obviously taken in the hospital when he was born. Britta sitting up in bed looking pale and exhausted but more beautiful than I’ve ever seen as she glances down at infant Jamie with naked love all over her face, one arm supporting his little body, the other stroking his downy head.
I would give anything to have been there the day my son made his way into the world so I could hold him, protect him. Tell him I love him. I wish I’d been there to give Britta the same devotion, that she’d been wearing my ring, that we’d gone home as a family. I’m shocked to feel tears sting my eyes.
Then I hear the creak of the door behind me and whirl around.
Britta.
She’s wearing a black pencil skirt that hugs her body and a tuxedo-style blouse, white with black cuffs and collar. The black-and-white peep-toe heels complete the look. She’s accented with red—purse, belt, lips.
The urge to fuck her is blinding and instant. Her chilly expression as she approaches me vows we won’t be having sex soon. If she has anything to say about it, not until hell has frozen over for good.
Carrying a stack of magazines, she proceeds to her desk.
“Good morning,” I say.
She nods stiffly and tosses down both her purse and the magazines.
They are all bridal publications. Dresses and flowers, smiling beauties and lace, updos and bows. Every edition seems focused on summer weddings. My heart stops. My sister, Harlow, has taken over a year to plan hers. I thought I’d have more time.
“When’s the wedding?” I ask.
“We haven’t set a date. Could you excuse me? You’re standing in front of my chair.”
I take one step to the side. “I was just looking at your pictures of Jamie.”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” she says as she sits at her desk and proceeds to ignore me, tucking away her purse, spreading out her magazines, and turning on her computer. Then she tunes me out.
She’s definitely withdrawn this morning. Dark circles under her eyes tell me she hasn’t slept much. That makes two of us. Despite the fuck-off vibe she’s giving me, I catch Britta sending me a sidelong stare when she thinks I’m not looking.
“Too bad, angel,” I murmur the endearment I once called her for her ears alone. “I made myself clear last night. I know you heard me.”
With a press of her sin-inspiring lips, she turns to me. “Can you please think of someone besides yourself this once? Consider your son, the upheaval you’ll create in his life. He’s too young to understand. He’s too impressionable to—”
“I didn’t demand that he call me Daddy right now. I said I’d like the opportunity to be a part of his life, whatever you and I can work out like rational adults.” I settle closer, brace my forearm across the back of her chair, and bend close to her ear, trying to ignore the sultry jasmine scent that wafts up and stiffens my cock. “I think the bigger problem is you. Jamie doesn’t know a reason to hate me. But you do.”
That finally has her gaze darting up to mine as she rolls her chair sideways, a good foot away from me. Our eyes meet. Zing. I know she feels it, too. There’s no way she doesn’t.
Britta’s face closes up as she jerks her gaze back to her scarred wooden desk. Does she think that will somehow make me go away?
“You don’t affect me one way or the other. I’m protecting my son because I know you too well to believe you’ll stay for long. Then I’ll be left to pick up the pieces—again—when you decide to ditch all your responsibilities and chase your next piece of ass.”
“Let’s get one thing straight right now,” I growl. “I left because I thought you’d elected to help Maxon betray me with the estate for that obscure prince. Our breakup had nothing to do with another woman.”
She rolls her eyes. “So you just happened to decide to move Tiffanii in with you the day after our breakup because she was merely a good friend? And you never had sex with her?”
It’s a trap question. I’m damned if I tell the truth and damned if I don’t. “You really want to do this now?”
“No.” Britta closes up. “I don’t want to do this at all. What you did with your brother’s ex doesn’t matter to me anymore.”
Liar. I love Britta, and it’s hurting me to know she’s been with at least one other guy. I was supposed to be her first, her only.
I have to live with the regret of fucking that up, too.
“Tiffanii meant nothing to me.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize they’re so lame they’re counterproductive.
“At the time, she seemed to mean more to you than me, so—”
“No.” I spin her chair to face me and brace my hands on the arms, caging her in her seat. “Never. She told me a lot of lies, and I was in a bad place then, so I was stupid enough to believe them.”
“And then she just happened to fall into your bed, onto your penis, with a camera nearby. That’s one set of pictures I would have liked better if they’d been blurry. But gee, thanks for sending them over and proving once and for all what an asshole you are.”
I hear the words she’s speaking, but I can’t process them. “Pictures?”
She huffs and stands, pushing me a safe distance away. “Seriously? Stop. I’m talking about the shots of the two of you in bed that you sent your brother via email shortly after we split up. You knew I’d see that message first.” With a shake of her head, she really looks at me. “If you wanted to make sure I was going to fuck off, you waking up and making love to me, then packing to leave me while I was in the shower more than did it. I stood there dripping and naked in front of you while you called me a backstabbing bitch and walked out. I didn’t need pictures of you and Tiffanii in coital bliss or whatever to prove I meant nothing to you.”
I still have no idea what she’s talking about.
“I didn’t take naked pictures with Tiffanii.” If I was going to take sexy snapshots with someone, it sure as hell wouldn’t be her.
“I saw them. They came from your email address. How do you—” Britta stops herself and shakes her head. “You know what? Never mind. Old news. Water under the bridge. A waste of my time. Like you.”
When she tries to walk away, I grab her wrist. I didn’t want to do the Tiffanii thing first, but clearly Britta needs me to. “Here’s what went down: That morning, while you were in the shower, I found out about Maxon’s deal. Since you were his assistant, I assumed you were involved, too. I should have asked. I should have talked to you. But I was furious and not thinking straight, so I didn’t demand answers. I just packed, I said a lot of things I wish I could take back, and I left. Tiffanii hunted me down a few hours later to tell me that Maxon had cheated on her and—”
“Try the other way around.” Britta scoffs.
“I know.” That doesn’t surprise me—now.
She tilts her head, suspicion all over her face. “Of course you do. She was cheating with you.”
“What? No. Fuck no! Listen. To me, she was just my brother’s pain-in-the-ass girlfriend. The day I moved out, she came crying to me that she was pregnant, and when she told Maxon, he threw her out and changed the locks. She needed a place to stay until she got back on her feet. I found a crash-by-the-week motel with two bedrooms. She said she’d help with rent until we could each find a place of our own. I spent the first three days pushing down my anger at everything that had gone wrong and establishing my own business while figuring out how to go on without you. I spent the next three days blindingly drunk. I have no idea what happened.” That whole chunk of time is simply gone.
“Drunk? More likely in a sex haze.” She pinches her lips, looks away. “She must have been damn good.”
I’m happy to see firsthand the proof that Britta is no more over me than I’ve moved on from her. But I can’t let her whacked-out assumptions persist. Time to set the record straight. I hope Britta believes me someday.
For now, I suspect she’ll find the truth hard to swallow.
I grab her by the shoulders and drag her closer until I see her eyes widen and her soft lips part with a little gasp. Jesus, I want to kiss her so badly, back her onto her desk, lift her skirt, and make her mine again.
I can’t, which makes me growl and grit my teeth. “I didn’t consciously sleep with that woman for another two months. I only did it because I was so angry.” At everything and everyone. At life. “The minute I did, I knew it was a fucking mistake. It never happened again.”
“You must think I’m stupid. Maxon told me about the Bora Bora thing.”
“I didn’t plan to take Tiffanii on a romantic vacation. We both needed some time away. As a flight attendant, she could get us on a plane for free. I knew the manager of a small resort willing to rent us a villa for cheap after someone cancelled last minute. So Tiff and I decided to get some R and R as platonic friends. I had no reason to bail until I discovered her fucking some random guy on my sofa the afternoon before our departure. Then I grilled her until she admitted she’d never actually been pregnant. She’d only scammed me to get back at Maxon.”
Britta doesn’t say anything for a long time, just searches my face. She’s not sure whether to believe me. I see the pain in her expression, and I know I put it there. I want to kick myself again.
My fingers bite harder into her. “I swear it’s true.”
“Griff,” my brother warns from across the office.
A glance around the room tells me he’s staring. So is Rob.
I harassed her in the office. I also made a scene. Fuck.
“Let me go,” she demands softly.
“I’m sorry.” Slowly, I peel my fingers off of her. “But I’m telling you, I never touched Tiffanii when you and I were together. And I never had a single romantic feeling for her. I made one terrible mistake with her. I’ve regretted it since.”
She looks skeptical. “Then how do you explain the pictures of you two in bed I received six days after our breakup? On your birthday, by the way.”
“After that hellacious three-day bender, I woke up naked in my bed with an epic hangover and no recollection of life for seventy-two hours. She had free run of the motel room, so she had access to my camera, my computer… I didn’t send you any pictures.” I try to stare that truth into her. “I would never have done that to my brother or to you. She must have taken your letter about Jamie, too. I swear to God if I had received it I would have come back.”
Britta drags in a shaky breath and crosses her arms over her chest. “It doesn’t matter now. Tiffanii might have been the first woman after me.” She scoffs. “Or not. But she was hardly the last. The truth is, I don’t need you in my life. Neither does Jamie. Leave us alone.”
“I won’t,” I vow softly and force myself to take a giant step back. “But I’ll give you some space for now.”
She needs to think about everything I’ve laid bare. I know from experience that being up in Britta’s face when she’s upset will only make her shut down.
I look at the clock on the wall. “We only have a few minutes before the Stowe call. Do you need anything? Did you eat?”
She’s always been notoriously bad about forgetting breakfast.
“I’m fine.” Britta tries to brush past me and head for the conference room.
I step in front of her. “Did you eat?”
“I had an errand to run. I’ll get some breakfast after the call.”
“No.” I march into Maxon’s office and rifle through my briefcase, fishing out a spare protein bar, then barrel toward her again. “Eat now.”
Since this topic isn’t open to debate, I head to the little coffee bar situated at the back of the room and make her a cup of tea. Black and weak with a hint of sugar, the way she’s always liked it. When I hand it to her, she blinks at me.
“You remembered?”
“I’ll never forget.”
“Don’t do this. It’s over, Griff,” she whispers, then gives me a wide berth as she heads to the conference room.
I follow her, muttering “like hell” under my breath.