CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bex
“Rose? Rose is here right now?” I say to Hailey and look up from my desk.
“She doesn’t have an appointment,” Hailey says, “but Mr. Aspen cancelled his nine o’clock, so you’re free for the next hour.”
I look down at the pile of paperwork in front of me. I’m a week behind, but if she’s here, it’s for a good reason. “Show her in.”
Rose enters with such a flurry that I can almost feel the wind on my face. She’s wearing an extremely sexy outfit—tight, shiny black pants, sexy red heels, and a low-cut blouse. For a moment, I’m unable to tear my eyes away from her large pillowy breasts.
“Bex?”
I snap my eyes up to her face and try to mask my inappropriate thoughts. The problem is I think she’s starting to grow on me in more ways than one.
“Rose, how are…you?” I notice the worry in her large brown eyes. Something’s happened. I bet she went to see that fucking guy. I feel my face heat red with anger, and my shoulders tense up. “What is it?”
She points to the couch.
“Of course. Sit,” I reply.
She doesn’t sit. She crashes on her back. “Oh my God. Oh my God.” She covers her face with her hands.
I rise from my desk and grab a pen from the holder. I don’t have her file handy, so I reach for a piece of white paper from the printer behind me.
“Take a deep breath, Rose.” I’d benefit from one myself. Seeing her like this is triggering me. Rose has been through her fair share of suffering already, and I’m not okay with anyone subjecting her to more of it.
She inhales sharply and exhales with a whoosh. “Are you in your chair yet? Please tell me you’re in your fucking chair, Bex.”
“Almost.” Though I don’t really see why that makes a difference.
I grab my clipboard and take a seat.
She cracks open an eye. “Took you long enough.”
“What happened?” I ask, my tone unintentionally abrasive.
“I don’t even know where to begin.”
“What did he do to you, Rose?” Because I’ll fucking kill him if he touched you. To my shock, I mean every word. As a professional who’s committed to helping others, there are many things I can tolerate: stupidity, narcissism, a general lack of empathy. I can tolerate ninety percent of mental illnesses. It’s why I’m here. But when it comes to thoughts of anyone harming her, I find myself unable to stay calm. I want to find the guy and fuck him up—not a very doctorly thing to do.
Rose
Stretched across the infamously lumpy couch, I wring my hands, wanting to tell Bex everything, but I don’t know how. My feelings don’t make any sense.
“We made a deal—complete honesty,” Bex says with a hint of a growl. “And you stormed in here without an appointment, so stop the bullshit. What happened?”
He sounds angry, but my head is spinning so damned fast, I don’t stop to ask why. I suppose he’s just annoyed with me, coming in here and demanding his time like some entitled princess.
“I think I’m fucking this up, Bex. I have less than two weeks to go, and every turn I make feels wrong.” I’m betraying my heart, betraying my mother, or betraying my morals. What I want is to fall in love with the right man on my own terms when I’m ready. But how can I do that if it means turning my back on my mother’s wishes? Or worse, letting my grandparents take control of the estate and then dealing with all the ugliness that would follow, including a horribly public legal battle? “I don’t know what to do.”
Bex’s armchair creaks under the weight of his large body. “I’m listening.”
Meaning, “Get to the point. Don’t waste my time.” Okay, but where to start? From the beginning.
“I did what you asked with Gustavo. He called three times, but I told him I couldn’t see him yet. Needed time to process.”
“What did he say?” Bex asks, sounding less agitated.
“He begged to come over so we could talk. When he realized he wasn’t going to win, he stopped calling.”
Bex’s shoulders drop, and he rests his pen—not the gold one, but some plastic Bic thing—on top of his clipboard. “So you haven’t seen him.”
“No.” I rub my eyes, disregarding the fact that I still have on last night’s mascara and that I’m going to look like last night’s trash panda, too. “But he sent flowers yesterday, so I’m sure he’s not throwing in the towel.”
Bex doesn’t comment, so I tilt my head in his direction to gauge his expression. I’m surprised because he usually covers himself in a sheet of ice when I talk about things that upset or displease him. This time, he’s not keeping his emotions inside. His eyes are hard, and his jaw is ticking with tension. He’s definitely on edge.
Still, I don’t let it deter me. I tell Bex about Waylon’s invitation to Florence, and how conflicted I feel because it’s forced me to think long and hard about my choices—what I’m afraid I’m giving up just because of my need to see my grandparents walk away empty-handed. I then move on to Chad. I give my very narrow recollection about waking up naked with a man I don’t know.
“So you slept with him,” Bex states. Not a question. Not a nice tone. In fact, it sounds like he’s accusing me of something.
What’s with him? And why is that the piece of this he wants to discuss? Nothing about the conflicted feelings and resentment I just mentioned.
I have to wonder if my being here is more of a nuisance than he’s letting on. Maybe I’ve overstepped some big boundary, or he feels like I’m taking advantage of his kindness. I don’t know, but a part of me doesn’t care. This morning when I woke up, the only thing I could think of was that I needed to see him. So, yeah, maybe I am being selfish for once.
I sit up, plant my red heels on the floor, and stare with intent. “You’re breaking your promise.”
“Don’t know what you mean.”
“You said you’d be here for me.”
He leans back, and I feel those cold, calculating blue eyes drilling into me. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“No. You’re not. You’re sitting there like some passive-aggressive asshole judging me.”
“I think the correct definition is good old-fashioned anger.”
“Why? What have I done?” For the life of me, I don’t know why he’s this mad. Just because I didn’t have a stupid appointment? Then he should have had his assistant send me away!
“Are you going to tell me what happened or not?” he says curtly.
“Not until you tell me why you’re pissed.”
“My job isn’t to discuss my feelings, it’s to discuss yours.”
This time the fact he’s shutting me out feels like a betrayal, and something inside me goes off. “Wrong. Your job is to help me love myself. And I’m pretty damned sure I won’t ever get there if my own damned doctor treats me just like they do because they blame me for my mother’s death. But guess the fuck what? You and they can hate me all day long, but none of you will ever come close to the extreme amount of self-loathing I have for robbing myself of my own mother. There is no possible punishment, torment, or sickness you could wish on me that I haven’t already wished on myself!”
Whoa. I don’t know where this is coming from, but I suddenly feel a little lighter—like the years of guilt and shame, which were used to keep me docile and quiet, needed to get out. The weird thing is, I know I couldn’t have admitted those dark thoughts to anyone but Bex.
I gaze into those powder blue eyes, and I feel it. The connection I’ve been searching for in these other men. Bex sees me. He cares. It makes me feel like we belong together. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. No, no, no.
I jerk to my feet. “I have to go.”
“Rose.” He stands too and steps forward.
“I can’t see you anymore.”
“Rose…?” he growls like a warning.
“Goodbye, Dr. Hughes.” I turn and leave that place as quickly as possible. I can’t want him. I can’t. And yet…I do.