Prove Me Wrong

by Gemma Hart

  Clara wrenched out my grasp. “No,” she said thickly, her voice full of hurt. “I’m done, Jonah. I’m really done. I can’t do this anymore.”

  Everything was disappearing. I couldn’t believe it had been just an hour ago when I had felt as if all things right were within my grasp. I couldn’t believe I had been able to imagine a future with Clara by my side, happy.

  Now it was all disappearing. It was all slipping away.

  But I couldn’t let it.

  My arm shot out and grabbed Clara by the wrist. I pulled her easily against me, wrapping an arm around her back.

  “Jonah—” she started, almost exhausted.

  But I cut her off, bringing my lips down on hers. If nothing else, I wanted my body to do the explaining. I wanted to show her by force alone, if nothing else, that I had wanted so much more for us.

  She fought against me at first, stubbornly keeping her lips closed, but with a shift, she yielded against me. I tasted her, explored her, but no matter how earnestly I kissed her, I could still feel her slipping away from me. I could somehow feel that she was only kissing me back as a farewell. She also wanted something to take away.

  She broke away first. With a tug, she freed herself from my arms.

  “I won’t be made a fool a third time,” she said softly. I saw the wetness clinging to her lashes. “I’m done, Jonah. We’re done.”

  And with that, she walked out, leaving me alone in the darkness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Clara

  For the first time in a long time, I had a day off. And Brenda seemed more excited about it than I was.

  “Go for a walk,” she said. “Go take in a movie. Or go to the Met. Just do something to relax and recover.” She looked me over with a maternal eye. “You look like you lost fifteen pounds in the last 48 hours.”

  I gave her faint smile. “Maybe I will,” I said.

  Brenda put a hand on my arm. “You know I’m always here if you want to talk,” she said softly. “About anything.”

  I nodded. But the last thing I wanted was to talk.

  I just wanted to forget.

  Laying in bed in my small apartment, I wanted to pull the covers up over my head and just disappear into the soft darkness.

  I had been a moron to think that there could ever have been anything more than a flirtation between me and Jonah Lowell.

  A man like him interested in someone like me?

  But what about those nights in Vermont, in your bed?

  I tried to ignore the voice in my head but it was right. Those nights were seared into my mind. Could anyone have really faked that level of intimacy? It hadn’t been just how Jonah’s fingers had explored my aching wetness or how his cock had plunged so deep within me, it felt as if we were one.

  It was also the sweetness he had shown in how he had cradled me against him. It was how he had asked about my thoughts and desires while we lay tangled in the covers. I remembered how he had tucked my head comfortably into the crook of his shoulder and asked about my dad and what he was like. I remembered how he had held me tightly as I felt tears sting a little in speaking of his death.

  I groaned aloud and kicked my feet under the covers.

  Yeah? Well what about that time he walked into her store and humiliated her with his fiancée? Or when he told me he wanted to talk and I walked in on him kissing another woman who also happened to be his ex-fiancée? I argued in my mind.

  The man was a mystery to me and I couldn’t seem to figure him out. And whenever I tried to, I only seemed to get hurt.

  Yes, there did seem to be something in him that he was trying to run away from. Even I could see that. He seemed to be trying to escape a darkness within him. He had grown up with a difficult past—a cold and distant father and a mother who had treated him more as a partner than a son. She had depended on him and expected of him the same kind of adult perseverance and toughness she expected of herself. And then when she had married well, she had expected Jonah to be able to take care of himself the way she took care of herself.

  It was understandable to see how that could affect one’s mentality.

  I remembered his words from last night.

  “Goddammn it, I was being a coward and I thought I’d rather break your heart now instead of breaking it later when you realized I wasn't good enough!”

  Without the proper examples of love and care that he should’ve gotten from his mother and family, he had taken out all his longings and desires in sex and womanizing. In other words, he became the consummate playboy.

  I kicked again, making the duvet fly above me.

  But that didn’t excuse his behavior! He could’ve come and talked to me! He could’ve explained things to me!

  I sighed as the covers wafted down over my face again. But maybe I wouldn’t have believed him. After all, I had known him as Jonah Lawrence, a mysterious drifter who had rolled into town. Who would’ve believed that a random drifter was also the world’s most elite billionaire?

  It sounded ridiculous just thinking it.

  But that didn’t mean I wasn’t upset. Or hurt. I had spent weeks being pitied and then a year in a city being bombarded through magazines and newspapers about the man who had caused all the pain in the first place.

  And dammit, if seeing him with Vanessa again didn’t infuriate me to no end!

  But after all that thinking and blanket kicking, I was no closer to feeling at peace than before. My emotions were all coiled and tangled and my feelings towards Jonah were no less settled.

  I sighed and turned onto my side.

  Did I have any sleeping pills handy? A day of just mindless zoning in and out of sleep sounded like a good use of my day off. I just wanted a respite from all the recent events.

  As I was lying in bed, debating whether it was worth it to go out to buy some sleeping pills, my phone began ringing.

  Without turning around, I groped behind me for it, my hand sweeping across the expanse of the bed. Finally I caught hold of the slippery device and looked at the number. It was a new number and I didn’t recognize it.

  I hesitated before swiping to answer the call.

  “Hello?” I asked, wondering if it was someone from the press. God, I hope not.

  “Hello. Am I speaking to Miss Daniels?” a polite voice answered. This couldn’t be someone from the press. They were rarely this polite.

  “Yes, this is she,” I responded.

  “Hello, Miss Daniels. I am Gavin Burr and I work for Mr. Jonah Lowell.”

  “Oh,” I said, my voice dropping into something akin to disappointment and defeat. What else was about to happen, now?

  “Miss Daniels, I know this might not be my place but I know that you and Mr. Lowell have been spending some time together,” he said in a voice that sounded a little guarded but also hurried, as if he had something he needed to tell me.

  “Some,” I said, not able to deny it but not wanting to be too generous about it either.

  “Well, I know that Mr. Lowell is very fond of you and enjoys your company,” he said, completely surprising me. “And I feel like he might need your company most right now.”

  I turned onto my back. Oh? Did he have some kind of business function that he needed me to accompany him to as arm candy? Did he think that would actually work as a trap to foil me into his arms?

  “And why might that be?” I asked in equally formal tones.

  “Because he was admitted into the hospital this morning,” Gavin said.

  I shot up in bed. “What!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jonah

  I fumbled with the coffeemaker as I poured in the water clumsily with my left hand. Some water spilled over and splashed the front of my shirt. I gritted my teeth, mentally cursing the gods for not making humans naturally ambidextrous and tried to get as much of the remaining water into the pot.

  Goddamn Gavin and his clumsy feet.

  I sighed as I poured in the coffee grounds. No, it wasn’t Gavin’s f
ault. If I was really being fair, although I didn’t particularly feel like it, it was my fault.

  Gavin had said that some shipping containers had arrived at the New York port ahead of Martin’s ships. The ships had yet to be approved so there must’ve been some kind of scheduling mix up with the containers now sitting in the dockyard, waiting for these mysterious ships to take them away to some equally mysterious location.

  I had had enough of this sneaking around and shady dealings. I had tried to corner Martin for a meeting but the man had become like a ghost. It was impossible to catch him.

  So I had told Gavin to tell me exactly where the containers were. I would go myself to check them out. I couldn’t send anyone else in my place since this was essentially trespassing but Gavin had insisted on coming with me.

  “I know exactly where the containers are,” he had argued. “It’s difficult to point them out on a map with so many other containers there. I can help.”

  Gavin was young and eager but he was also a little awkward. He had no grace in his movements and was constantly bumping into corners and walls. I wasn’t sure if he was the right person to accompany me on this trip. But he was right—I was better off having a guide than trying to locate the containers with a map.

  Dressed in dark jeans and sweater, I met Gavin at the port. I saw that Gavin had also taken precautions to dress as inconspicuously as possible. We crossed into the dockyard and found ourselves in a maze of containers. It was dark with barely a sliver of moon above us. But Gavin seemed to know instinctively where to go.

  I followed behind him, keeping an eye out. There could be a stray security guard patrolling the area. I could’ve easily bribed them to keep their mouths shut and their eyes averted but the less people that knew I was here, the better. It was clear Martin was trying to hide something from me and he was going to great lengths. Who knows? He could’ve already bribed the guards to report to him any suspicious activities.

  Gavin turned around suddenly, nearly slamming into me. I grabbed him by his shoulders and steadied him before he tripped on his feet and fell.

  “Oof! Sorry, sir!” he whispered urgently. “But the containers are just around the corner here.”

  I motioned for him to stay in place and I carefully approached the corner. Something was giving me a bad feeling and I was a man who listened to his gut instincts.

  I turned around and saw Gavin creeping slowly towards me, following. I made a stern motion with my hand to stop him. Something felt off.

  Carefully, I peered around the corner of a shipping container. Down the aisle, I saw six large blue containers stacked on top of each other. I could just barely make out the side of the containers but all it read was, “L. Shipping.”

  But the most notable thing of all was the three guards posted around the containers.

  They wore all black uniforms and were walking around the containers at a slow but watchful pace. I spotted on their belts their colt pistols. Clearly, whatever was in the containers had not been properly cleared yet and Martin wasn’t ready to have them inspected.

  But what the fuck needed posted guards?

  I was about to move in for a closer look when suddenly from behind me, I heard in a loud surprised voice, “Oh whoa! Whoaa!”

  Immediately the three guards straightened up and reached for their guns. I turned around and saw Gavin lying flat on his back, having tripped over several pieces of a broken crate. An expression of humiliation and terror was stitched onto his face.

  “What was that?” one of the guards asked his comrades. I could already hear them cocking their guns.

  Footsteps headed toward us. “Take the right!” I heard one of the guards command.

  Immediately I lunged for Gavin, hauling him up, and pushed him in front of me as we ran. The last thing I wanted was my suspicions to be blown and for Martin to know I was on his trail. But the absolute last thing I wanted was for Gavin to get killed. Which seemed highly likely now.

  Grabbing a fistful of the back of his shirt, I used that to steer Gavin around as we ran through the maze of containers. I heard the voices of the guards echoing behind us. They were being thorough. Clearly, they had been given very strict orders to protect their containers from any strangers.

  We were nearing the gate we had entered through when a shot was fired a few feet from us.

  Gavin turned his head in fear, his eyes wide and white.

  I forcibly pushed him forward, still gripping his shirt. “Keep your eyes up front and move!”

  Gavin’s feet seemed to have swelled in size and he was stumbling now.

  I gave him another hard shove and looked him sternly in the eye. “Gavin, I want you to move your ass or so help me god, I will kick it out of this yard.”

  Gavin swallowed and nodded and ran. Another shot rang but we managed to throw ourselves through the gate and out onto the street.

  As I pushed Gavin through the gateway, he twisted around to take one more look behind us. This gave him just enough imbalance to fall awkwardly onto his side. My hand still fisting his shirt, I tried to grab him before he fell.

  But instead, given the angle he fell at, we both collapsed with Gavin crushing my arm and shoulder on impact.

  I growled a curse but ignored the shooting pain that was running down the entire length of my right arm. I motioned for Gavin to get up and we ran back to my car.

  I knew right away my shoulder was dislocated. And at the hospital, they only confirmed it. Plus a small fracture down the humerus. After wrapping up my arm and throwing it into a sling, I left the hospital with Gavin sputtering apology after apology.

  Tired and ready to get some sleep, I just nodded and told Gavin I would be taking the next day off. He nodded and continued to offer one apology after another.

  “Gavin, it’s fine,” I said, before getting into my car. “Now go home and get some rest yourself.”

  Waiting for my coffee to brew, I gave my shoulder an experimental shrug and hissed. It wasn’t pain exactly. Just extreme soreness. I was tempted to take off the sling at least so I could feel less encumbered but I knew it was better for my arm to keep it on.

  Grudgingly, I glared at the innocent coffeemaker.

  Suddenly, the doorbell rang, bringing me out of my angry stupor.

  I stared at the door. Who could that be?

  I was half convinced it was Gavin, on his knees to apologize once more for falling on top of me.

  With a sigh, I headed over to the door, pulling it open with the expectation of having to drag Gavin off his knees.

  But instead of a repentant Gavin, I saw a frantic Clara.

  Completely taken by surprise, I stared at her. Her long hair was flowing freely down her back and was a little in disarray as if she had just gotten out of bed. She wore a long loose sweater and leggings with a coat thrown over her. Her whole look seemed to radiant a sense of urgency and hurry.

  “What—” I stared but was interrupted.

  Clara’s large almond eyes were searching me thoroughly, as if looking for a missing body part. “You’re standing,” she said dumbly, as if amazed.

  I raised a confused brow. “Yes,” I said. “It’s hard otherwise to walk over and open a door.”

  Clara eyes shot up at me, confused. “But…you were in the hospital,” she said, as if she couldn’t believe I was healthy and whole.

  My brows rose in surprise. “How did you know that?”

  “Gavin,” she responded. “Some guy named Gavin called me to tell me that you had been in the hospital and had been discharged for bed rest.”

  I groaned internally while imagining how I would throttle that man the next time I saw him. Clearly as penance, he was trying to make me happy by bringing to me the person he thought I would most want by my side.

  He wasn’t wrong. I definitely did want Clara. Always. But Gavin had some nerve to use the knowledge of his boss’s personal life for his own motives. I’d have to do a little talking with him next time I saw him.

&nbs
p; I moved aside to gesture Clara in.

  “I was in the hospital,” I confirmed as I shut the door. “But it was just for a dislocated shoulder and a small fracture in the arm. I didn’t suddenly catch some terminal disease.”

  Clara’s shoulders slumped in relief. I felt a warm tickling in my heart to see how worried she had been over me. So she did care a little about what happened to me. Suddenly I felt my anger and frustration clear away.

  I headed towards the kitchen where the coffee was ready to be poured.

  “Some coffee?” I asked.

  Clara started following me towards the kitchen when she suddenly stopped short and looked around the apartment, warily. “Are…are we alone?” she asked.

  I gave a weary sigh. “I told you, I had nothing to do with Vanessa,” I said patiently even though I was imagining screaming myself hoarse at the damn socialite. “She came to my place completely uninvited that night to try and seduce me.”

  Clara gave one more wary look before letting herself settled down on one of the kitchen barstools. “And did it work?” she asked, looking up at me through lowered lashes.

  I gave her a slightly annoyed look. “Do you normally kick out your fiancées, leaving them screaming and hissing on the street?”

  Clara snorted and then shrugged. “Well I don’t know how you New Yorkers do it. Maybe that’s the norm,” she said.

  “Well it isn’t,” I said. I looked at her again. Now that she knew I was alright, she seemed too shy to meet my eyes. It was clear that despite her joking replies, she was still very much hurt by what she had seen that night.

  I turned to grab a couple mugs. Setting them on the counter, I reached for the coffee pot and held it awkwardly in my left hand.

  Clara immediately jumped up. “Here, let me do that,” she said, shoving me aside and taking the pot. “No need to add third degree burns to your list of injuries.”

  I watched her pour, her movements smooth and graceful. “You’re probably right,” I said.

  Grabbing the mugs, she looked up at me expectantly.