by K. L. Kreig
He goes silent to see if I’ll say anything. I don’t.
“I’d heard good things about Preston Mercer, so I took the job.”
Question after question whirls through my mind, all of them at lightning speed. “What was the threat?”
“Extortion, obviously.”
He lowers his gaze to the floor for a second, before looking at me underneath long lashes I used to stare at as he slept. “I admit you crossed my mind when I accepted. I thought…well, you know what I thought.”
I push my lips together, sad for him.
“Anyway, it wasn’t until I got here and dug into the threat further that CJ’s name popped up and then I knew I was called here for a reason, Willow.”
I’m stunned. Processing all this is a bit of a challenge.
“Who made the threat? Was it…” I gulp. Could it be? “Paul Graber?”
“That’s confiden—”
“Oh, can the fucking excuses, Reid. We’re way past that.”
The corners of his mouth edge up slightly as if he’s amused with me. “No, it wasn’t Graber. It was Annabelle’s slimeball ex, Eddie Lettie.”
My heart falls. Her ex. Is this the same guy who tried to violate her? Who may have succeeded?
I have a hard time swallowing against the angst building in my chest.
“I don’t understand any of this. How did he know what happened that night? Was he there?”
Reid comes back over and takes a seat beside me, the legs of the chair scraping the floor. Leaning toward me, he plants his elbows on his knees and spreads his thighs wide. His clasped hands fall between them. “No. Got half a story one night from one of her druggie friends who was there and thought he had an opportunity to capitalize. Stupid fuck thought Preston would just roll over and pay to shut him up.”
I breathe again, not realizing I was starting to get dizzy from lack of oxygen.
“When did you find all this out?” I ask, my voice rough, my heart heavy.
He waits a few beats before answering. “In an ironic twist, the day I saw you again at Preston’s house.”
I don’t know why it hurts that yet another person was in on this secret. “So Preston knew all along.”
I didn’t realize I’d said it out loud until Reid chimes in, “No, he didn’t.”
That catches me off guard. “But—”
“I never mentioned you or CJ. He never knew. Just told him the threat had been neutralized. It’s better for the candidate if they don’t have details anyway.”
“So they can play dumb?”
He smiles softly. “Something like that.”
“Is he still a threat?” I’m sick that this guy is walking around, waiting for his next chance to make trouble for Annabelle or the Mercers.
“Let’s just say karma is a bitch.” He picks up the broken rubber band and starts twisting it around his index finger. “Drug trafficking charges tend to keep a man in orange for a good long time.”
“Drug trafficking?” I remember our conversation about him burying threats to his candidate. “Did you…”
“I wish I could take the credit, but I’m afraid I can’t.”
I crack a small smile, relieved that a dangerous criminal is behind bars regardless of how it happened. We look at each other quietly for a long time as I let everything he told me sink in. His gaze is sad and tender. Mine probably is, too.
“Why didn’t you tell me this when you found out?”
He shifts away from me, leaning against the back of the chair. He hooks one elbow on the corner of the table, letting his hand dangle over the edge. “You know why.” One edge of his mouth pulls up. “I’m not saying it was the right decision, Willow. But I was…”
“Jealous,” I offer after he fades off.
“Yes. Incredibly fucking jealous. He had you and I didn’t. I’ve always wanted you, Willow. Even when you broke my fucking heart, I still wanted you.”
I know and I’m sorry.
“And you thought what? That Shaw would drop me like a bad habit if you threatened to expose all this to me?”
His eyes shift away apologetically. Yeah, that’s exactly what he thought.
“Do you know Annabelle was almost raped the night of my father’s accident? Probably by that guy? I don’t know, maybe she even was.”
The color drains from his cheeks. I keep going, the anger building.
“Did you know she doesn’t remember anything about trying to jump or about the accident or that my father was even there? That this is news she learned at the same time I did? Can you imagine how that felt for her?”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “No. I didn’t know any of that.”
And right here is the problem.
“Of course you didn’t because you defused a threat without understanding the threat in its entirety and you used half a story as a bargaining chip against the man I love. You saw what I went through, Reid. You listened to me cry myself to sleep for months. You knew I felt responsible for my father’s death. What you did was far worse than Shaw trying to figure out how he’s going to help his sister deal with this without either turning back to drugs or trying to commit suicide again. Why would you do that?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it all the way through. All I could think about was you.”
Before I can reply he’s on his knees at my feet. His palms warm my cheeks. His fingers feel strong wrapped around the back of my neck. It’s the same possessive hold Shaw has, only when Shaw does it I mold like warm clay. It’s as if his hands could single-handedly shape me, smoothing out every one of my rugged, honed edges.
“What I did was wrong but my only excuse is I am blinded by desperation to win you back. I love you, Willow. I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for a second, a minute, an hour, or a day.”
“I…” This is brutal. “I know.”
His eyes drop to my lips and before I know it he’s tugging me toward him and placing his mouth gently to mine. His lips are warm. They taste familiar. The kiss is chaste and brief. Wrong and final.
“You’re going back to him.”
Even though I’m angry with him, his pain hurts me. I keep my eyes closed, whispering, “There was never a question.” And I realize as I say it that it’s true. Buried under the agonizing pain, I knew I couldn’t live without him. “He’s more than me. I don’t know how to explain it.”
His cheek presses to mine, lips resting against my ear. “You don’t need to.” His voice is grieved, dejected. He angles back out of my space and waits until I open my eyes. When I do, emotion closes my throat. The first tear pushes its way over his lid when he hoarsely whispers, “It’s the same way I feel about you.”
Words are weapons even when you don’t mean them to be. Sometimes they wound, and sometimes they kill.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you then. I’m sorry I’m hurting you now.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’ve finally let somebody see your soul. Don’t apologize for that.”
All I can do is nod, biting my lip hard to keep from losing it completely.
He flexes to stand. Pausing, he gazes thoughtfully down the plane of his body at me. He reaches out and lightly strokes a thumb along the edge of my jaw. His hand falls away, taking our past with him.
“If you ever need anything I’m a phone call away, okay?”
“Are you leaving Seattle?”
“I think it’s best I do.” He starts toward the door without a good-bye. I let him get as far as turning the knob before I run and throw myself around him and hold fast. His breaths are heavy, his desperate grip on me overflowing with love and finality.
“You’re different with him than you ever were with me. Not gonna lie, I really thought with his sleazy past and inability to commit I would win you back, but the second I saw you look at him in a way you never did me, I knew it was over. I just had a hard time accepting it.” He runs a hand down my hair. “Be happy, Willow.”
I nod against his chest. �
��Thank you.”
Kissing the crown of my head, he releases me and leaves. He walks to his car with sure strides. He slides inside; the whoosh of the door closing reaches me almost instantly.
As I watch him disappear from view and from my life, a part of me is incredibly sad. But I’m also incredibly proud. I’ve exposed myself more in the past two days than I ever have in my life. Instead of avoiding, I’m conquering. It feels good. Empowering. Liberating.
I opt for a shower instead of a bath. I eat a light snack of cheese and crackers before dropping into bed around nine thirty. I turn out the light, sans the wine, right as the chime on my cell goes off.
I don’t bother to look because I know who it is and I know what it says and the repose it brings me is indescribable.
You’re worth fighting for.
More than the words themselves, the steadfastness behind them smashes through my walls. It took months of repetition but his gritty, patient hard work has paid off.
I finally believe.
I believe in him.
In love purely for love’s sake.
I finally believe in living again.
I believe I am worth fighting for.
But so is he.
And tomorrow, if he’ll have me, I’m going to grab his hand and never let go again.
Chapter 31
My dreams run wild with her, night after miserable night.
Starlight illuminates her flaxen hair. Her creamy skin shimmers with lust. Her eyes dance with love and levity. The sound of her sultry voice chanting my name in the throes of ecstasy runs rabid through my blood. It pools in my cock, stiff and throbbing every fucking morning for her.
And when I open my eyes morning after miserable morning, I reach for her. Only her side of the bed is cold and deserted. I stare blankly at empty space for several minutes, positive if I wish hard enough she’ll magically appear wearing nothing but an impudent attitude and a shy smile that begs for me to take her from behind. To show her who’s boss.
But she never appears.
She never calls.
She never texts.
She doesn’t knock on my door or show up unannounced at my office with the fires of retribution in her eyes.
No.
She doesn’t respond to a single, solitary outreach and I’m ready to fucking snap. My patience is gone, especially when I got the message from Noah last night that Randi had, at Willow’s request, returned every red cent of the money I paid her.
Part of me knew she would do it and that part of me respects the hell out of her. The other part, however, the primal one with needs to shield, protect, and care for his woman is so livid he’s practically morphing into a barbaric animal ready to take matters into his own hands.
She walked away from me the night my father was elected, but I let her, knowing she needed space. Respecting that that’s the least I could give her and if I pushed her too far with my sometimes-overbearing attitude, I could lose her for good.
But enough is enough. The last two weeks have been unbearable.
She’s not ready, that sensible side reminds me.
I loathe that side of me these days. The logical one who uses strategy, finesse, and patience to vet and exploit the opponent’s weakness for the win. I’ve finally met my match. There is no chink in her armor. No ace up my sleeve to use against her. Willow is not weak in any way, shape, or form. She’s thundering strength inside quiet courage.
I have no choice but to dig deep yet another day and wait for her, which goes against every male instinct I have. It’s excruciating.
With a heavy sigh and a perpetual boner I refuse to handle, I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress. It’s far too early but since I swear each rough thrust inside of her could be real, it’s almost more torturous to dream of her, so I don’t get much sleep these days anyway.
I throw on a pair of blue plaid pajama bottoms and head into the kitchen, pouring myself a cup of coffee that brewed at four this morning. More out of habit than anything, I open the freezer but the first thing I spot is the box of frozen waffles. I slam it shut again, unable to think about anything but how Willow soothed my soul the night she caught me eating my Eleanor special.
I yank the freezer open again and chuck the waffles into the garbage.
Snagging my mug, I head back into my bedroom. I’m careful to avoid gazing at the leather armchair I can no longer sit in because it belongs to her.
Even though it’s just after four in the morning, in under ten minutes I’m showered and dressed and settled in my home office where I spend a lot of time these days, especially if there’s no one to monitor Annabelle. She cannot be left to her own devices. She’s too fragile. Too depressed. Her attempts to put on a strong front are laughable at best. I’ve never seen her like this.
Needing focus, I force thoughts of Willow and Annabelle to the back of my mind, making myself dig into the acquisition briefing report Dane had couriered over last night. Pretty soon I’m immersed and half my morning goes by in a blur, conference calls and contracts blending together in a mass of blasé detachment.
I used to love my work. It’s all I lived for. Now it’s an endless chore with no reward at the end of the day. The passion I once had for this company has been overshadowed by my unexpected love for an incredibly stubborn woman.
Go figure.
“Yes, Mr. Mercer?” Dane’s cheerful voice pipes through the speaker on my phone. Every fucking shiny syllable he speaks rakes down already exposed nerves, leaving a trail of hot fire in their wake.
“I’m missing the Ramsey file. I thought I asked you to include that with the M&A paperwork you sent over yesterday.”
“It was. I mean”—he stutters—“I thought I did.”
Poor Dane has taken every opportunity to avoid me for the past several weeks. I am hell on wheels and pretty much everyone around me has taken ten steps back to avoid the venom from my bite. But because Dane can’t run too far, he’s taken the brunt of my verbal lashes like a champ. I’m surprised he hasn’t resigned. I’ve been an absolute, epic bastard. I make note to up his bonus at fiscal year-end.
“Well, you didn’t.”
A shadow catches my peripheral and I glance up to see Annabelle standing at the mouth of my office. Her crazy hair is tousled. She’s wearing a simple pair of plain teal leggings and an oversized Seahawks sweatshirt that hangs midthigh. Red-rimmed glasses are perched on the edge of her freckled nose. She saunters in and silently makes herself at home in the chair across from me.
“Are you sure it’s not there?” Dane’s voice wavers as if he’s about to get in trouble for something he didn’t do. That may or may not have happened last week. “I marked it with a bright blue Post-it Note.”
Of course he did.
“Not blind, Dane,” I snip.
I sift through all the papers scattered on my desk, the bright blue Post-it Note elusive because it’s not fucking here. Annabelle nonchalantly reaches across my desk and plucks a paper-clipped packet from underneath a pile and hands it to me.
Pasted to the front is a bright blue Post-it Note.
“I’m sorry, sir. I can copy them again and get them to you immediately.”
“Never mind,” I mumble. Asshole. Yup, that’s me. Annabelle rolls her eyes and sits back. She seems more relaxed than I’ve seen her in weeks.
“Are you sure I can’t get you extra copies—”
I growl, ready to move on with the rest of my day, “It’s fine.”
“Anything else I can—”
“No.”
“You’ll have to ignore my brother these days, Dane,” Annabelle pipes in. “It’s not you, it’s the blue balls talking.”
Dane starts chuckling.
“What the hell?” I punch the speaker button and abruptly end our call, staring her down. “You can’t say things like that to my assistant. What the hell is the matter with you?”
“You’re being a dick. He has the right to know why.”
; “He’s my employee. With the money I pay him, I can be Dick Cheney if I want to be. And he doesn’t need to know shit about my personal life, so knock it off.”
She shrugs, not the least bit sorry.
“Did you need something or can it wait?”
She takes her sweet-ass time answering, her dawdling intentional. I drag in a lungful of air, my patience ready to shatter.
“You were never like this before her, you know.”
My teeth clamp together. “Like what?” I ask, knowing she’s referring to Willow.
“Emotional. I don’t mean to say you were some prick with a block of ice in the middle of your chest but you were always so calculated and reserved. And now”—she waves two fingers up and down me—“you’re acting like me during Shark Week.”
Why that little…
“Don’t even try to deny it.”
I open my mouth; the immediate need to refute the brat weighing heavy on my tongue, only she’s not wrong. Willow has taken the cool, calm, methodical man who didn’t want anything beyond shallow sex and turned him into an emotional, pansy-ass wreck no one can stand to be around. Even I can’t stand me right now, and that’s saying something.
Funny thing is, though, I wouldn’t change a damn thing about it.
“Back to my original question.”
She simply smiles. Not the fake one she’s been giving me but a genuine one that makes her eyes light up, and I see something in her I haven’t seen in weeks: a flicker of sunshine. God, I’ve missed that in her.
“What’s going on, Annabelle?” I lean forward now, forearms flat on my desk, fingers clasped.
“I’m leaving.”
“I thought you didn’t have class today?”
She sits up straight, scooting to the edge of her chair. Uh-oh. I know this look. “I don’t mean school. I mean I’m leaving, leaving. I’m moving out.”
“No,” I tell her, voice even and firm. I grab a pair of readers I only need when my eyes are tired and slip them on. “You’re not.”
My attention drops back to my desk, dismissing her. I expect her to huff and puff and threaten to mutilate critical male reproductive parts in the dead of night as she has several times over the last month that she’s stayed with me. I always ignore her. I also lock my bedroom door when I sleep now.
