Fractured (Not Quite a Billionaire #2) (43 page)

“You were asleep.” Not my sharpest comeback ever. My mind was racing, but it was coming up short.

She stared at me with the contempt that excuse deserved. “Couldn’t wake me up? And was I asleep yesterday, or whenever you found out about this? No. I was
downstairs.
I was hoping you hadn’t told me about Anika over the past weeks because there was nothing to tell, but now, who knows? Maybe it was because you think I’m a child, somebody who can’t handle the truth, somebody to stick on a…a shelf like a doll until you want to play with her.”

What the hell? Who’d said she was my doll? She was still standing, too. “Sit,” I told her.

“No. I’m not your dog, either.”

I did not need this agro. Everything was crashing down on me. Couldn’t she see that? “If you don’t want me to treat you like a child,” I said, “maybe you shouldn’t act like one.”

I knew pretty quickly that it had been a mistake. She drew herself up to her full, if unremarkable, height, and there were spots of color burning in her pale cheeks now. But her voice was low and controlled when she asked me, “So expecting you to share information with me that affects our future, that hurts
you,
is childish?”

Maybe I wasn’t totally controlled myself, because I said, “No. Throwing a wobbly in the middle of my meeting with my bloody board of directors is childish, if you want me to solve this. What do you imagine I’m doing here? I’m fixing it. I’m coping. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t have a plan yet, and I don’t share information until I know what I’m doing with it. How was I to know you’d see the article?”

“How…were…you…” She was circling an arm in the air. “I’m lost for words. What do you imagine I do all day, watch cartoons? I’m not going to notice that you’re front-page news, and, oh, yeah, that my name’s in there, too?”

“Nowhere close to the front page,” I said. “Gossip, that’s all. I told you. I’m handling it. I need you to be…” I searched for a New Age word. “Supportive. So I can.”

She shook her head as if she were shaking my words loose, then stuck her hand up there and tugged at her hair, seeming to forget she’d put it up. I saw some pins fly, and a few pale curls came loose as she heaved in a couple deep breaths. “And that isn’t all,” she said. “That isn’t even the worst thing. If it were just this, I could see it. I could even understand. I could
be
supportive, if you’d let me.” She lost some of the fury, was onto sadness now, and how was I meant to hold onto my own anger if we were back to the big blue-green eyes that were her most unfair advantage? She went on, “I could see that you’re used to operating this way, and that you didn’t stop to think that this situation might be different, because this time, you’re in it with me. I’d see that you were under pressure, and you went to your default mode. I’d be upset, I’d probably yell at you a little, I’d make you see, and we’d be done.”

“How do you know you’d make me see?” I asked, trying my best. “You think all you have to do is get mad, and I’ll do it your way?”

“I think—I
thought—
that you’d be willing to listen, and to try. Because you love me, and you care that I’m happy.”

How did I answer that? The rules were, you didn’t ask a question unless you were pretty sure of the answer. You didn’t make yourself vulnerable to surprises. Unfortunately, Hope was nothing but surprises, and I was totally vulnerable to all of them.

“But you did so much more than that,” she said. “You told people not to hire me. I don’t even know how you did that, except I guess it’s what you said. Gossip. Spreading the word. All I know is, I went on an interview today, and she…she kicked me out without even talking to me.” Her voice wobbled on the words, and there were tears shining in her eyes that gave me another sharp kick of guilt straight to the guts as she went on. “And the other interview I had…they canceled. Nobody is going to hire me, are they? Nobody in fashion, and that’s all I know. And what I want to know is…” Another breath, a sharper one. “Why? I don’t understand. Why do you have to control me that much? Why would you sabotage me, if you really loved me?”

I started to answer, then stopped. She was still standing there, and I couldn’t…I stood up, and she backed up a step. Just a step, but I saw it. I leaned against the table instead of holding her the way I wanted to and told her, “I didn’t want you to go someplace else.” That didn’t sound too good, even to myself. “I thought you’d be better off here, and you were acting so…” In trouble again. “Well, yeh, there are a few people who may not have adjusted to your being here yet, but I knew it was just a matter of time. I was trying to protect you from making a…rash judgment.”

There. That sounded better.

Maybe not, because she said, “First I was childish, and now I’m irrational? Why the hell do you want to marry me, then? I don’t sound like a prize.”

“Don’t swear,” I said. “And stop getting hysterical. That isn’t going to help.”

That didn’t work either, because her chest was rising and falling, her breath coming fast. “I will swear if I damn well want to. I’m not…a…
child,
and you’re not my father.”

“No.” If it came out as a growl—well, I couldn’t help it. I was out of patience. For everything. “But I can still give you a spanking.”

She didn’t back off a bit. She came closer, until she was toe to toe with me. “Do not,” she said, “mistake what I’ll do in bed with you for what I’ll do at any other time. I am not that woman. I am an adult, and I want you to talk to me like an adult.”

“We’ll do it tonight,” I said. “When you’ve calmed down.” And when I had. When I could think.

She looked at me for another long moment while the silence stretched out, thick and heavy.

I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to…to do everything, to bury all the worry and the trouble in her. She was my oblivion, couldn’t she see that? She was my refuge and my reward, and if that slipped away, too…

I couldn’t talk about this anymore. I couldn’t think about it. I was very nearly out of control, all the threads sliding from my grasp, and I needed to get back on the right side of the line fast.

Why
hadn’t
I told her? Because I’d been afraid of what she’d say. What she’d do.

No
. I didn’t lie to myself, and I didn’t hide from necessary evils, but I’d done both, because I’d wanted her too much.

Tell the truth.
Because I’d been afraid I’d lose her.

“Fine,” she said, while I was still trying to work out how to deal with all of it, and nowhere near an answer. “I’ll tell Josh we’re done.” And then she turned and walked out.

Right, then. Right. I’d finish the meeting, because that was the next thing, and you always did the next thing. I’d put out the rest of the fires. And then I’d deal with this one. I’d do…whatever. Something. I’d sort it out.

Tonight. When I had time.

Hope

By the time I got home, I’d sweated through my blouse in the July heat, developed a bad blister on two toes on my left foot from my new shoes, which hadn’t been made for walking, and found a new way for my shoulder to ache from carrying my laptop bag.

I’d also quit my job. I’d headed straight from Hemi’s conference room to Simon’s office and had told him so.

“I’m figuring,” I’d said, “that my staying through a two-week notice would be awkward for Hemi and the company both, not to mention for you. And for me, of course. There’s that. Thank you for everything, and I’m sorry.”

“Uh…no problem,” he’d said, completely unable to hide his relief. “But if you need a reference…I mean, not that you’d need a reference. But I’d be happy to, of course.”

“You would?”

He’d looked surprised himself. “Well, sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I never thought that you were impressed with my work, let’s say,” I’d figured I might as well say it. Not like I had anything to lose anyway.

“I told you I was. You’re fast, and you don’t make mistakes. What else is there?”

“Oh. Well, thanks.” It was one heck of a time to find that out, but on the other hand, I felt better at this moment, when I was quitting, than I had all day. “I’ll take you up on that. It’ll help.”

“Of course, it was only for a few weeks,” he’d had to add. “But I won’t dwell on that part.”

Which was all great. Well, not
great,
but not as horrible as the rest of it. Not as horrible as what had happened with Hemi.

Now that I was home, though…or, rather, at Hemi’s…

On the elevator to the penthouse, I lowered my forehead onto the cool wall, shifted the shoes I was carrying to the arm carrying my laptop bag, and touched the pendant at my throat.

When you need to remember that you have a power and a light inside you that nothing and nobody can ever put out. Those times when you most need to know that, when it’s hard to believe—you could wear this, and touch it, and remember.

I wasn’t my mother. I had the strength to endure, and that had come from her. But I had the strength to choose, too. Even when the choice was hard. Even when it felt impossible.

As soon as I entered the foyer, I heard voices from the kitchen. Inez, the Spanish-accented syllables sharp, a little loud, and a higher voice that was Karen. I set my bag and shoes down and headed in there, grateful for the cool marble against my hot, aching toes.

After this, I promised myself, a cool shower. And a change.

“It is too short,” Inez was saying as I walked into the kitchen. “You cannot wear that, not on the streets. You look like a
puta.
Like a streetwalker.”

“No, I don’t,” Karen said. “It’s a normal
skirt.
And that’s slut shaming.”

“I will shame you, yes,” Inez said. “Your sister would shame you for this.”

Karen huffed out a breath. “That’s not the
point,”
she began, then caught sight of me. And, yes, her skirt
was
short. Not to mention the white tank top that was more like an undershirt, and the deep purple ribbons of bra straps, if anybody had somehow missed the bra itself, showing under the thin white fabric.

“Hey,” she said, sounding surprised, and maybe a little alarmed, too. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I quit. And I need to talk to you. Hello, Inez,” I added. “Sorry to interrupt.”

She studied me, then asked, “You want a cold drink?”

“Oh, man,” I said with a sigh. “I’d kill for a cold drink. Thank you. I can get it, though.”

“No. I will make you lemonade,” she pronounced. “With ice. It will be good for you.”

The closest thing to the lemon ice I still remembered from Saturday, and I wanted it. Pretty desperately, in fact. “Thanks,” I said, and she looked at me some more, then inclined her head toward Karen, and I nodded.

“Living room,” I told Karen. “I’d say terrace, but too hot.” Besides, the glass walls still freaked me out, if I were forced to be honest.

Instead, I sat on the blessedly cool leather of the couch, wishing I could take that shower first, but what if she left while I was in there? “We’re moving to the apartment,” I told her.

I got a blank stare for that.
“Huh?”

“Not forever,” I said. “At least I hope not. But I need to go for…for now. I need to think. I need some space.”

I hadn’t been sure until the doorman had been holding the huge brass-edged door for me. The cage was gilded, but if I couldn’t leave it, it was still a cage.

“But
why?”
Karen said. “Hemi’s awesome. Sure, he’s bossy and everything, but so are you. And he’s got
everything.
I mean, not just money. Koro, and New Zealand, and everything? Plus, he really loves you.”

“I know,” I said. “I love him, too. That’s the problem. Not that we love each other, but that he’s got everything, and he thinks he knows everything, too. I just…” I passed my fingertips over my still-damp forehead and tried to focus. “I need some thinking time. I quit my job, and I think it’s going to take me a while to get another one. I just need to…to regroup, and to start over with him.”

“You broke
up?”

“No. It’s just a break. Not a breakup.” Surely not.

“Then why do I have to come?” she asked.
“I
don’t need a break. I’m doing the cooking thing with Inez, and Charles says he’ll teach me to drive, and I’m going to the Y, and…
everything.
And our apartment barely has
air
conditioning, and it’ll be so horrible, after here.
Everything
will be so horrible.”