Chapter Thirty Seven #2
“Maybe not,” Clayton admits, though there’s no shame in his features. “But I have integrity, something Harper adores. So, if we’re done here, I have a lunch to get to.”
I sit frozen, rage boiling in my chest, fighting against the bitter taste of shock.
Who even is this man? He’s not the bull-headed jock I first met, not the immovable asshole who always rose to my challenges.
No, Clayton has changed, and I have a feeling I know why.
Harper got to him, exactly the same way she’s dug her claws into me.
Shouldering his bag, Clayton tries to walk away from me.
He must have missed the memo. No one makes me look like a fool.
Shooting around the table, I shove him hard in the chest, forcing him a step back.
I’ve tried to be civil, generous even, but Clayton seems to have forgotten who he’s dealing with. I’ll happily remind him.
Slamming my shoulder into his ribs, I drive him onto Peterson’s desk with enough force to rattle the glassware.
I snatch the metal pointer, pressing it against his throat until his face reddens and his breath catches.
Clayton grits his teeth, jams his leg between us, and boots me across the room.
My back skids along the polished floor, a white-hot sting cutting through me in a way that almost feels good.
He’s on me instantly, hauling me up by the scruff of my Gucci collar.
“As if I’d ever trust you with her,” he growls, slamming me down hard. I chuckle, sprawled on the floor, watching him stride away muttering about Harper being too special.
“I didn’t realize you were so selfish.” The words stop him dead, a tremor of fury passing through his shoulders before he spins back toward me.
Grinning, I stand and make a show of brushing dust from my sleeves.
“I’m giving you an out. A clean fix to all your problems, and as an added bonus, you’d never see me again.
All you’d have to do is leave behind a girl you barely know. ”
“And read about her ‘accidental death’ in the papers when you finally go too far?” His eyes burn a hole through me.
It appears I’m not the only one who is possessive.
“Not happening. One day I’ll pay off my mom’s debts myself, through hard work and perseverance.
Right now, I have a real shot at turning my life around and finding happiness with someone.
I won’t let you ruin that for any amount of money. ”
Clapping slowly, I give his little speech the deluded applause it deserves. Leaning against a table, I drag my eyes over him deliberately.
“I’ll be honest, in another lifetime, I reckon we could have been somewhat civil.
If only you weren’t always standing right in my fucking way.
” I make a dramatic show of checking my cuticles.
“You will be leaving Waversea. Whether as a rich man today or through force tomorrow, I won’t stop making your life a living hell until you’ve gone. ”
A noise cracks through the room, one I’ve never heard before.
It takes me a second to place it, Clayton’s rambling laughter wrapping around me like a vice.
I didn’t know he was capable of more than a small smile.
For a split second, it’s like looking in a mirror, his head held high with an air of superiority he’s done nothing to deserve.
“I’ve never understood the saying that money can’t buy happiness until I saw you.
You must be the loneliest, most miserable person I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet.
I may have no money, but I’ll always be richer than you.
And the funniest part is,” he leans into my face so we are nose to nose, “Harper tolerates you, but she actually likes me. She comes to my room without being forced and waits for me in the library every evening. How many times has she willingly spent time with you?”
For whatever senseless reason, I let myself feel the weight of that truth pressing against my ribs, squeezing until my chest carves in.
Clayton turns to leave, his hand bracing on the handle, and my chest lurches.
I’ve failed. I’ve finally found something money can’t buy, and it hurts in a way I don’t like.
It burns harsher than any cigarette stub against my skin.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” I state, one last pitiful attempt to change his mind.
“So have you. You’ve shown your hand. Revealed what your dead heart desires, and you’ve given me the power to tell you no. What a successful morning this has turned out to be.”
The slamming of the door ricochets through my body, igniting a dull ache I thought I’d outgrown, but it always finds its way back.
The kind of ache that is so unbearable, I do what comes naturally.
I submerge it in rage. Clayton can think he’s better than me, that he’s noble and deserving of Harper.
Who’s to say I don’t deserve her? That I haven’t suffered enough to earn a little light in my life.
Returning my attention to the desk, I rip the microscope from its station and throw it directly into the whiteboard at the front.
The table goes next, flipped across the room I recently spent a week renovating.
It all seems pointless now. The pining, the infatuation.
I can’t share her. I’ll end up killing one of us and she’ll never speak to me again once I’ve picked out Clayton’s coffin.
He’s no one. He has nothing to offer. Yet he’s clawed back from the brink and found himself worthy of her attention. And why do I even care? Am I jealous of the way she looks at him or the way she—Holy fuck, I’m jealous. An emotion I was incapable of before I set my sights on Harper fucking Addams.
I suppose I’ve never allowed myself to be vulnerable enough for such feelings to exist but she’s cut me open and left me to deal with the wound. I’m bleeding for her and she doesn’t even know it.
Lifting a steel ruler, I walk over to the washed test tubes next.
Let her see the carnage she’s caused, the resulting mess of luring me into an exposed state I can’t handle.
By the time every breakable item is broken, including Peterson’s desktop, I’ve begun to relax.
The red curtaining my vision fades and my breathing levels out.
This is what emotions do to me. What she does to me.
But even still, I know I won’t be able to stop pursuing her.
I must feed on her rage to ease my own, revel in her brutal honesty to clear a pathway for my mind to briefly function.
And I want her to want it too. To want me too.
Not for the money or the parties or the fame. Just for me, in all my fucked-up glory.