Chapter 5
“ I know you don’t want to hear it, but this happened for a reason.”
“And that reason would be?” I ask, needing her to fill in the blanks because I got nada.
Hannah sits up tall from the end of her bed. “It’s to show you that some men are just plain bastards. You try and see the good in everyone, but any redeemable qualities Mr. Fox has, has been squashed under his huge ego and the need to treat people like shit. He’s a bully. He’s a narcissist jerk. The only things he loves are himself, his wallet, and his dick.”
As she unsnaps the hair elastic from around her wrist and angrily pulls back her blonde hair into a high bun, I know this topic infuriates her as much as it does me.
I still can’t believe Dylan is Audrey’s husband. I mean, this isn’t a coincidence. He hired me knowing who I was and what Scott did.
What I don’t understand is why.
Is this his way to get one up on Audrey? To fuck me because she fucked Scott?
I feel sick.
“Here.” Hannah passes me a bottle of water, but I wave it off because I’ll just bring it back up.
“I don’t get it. Why? Surely someone can’t be this cruel?”
When Hannah doesn’t reply, I know that someone can be.
“I feel so stupid,” I sniff, refusing to cry. “He was doing this as some sort of revenge ploy? It was all fake.”
“No, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. There is nothing fake about that.”
But I don’t believe it.
“That’s it!” Hannah stands, tossing the bottle of water across the room. “We’re going out.”
“How about no,” I grumble into the pillow as I bury my face into it.
However, when I hear coat hangers sliding across the railing, I know this isn’t optional.
This is the worse idea—ever.
Being amongst loud music and even louder strangers is not the remedy to cure this ache in my chest.
There’s only one explanation to why I feel like I want to carve out my heart—I’ve fallen for Dylan Fox. I knew he was trouble, but I willingly walked into the fire, prepared to be burned.
Hannah is dancing with some guy, but me, the only thing I’m dancing with is the devil as I throw back my seventh or maybe eighth shot of tequila. I can’t believe I fell for his bullshit. I feel like such an idiot.
I slam the shot glass on the bar and twist my face as the tequila burns my throat.
“Another?”
Turning over my shoulder, I see a man with curly blond hair and piercing blue eyes smiling at me with a slanted grin. He is exactly the opposite of Dylan, which is why I nod.
“I would love one.”
He flags down the bartender, ensuring our shoulders are touching. I like his confidence. “So what happened for you to want to drink the entire bar?”
I laugh, and it’s a nice change from wanting to claw out my brain with an ice cream scoop. “How long you got?”
“For you? I got all the time in the world.”
I smile because, damn, that’s hot. A man who expresses how he feels instead of playing games because he’s a narcissistic asshole.
The bartender places our drinks on the bar, and as I look at this handsome stranger, I throw caution to the wind and bend forward, licking the side of his neck. Before he can ask what I’m doing, I pepper his neck with salt, lick it deliberately slow before throwing back my shot.
His mouth is parted, which allows me to slip the sliver of lime between his lips and eat it from his mouth. I’m impressed as he deftly removes the lime rind in one smooth motion before kissing me deeply.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the kiss, but everything spins quickly and I revel in the chaos, until I hear a voice which only heightens the madness.
“Good evening, Ms. Young.”
The way his voice sends my senses into sensory overdrive and the way I’m left breathless, choking on my ragged breathing, all leads to one thing—Mr. Dylan Fox is here. Shitting on my already shitful day.
I make no attempt to stop kissing my surfer dude, however. And only deepen the kiss. And only when I’m content, do I pull away.
“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” I quip, relishing in a very pissed-off Mr. Fox.
“We’re taking a walk.” He grips my arm, but I yank it from his grasp.
“You can talk a walk,” I rebuke, snuggling into my new beau’s side. “I’m staying right here.”
Dylan runs a hand through his hair which is snarled, unlike him. And when I take in his attire, I see his entire appearance is unkempt—unlike him.
“Baylee, I’m warning you…”
“Oh, fuck you,” I snap, cutting him off. “You know what… I quit. You’re nothing but a narcissistic, lying asshole who clearly needs a hug. I?—”
I don’t get to finish my rant because he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, where he then storms his way through the sea of people who move out of the way quickly.
“Put me down!” I yell, kicking my legs, but to no avail.
The moment we’re outside, he puts me down, only for me to slap his cheek.
“Don’t you ever do that again! I am done with you, Dylan! I am done with your mixed signals! I am done with your games!”
He rubs his cheek and I see I’ve left a handprint behind.
“I’m sorry. You have every right to be angry.”
“Don’t you dare—” But stop dead in my tracks when I realize he just apologized and sounded genuine.
“I fucked up.”
Again, I’m robbed of words because is he really admitting fault?
“I saw the duck. Well, I saw what’s left of it. Can I please explain?”
I fold my arms across my chest, indicating I’m listening.
“Not here. My apartment is a few blocks away. Will you come with me?”
I should tell him no, but I know I’ll forever regret it if I don’t find out why. So I nod and follow as he leads the way. He doesn’t make small talk, which I appreciate.
The moment we enter his building, I realize he just willingly invited me into his home. This means something because this is his personal sanctuary. But I don’t get caught up in that and rather focus on the fact that this bastard used me for his own fucked up reasons.
It doesn’t surprise me when we ride the elevator to the top floor and when the doors open, I see the entire level belongs to Dylan. Most would be impressed. I’m not.
He swipes a keycard over the panel, and when the doors open, I’m greeted with the most stunning view of the skyline. But this is all materialistic bullshit. What’s the point of having riches if you can’t enjoy it with the people you love?
I’m looking out the window when he appears with a bottle of water. “Take it,” he gently orders when I eye it angrily.
Why is he being so nice?
I do, only because I want to wash down all the tequila I just drank. I wait for him to talk, but he seems nervous. So I decide to break the ice.
“What was I? Some game to you? A score to settle because your huge ego got bruised?”
He flinches, running a hand down his face. But I don’t feel sorry for him. He didn’t feel sorry for me when he treated me like dirt.
“At first, yes,” he confesses, and I narrow my eyes, ready to break that expensive vase on the mantle over his head.
“So you knew who I was when you hired me?”
“Yes.”
“And you hired me with the intent to fuck me to get back at your wife? She fucked my boyfriend, so you wanted to fuck his girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
I respect he has been honest, but it still fucking stings. “How could you be so cruel?”
“I’m not proud of my actions, and if I could take it back, I would.”
“Oh, that’s nice to know.”
“No, fuck, I didn’t mean it that way.”
But I’ve heard enough, and vomit rises—literal vomit.
With a hand over my mouth, I run down the hallway, thankful when I find the bathroom not too far away. I throw up into the toilet, wishing I could purge this sickness within.
“Baylee.”
“Go away,” I groan with my head buried in the toilet.
When I hear his footsteps along the floor, I know he’s not going anywhere.
I feel a cool washcloth at the back of my neck, but as nice as it feels, I don’t want his kindness. It’s too late for that.
“I meant, if I could take back how we met, I would. But I don’t regret that we did. Audrey filed for divorce months ago, but I never signed the papers. I wanted to punish her and not give in. And when I found out what she did with your ex-boyfriend, I?—”
He sighs, appearing to find the right words.
“I needed to hurt her how she hurt me. But I never told her about us because the moment I met you, I knew it was… more. You’re the only woman to challenge me in every possible way. And although it drove me crazy, I liked it.”
I feel my cheeks heat, and that unwanted, familiar fire begins to smolder in my stomach. But no, he doesn’t get to do that.
Pushing him off me, I lift my head from the toilet, and when I see nothing but honesty reflected in his eyes, I realize he’s telling me the truth.
“How can I trust you?” I ask. “What you did, it’s unforgivable. You used me. Go back to your wife , Mr. Fox. You deserve one another.”
“I’m not interested in her, and anyone else?—”
I don’t allow him to finish, as his statement cements what a huge asshole Mr. Fox really is. “Oh, you son of a bitch! I get it. No need to spell it out for me. I am just one of the many women you’ve probably fucked and forgotten all about. It’s my fault I actually thought you liked me.”
And then, there was silence, and I instantly regret my overshare. I need to leave.
Standing up, I ignore how the room spins and make my way toward the door.
“Baylee, please wait. Don’t go.”
But I am done with this man. With his games. With him screwing with my mind.
Just as I’m about to open the door, he says something which ends my resolve because they’re the words I’ve wanted to hear since the moment we met.
“I’m not interested in anyone, but you . And if you’ll let me, I’d like to start again. I’d like you to see the real me.”
I can feel him at my back. My body responds to him in ways I don’t understand. I should hate him, but I don’t.
“I’m fucked up. I know that. But when I’m with you, I feel… like someone I want to be.”
My heart clenches at his words, but my brain is reminding me what he did.
“I can’t, Dylan. What you did?—”
“I know,” he replies, gently wrapping an arm around my waist. “I’ll spend however long it takes begging for forgiveness. Give me a chance. Please.”
I want to. I really do. But how can I trust him?
“I’ll see you at the office.”
“I quit,” I remind him, basking in his warmth.
“I don’t accept your resignation. I’ll see you bright and early, Ms. Young. And that’s an order.”
And only then does he let me go.