Chapter 16 #2
Sloane’s karma got served a hell of a lot sooner than I expected, but the thrilling part is that my fingerprints aren’t anywhere near it.
The message she sent tells me her ace card is still tucked up her sleeve, and I can’t wait to see exactly what she plans to do with it.
Still, watching Grant throw her career under the nearest bus makes me want to wreck him even more.
For now, I’m content to enjoy the spectacle.
“Does she know you froze everything?”
“Yes.”
“How did she take it?”
“Who gives a shit?!”
I splay a hand over my chest, jumping at the decibel of his voice in exaggerated shock. Grant catches himself a second too late, his expression changing as he realizes exactly how loud he got.
“I’m sorry.” He rubs a hand over his jaw. “I didn’t mean to scare you. That came out wrong.”
“No. I think it came out exactly right.”
He rubs his palms over the counter. “Laurel, I’m trying to show you she doesn’t matter. I’m trying here.”
“I know, I just…” I cover my face with my palm, pressing my thumb into the corners of my eyes until they spring with tears and redden, the same trick I used whenever Dean and I got into a fight and I needed Mama to forget I’d thrown the first punch.
Grant hurries toward me, and I know he’s going to touch me before his hand even lifts. I have half a second to decide what to do.
I sneeze. Hard.
The spray catches him square across the cheek, and Grant freezes, jaw hanging open.
I gape at him, horrified, one hand flying to my mouth. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
He wipes his cheek with the back of his hand, blinking at me with an expression caught somewhere between disgust and disbelief.
I sniff, eyes already watering again. “Wait.”
His brows pull together. “What?”
“What cologne did you use?”
He looks genuinely confused. “What?”
“The cologne.” I sniff again, wrinkling my nose. “You know the one. The spicy one that makes my nose itch.”
“I’m not wearing that.”
“You are.” My voice cracks. “You are, Grant.”
He glances down at his shirt, then lifts his wrist and smells it, frowning. “Laurel, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” I shake my head, tears spilling faster now. “You always wear it when you’re trying to cover another smell.”
His eyes snap back to mine. I press both palms over my face, my shoulders beginning to shake. “I can smell it.”
“Baby—”
“No.” I recoil when he reaches for me again. “Please don’t.”
His hand drops immediately, and I bite my sobs back before they can turn into laughter.
Space.
Exactly where I wanted it.
“I am so fucking sorry, baby.” His voice drops, rough with remorse.
“I swear to God, Laurel, I’m sorry. I’ve made you this sensitive and weak.
I don’t know what the hell was wrong with me.
I knew how much you loved me, and that you can’t do without me, and I still did this to you.
” He shakes his head, looking at me like the sight of my tears is breaking his heart.
“I should’ve protected that. I should’ve never turned you into a fucking basket case. ”
Did this sanctimonious prick just call me a basket case?
“Six months, Grant. You left our bed and went to hers, came home afterward, touched me, and told me you loved me.”
“Because I did.”
“You think loving me while you did it makes you less monstrous?” I wipe my face with the heel of my palm. “You loved having what you wanted more.”
Grant searches for the sentence that fixes it, because songs have trained him to believe every emotional problem has a bridge if you sit with the chords long enough.
“Tell me what to do. I don’t like seeing you this way. I’ll do anything.”
Oh, now I get to tell him what to do.
I let my mouth tremble before I look away. “I can’t make the list for you, Grant.”
“I’ll give you space. I’ll go to therapy. We’ll do therapy together. I’ll sell the fucking hotel if you want.”
“You don’t own the Conrad.”
“You know what I mean.”
Yeah. Bullshit promises.
“Keeping promises has been a recurring problem.”
His tongue drags slowly over his lower lip.
“I did it because I was scared of losing you. The first Vale offer came, and I knew what it meant. You had an opportunity outside of me, and I couldn’t stand the thought of you taking it.
And suddenly Beckett fucking Vale came back with something bigger, even after your voice was trashed.
He was offering you a future that didn’t need me in it.
I knew if you took that deal, there’d be nothing left for me—for us. ”
“And Daniel?”
“Daniel knew you were unhappy after your injury.”
“I was grieving my career.”
“Exactly.” Grant comes closer, desperation sharpening his voice. “You were vulnerable. Vale was circling again. Daniel said you’d take a meeting if Beckett got directly to you, so I put him on retainer and told him Mercer needed first refusal on anything involving you.”
I almost admire the euphemism.
Wheezing, I push myself to my feet. “You bribed my former manager to keep offers away from me because you were scared I’d leave, so you made sure I never knew there was somewhere else to go.”
“I was trying to protect us. And that bastard Vale wanted more than your music.” A spark flashes in his eyes, sharp and sudden, like he’s just remembered something.
“You haven’t fucked him, right? Did you fuck him after I made a mistake?
” His voice roughens. “Is that why you’re letting me beg?
You’ve been parading around with him for days.
It’d only be logical if you did. Those nights you said you spent at a hotel—he was with you, wasn’t he? Even during the audit meeting.”
Something hot travels down my spine, leaving me momentarily speechless at the sheer audacity of the way he’s redirected this conversation.
Motherfucker.
I grit my teeth, digging my nails into my palm so hard I’m sure they’ll leave crescent marks.
“Don’t play dumb.” Grant takes a step toward me, then seems to remember the salty bath I gave him minutes ago and stops himself.
“You knew Beckett Vale wanted you since Austin. Hell, every fucking man in that restaurant knew it. You were sitting there talking clauses while he looked at you like he’d already decided which side of his bed you belonged on. ”
God, how did I love this waste of human sperm for over a decade?
His phone rings before either of us can speak again.
Harlan.
Grant sees the name and curses under his breath.
“Take it.”
“This can wait.”
“Your board chair calling this late at night? I doubt it’s anything good,” I mutter, knowing damn well it isn’t.
He answers. I walk to the sink and rinse out a glass, pretending not to listen as the irritation in his voice slowly drains away.