Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
SAbrINA
I woke to pounding on my front door. I’d had a long layover in Denver followed by a flight with engine trouble that resulted in me getting home around four in the morning, and I’d only been asleep—I sat up slightly to look at the clock—four hours.
What maniac is at my door at the ungodly hour of eight? If it was a pest-control guy or solicitor, God help me, I might shoot them, and I wouldn’t feel bad about it either. I had a clear No Soliciting sign posted at the start of my very long drive, so for them to ignore it took balls. And stupidity. My house was set so far back off the street, no one would see me take out a solicitor and bury their body.
The pounding continued, followed by two presses to the doorbell in quick succession. Just for that, I wasn’t going to answer the door. Instead, I pulled the pillow over my head and cupped it around my ears as I tried to go back to sleep. And the silence was amazing. I drifted off as I mentally gave the person at my door my middle finger.
“Sabrina! Wake up.”
I sat up in bed and tossed the pillow in the direction of the man’s voice as I screamed. When I saw who was standing there I picked up another pillow and threw it at him.
“What are you doing in my house? Go away, Satan. Haven’t we had enough interaction?” I searched my nightstand for something else to throw.
On a ring dangling from Cal’s index finger was my hide-a-key. “Why have you kept the hide-a-key in the exact same place for, what, fifteen years now? Do you know how dangerous that is?” He picked up the tossed pillows and threw them back onto the bed.
I pulled the sheets up to clutch them over my chest. “I never once imagined you would be in my house, much less in the position to use the hide-a-key. Now, go let yourself out, and put the key back, and I won’t press charges.”
He frowned down at me as he stuffed the key into his pocket. “The key is the least of your problems right now.”
“Yeah, no shit. You being in here is a huge problem. Get. Out.” I pointed a finger toward my bedroom door.
He crossed his arms and stared down at me. “I’m serious. There’s something you need to see.”
I scoffed. “If we’re talking about the bend in your you-know-what, save it. I’ve seen it. I can confirm it’s a bit much but not really an issue, but you should talk to your doctor. If it’s still bugging you.”
Cal barked out a laugh. “Think about that often, do you?” From the back pocket of his jeans, he pulled out a large, folded manila envelope and tossed it onto my bed. “I’m talking about this.”
This was the Cal I knew. The long-legged, jean-clad, T-shirt-wearing type of guy with a quick smile and quicker laugh. He’d never been a suit-and-dress-shoes man. And though he still looked tired, and his frown lines were still deep and prominent, I saw a hint of who he used to be.
I picked up the envelope. “What’s this—a list with pictures of women you want to meet? Fat chance. Women like someone with a good sense of humor and who’s willing to spend time with them. You’re not that guy.” I lifted the prongs to open the flap.
“Yesterday, someone—a reporter, I guess—was watching our conversation. I can’t determine if they were close enough to hear, but I think likely not because all the speculation made in the included articles are not anywhere near what we discussed.”
I raised a brow as I slid out the papers. Cal wiped a hand down his face and sighed. He came to sit on the edge of my bed.
“Nope. Get up. Sit over there.” I pointed to a chair across the room.
He smirked. “Afraid to have me near and my curved?—”
“Ahh, it’s not that at all. It’s more like I’m grossed out. This is my favorite comforter of all time, and if your bad juju and presence sully it, I will be devastated, and that will be one more thing I won’t forgive you for.”
He stood and went to the armchair by the window. “So you haven’t forgiven me for Vegas.”
“Duh.” I rolled my eyes.
“What happened to ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’?”
It was a poor attempt at a joke, and he knew it. I showed him my middle finger.
CAL
I dropped into the chair and stretched out my long legs, easing the tightness in my muscles. I’d been up for hours already, trying to get ahead of this story. And her bed looked so cozy and snuggly.
Snuggly? I hadn’t thought or said that word in what… a decade?
The minute I’d seen Sabrina in my office, I knew I had to make sure her name wouldn’t get tied to mine. My dad would lose his shit, and Sabrina would pay. But when I watched her get into the elevator after not seeing her for ten years, I simply wasn’t ready for the moment to end. So, like a horny high schooler, driven by hormones and not logic, I’d gone to her hotel for one more glimpse and hung around outside like a kid with acne and no confidence, when what I really wanted was to spend time getting to know her again, maybe have dinner and catch up. But as long as I kept the truth from her, the odds of a friendly dinner out together was slim to none. I had money on none. Those were the foolish dreams of an unlucky man.
So here we were, and this was the new us. I wiped a hand down my face as I stifled a yawn. A friend of Paul’s had given him a heads-up on the story before it broke, giving us time to plan. And while we were talking strategy, all I could think of was what she’d said. How my dad had already beaten me. There was a lot of truth to those words. My dad had already gone too far, interfering in my personal life. Working on the app in real time, exposing that side of myself, just felt like I would be painting a bull’s-eye on my back. Yeah, I was aware that really didn’t make sense, because going after my business was just as personal. Except that he’d gone after my personal life before, and now there was a wound.
Her words had been the kick in the pants I needed, so I’d changed out of my suit and into my fighting clothes—a pair of worn jeans, a T-shirt, and my cowboy boots. They were the standard brown boots with no extra flourish, but they made me feel like I could kick the shit out of anyone. Then I’d walked into her house, and cruel as it was, I felt more like myself than I had in years. Once upon a time, this place had been a second home to me.
Sabrina hadn’t made a sound since opening the envelope. I dropped my hand to study her. She was flipping through the pages in a loop, her eyes darting across them.
She glanced up at me. “They’re hinting that you were aggressive with me? How coy of them to not straight-out say ‘assault.’” She tossed the papers to the other side of the bed and flopped back down, pulling the covers up to her chin. “I don’t see why any of this requires you breaking and entering. And FYI, you could have texted me the links and saved yourself a trip.”
“I don’t have your number.”
It was true. She couldn’t argue with that. She looked over the comforter at me and rolled her eyes.
“Don’t be a jackass. Jace has my number, and you were with him. Plus, I think in your line of work, it wouldn’t be hard to get my number.” She went back under the covers. Head and all.
I sighed. “Reenie…”
A raised arm came out from under the comforter and pointed a finger at me. “Do not call me that. It’s reserved for my friends.”
“And I am not one of them, clearly.” I knew I didn’t deserve to be.
She flipped the comforter off her head to look at me. “Clearly.” Sabrina rolled over and snatched up the articles. “Have you not seen these? You assaulted me. Look at this one. It’s obvious you were pushing me down.” Her expression straight-faced.
She waved an image of me gripping her arm. Her long jet-black hair hung over her shoulder, reaching all the way to the comforter, part of it falling over her face. I itched to tuck it behind her ear. Touching her the previous day had left me with a lot to unpack. The realization of how much I missed her, how her touch affected me like no other, and how all these years that I’d watched over her from afar had been low on the cruel-punishment scale compared to touching her again.
She held up another picture of her falling back and me reaching for her. “And there’s this one too.”
“The only person being assaulted in that picture was me. I still have a bruise on the top of my foot from your shoe.”
She stuck out her bottom lip to pout. “Boo-hoo, you.” Then she held up another picture, this one with her hand on my chest and mine wrapped around her wrist. “How does this even look like assault? Ugh, your dad hates you with a fiery passion. Why is that?” She lifted her elbow to frisbee the photo toward me before plopping back down.
Why indeed. I’d asked myself that since I was ten years old.
I caught the picture as it started to drift down. When this picture was taken, assault had been the furthest thing from my mind. Can she read that in my expression? I wanted to ask Jace what he saw on my face when he looked at the pictures, but that would be opening up a can of worms. I’d long sworn to Jace that my feelings for her didn’t matter, and they didn’t.
Of course I had feelings for Sabrina. I’d loved her once upon a time. And I found her fucking hot as hell, then and now. She was totally my type. But love or no love, it didn’t matter. I was her kryptonite. Eventually, being with me would have destroyed her.
When she’d touched me yesterday, though, I’d felt a gaping hole in my soul, an emptiness I’d pretended wasn’t there. Maybe she could see that in my face. I’d never wanted anyone but her. But sometimes I wondered if I felt that way because I knew I couldn’t have her.
For the last ten years, I had worked from two principles. One, I would never subject anyone to my family. That itself was a prison sentence. And two, I would never ask another woman to be a part of my life if she would always be the runner-up to a ghost from the past. That was why I’d stayed single. That was why I was a workaholic.
I looked at the photo. Embarrassed by my wistful expression, I squirmed in the chair, then placed the picture on the floor. “These accusations really make a mockery of the app. An abuser using safety as something to hide behind. Like I’m some sort of con. They make me look like a hypocrite of epic proportions. Did you see the other fun spin that we hired you, and because I got aggressive with you, now you won’t work with me? Notice that you’ve been named? The armchair experts in the comment section have a lot to say.”
“Ugh.” She pulled the covers up over her head again.
“This is why I didn’t want you involved, Reenie. I don’t want to bring you down with me.”
She grunted, then sighed and from under the covers and said, “This isn’t your fault.” Had the room not been so quiet, I might not have heard it.
“Pained you to say that, didn’t it?”
“You will never know how much.”
I took in her long form stretched out but hidden under the comforter. “Do you still sleep with your toes linked?” I’d never known anyone else who went to sleep with their big toes hooked together.
“You don’t know me anymore, Cal. I left that Reenie behind in Vegas.” She was still under the sheets, and though I couldn’t see her face, I heard the hint of sadness in her voice.
“I’m holding a press conference. I want you there to show that we aren’t working together and that I didn’t assault you.”
She snorted. “Because no woman has ever been forced to stand before a crowd and lie about something like that. There is no way anyone will believe me. That’s a dumb idea. Leave the key on the counter, and don’t let the door hit you in the ass.” She yawned.
I stood quietly and moved to the edge of the bed to position myself beside her crossed feet. I don’t know her, my ass. I picked up the edge of the comforter with both hands and, in one swift jerk, flung the comforter off her and onto the floor.
I pointed to her toes. “You do still sleep with your toes hooked. You big weirdo.”
Sabrina bolted upright. “What the hell is wrong with you!” she yelled. “All I want to do is sleep.”
“We have a press conference to do and our names to separate. Trust me, you need to do this.” I pointed toward her en-suite bathroom.
“Trust you? Ha. Not on your heinous life, buddy!” But she got up and went into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.