22. Austin
CHAPTER 22
Austin
“ H e said what to you?” My body vibrates with anger as she recounts the conversation she had on the street with Noah.
“He’s right.” She hugs the blanket around her body, a vacant expression on her face. “I don’t deserve you or him or anyone.”
“Hey, Taylor.” I rub her arms. “Baby, listen to me.” I lead her over to the couch and sit with her. “He’s angry and hurt. A lot of people lash out when they’re feeling like that, but it doesn’t mean it’s right or true. He’s an idiot, a fucking moron; we both know that.”
“But how can you love me?” Fresh tears tumble over the lip of her red-rimmed eyes. I open my mouth to protest when she shakes her head. “You don’t know the truth. I lied to you.”
My heart feels like it’s just been squeezed within an inch of its life. “Lied to me?” I say, trying to keep my tone calm. “Lied about what?”
“I didn’t choose him—” She squeezes her eyes closed. “I just didn’t choose you.”
I stand there confused, nothing making sense.
“I don’t understand.”
“I lied that night at your house, about not getting that job with Metzler,” she says, referring to the firm she had interviewed at the day we met. “They did offer me the job, but I didn’t take it.”
“Because you chose to come work with me,” I say, finishing her point as if it’s news to me.
“But it wasn’t some thought-out plan I pretended and made myself believe it was. When you leaned in to kiss me that night, I wanted to kiss you back so bad. I wanted to be with you, but I panicked.”
“Baby, I knew you were lying.” I smile when her eyes grow wide. “Did you really expect me to believe that a woman as bright as you, that graduated top of her class from Northwestern Pritzker School of Law and interned at the best law firm in Chicago didn’t get the job?” I cup her adorable, panicked face.
“How did I screw up so bad, then?”
“You didn’t. There’s no planned-out list of decisions you’re supposed to make or tick off. You did choose me. You chose to build a business with me. You chose to trust me with your career, the thing that arguably I’d say you probably care the most about… maybe slightly more than me?”
She laughs through her tears and my heart releases the death grip it’s had on itself since I walked in here.
“You chose me to be one of your best friends, someone you don’t have to hide who you are from. Someone you don’t need to convince that you care about or love or deserve to be with. I don’t care that you feel like you didn’t plan everything out the ‘right’ way. I don’t care that you worry that you’re a bad person because you gave your heart to a man who was so jealous, so angry, he couldn’t see past all of that to realize what he had with you and fight for it.”
She’s no longer crying. Her eyes are fixated on mine, like for once, she’s finally hearing all of the things I love about her. All of the things that have made me fall in love with her every single day.
“But I messed up so many years that we could have been together.”
“It’s not about that. It’s not about any of the things that we could have done or might have done differently. I can’t tell you how many times I go back and forth with myself,” I say for the first time to her. “How many times I wish I would have told you that he wasn’t right for you.”
“You kind of did.” She shrugs. “I was just too stubborn.”
“No, I mean grabbed you and kissed you, told you that you’re my world, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, the most incredible lawyer and person and human.” I rest my forehead against hers, both of us closing our eyes for several seconds.
“Do you think that would have worked?” she finally says with the slightest hint of her snarky tone.
My eyes fly open and I’m pretty sure my cock twitches. “Always with that attitude.” I reach around and pinch her ass, making her squirm against me with a laugh. But her eyes flick past me, her smile fading.
“I forgot I ruined dinner.” Her chin quivers.
“Hey.” I pull her gaze back to mine. “I’m sure we can still salvage some things. You didn’t ruin anything.”
Her emotions are still on the verge of instability. She goes from overcorrecting with laughter to almost crying over groceries. I step to the counter, bringing her with me.
“Okay, let’s see what we can still work with.” I begin pulling items out. “A baguette, that’s still good and wine,” I say, holding up an item in each hand. Next, I pull out two very room temperature steaks wrapped in white paper. “These might be an issue.”
“Ugh.” She sighs loudly.
“And the cheeses.” I sort through them, all very warm at this point. “Probably better to pass. Oh shit.” I smile when I see my absolute favorite dessert, a full-sized red velvet cheesecake from Eli’s, a third-generation cheesecake maker in Chicago.
“The cheesecake,” she pouts, clearly forgetting it was even in there. “Tonight was supposed to be special.”
The first night after our first official day of work as business partners, we celebrated by eating a steak from Gibson’s, and then I convinced her try Eli’s after she swore to me she hated cheesecake. We ate ourselves sick that night on it and she’s been a fan ever since.
“It’s still plenty early in the night,” I reassure her. “We can still have an amazing dinner together.” She steps into my arms, wrapping her own around me. “I’m curious, though.” I kiss the top of her head. “Why was tonight supposed to be special?”
She unclamps her arms and steps toward the island to grab the one bag I didn’t open. She reaches inside, pulling out a designer shoebox.
“Oh.” I notice the world-famous Christian Louboutin gold script across the top. “It is a special occasion.” I’m curious. “That’s a pretty expensive item to just pick up while running errands. Were you going to propose to me?”
She smiles. “Would you have said yes?”
“Depends.” I shrug. “If the shoes don’t fit me, all the fairy tales say that I can’t say yes.”
“I guess I’ll just have to wear them myself, then.” She’s about to slide the box open when I dart my hand out to keep it shut.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I don’t want to see them until you wear them.”
“Okay,” she agrees happily.
“Only them.” I wink at her. “But right now, I need to go take care of something.” Her expression falls. “I’ll be right back, but I need you to call Gibson’s and order two of what your favorite is. I’ll pick it up on the way back.”
I pull out my phone, selecting one of my buddies that has connections—the kind of connections where you don’t really want to know how he knows them, and send him a name with an address request needed asap.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to go pay Noah a little visit.” I reach over and grab the bag of spoiled food.
“What? How do you know where he lives?”
“I don’t but I will in a few minutes.”
“What are you going to say to him?” I’m glad she doesn’t waste time trying to convince me not to go. She knows me well enough; it wouldn’t work anyway. I’m done holding back with that piece of shit.
“I’m not sure but I’m going to make it abundantly clear to him that if he values living in this city and having a job, he will never speak to you or come near you again.” I grip her chin, leaning in to plant a kiss on her lips. “Anything you want me to add?” She acts like she’s going to say something. “What?”
“When I asked him why he stayed with me, if he truly didn’t believe that I loved him, why torture me by constantly making me feel bad knowing there was nothing I could do to make him happy—he said he stayed just so that you couldn’t have me.”
My blood boils. I lean in closer. “And do I have you, Taylor? Are you mine?”
She nods.
“Good. Call Gibson’s.” I grab the cheesecake. “And when I get back in here in an hour…” I give her my full attention so she understands just how serious I am. “I want you wet and wearing nothing but those heels because I’m going to spread you across that fucking island and eat you for dessert first.”
By the time I’m out of Taylor’s building and in the back of my SUV, my buddy has sent me Noah’s address.
“Hey, Jeff, going here.” I hold my phone up so he can see the map. He reads the cross streets, putting the car into gear.
“Got it,” he says, pulling into traffic. He gets me there in less than twenty minutes. I grab the food and jump out of the vehicle, walking confidently inside with the bag of items.
“Got a grocery delivery for a”—I look at my phone, pretending to read off his name—“Noah Fedders? Unit 431?”
The doorman shrugs, clearly overworked or underpaid or both. “Elevator is over there.” He points to a far corner of the lobby, turning his attention back to the TV across from him.
“Thanks.” I wave, walking toward the elevator and taking the ride to the fourth floor. I pound on his door when I reach it, holding my thumb over the peephole.
“Got a grocery delivery for Noah.” I attempt to disguise my voice.
“I didn’t order anything,” I hear the muffled voice behind the door say.
“Sorry, what was that?” I shout louder. “I have groceries for a Noah Fedders.” I pound on the door again. This time his voice and footsteps grow louder.
“I said I didn’t order any groceries—” He swings the door open, his face growing white when he sees me standing there.
“And I don’t recall Taylor asking you to stop by her apartment unannounced and get involved in our fucking business, but here we are.” I push the door open wider and step into his apartment, thrusting the spoiled bag of food into his hands.
“What the…?” He looks down at the bag of food, then up at me, a good four inches above his normal eye line. “You need to leave.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I slam his door and grab a chair from the small kitchen table nearby. “Sit.” I point to the chair, but he doesn’t move.
“I’m calling the cops.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and I reach out and smack it across the room.
“Sit in the fucking chair!” This time he listens.
“I’m only going to say this one time.” I hold up my finger. “So, I’m going to need you to pull your head out of your ass and listen really good, okay? Don’t you ever speak to Taylor again. Don’t show up at her job, her apartment, anywhere you might possibly think she could be.”
“What, are you her lapdog now?” He sneers, like his comment is some original, below the belt dig.
“I’d rather be her lapdog than a pathetic man-child who can’t accept the fact that he fucked up and lost her.”
“I never even had her.”
“You did. You were just too fucking jealous and stupid to see it. But that doesn’t matter now so grow the fuck up and either go to therapy for these issues you’ve clearly left unhandled or I will make your life a living hell in this city. And we both know there’s no point in you trying to make yourself feel better by arguing with me. The kind of people I know, are the kind of people you don’t want to know you exist, you understand me?”
Noah might be an immature asshole who thinks it’s okay to show up and manipulate someone who once loved him, but he’s smart enough to know the weight that threat carries.
“Yes,” he mumbles the word so low I can barely hear him.
“What was that, Noah?”
“Yes,” he spits.
“Good.” I reach down and pat his shoulder. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“She’ll get scared and run away from you too, ya know; that’s who she is. A scared little head case.”
“No, she won’t,” I say confidently, “and no, she isn’t. With a manipulative little man like yourself, yeah, she felt insecure in her relationship. I saw how she was with you. Terrified and anxious of doing the wrong thing. With me, she’s a confident, self-assured woman who is going to be my wife and have my babies. All while still being my business partner.”
I turn and walk toward his front door, pausing to give him one last piece of advice.
“Grow up, Noah, and forgive your mom for whatever this is. Women deserve to be loved and cherished. You’re never going to find love through manipulating them.”