Tess
“Seriously?” I said out loud to the empty room when the knock came on my door. I’d been lying on the bed with a washcloth over my eyes, hoping to minimize any signs of crying, but I’d still been aware of the activity below.
Or rather, the lack of activity.
The front door had stopped opening and shutting. There hadn’t been the sound of voices from outside or engines starting for almost twenty minutes. The party was obviously over.
Which meant that Kendra was now free to ignore my plea to wait until tomorrow and was instead knocking on my door.
Typical.
At least she hadn’t just barged in, which would also have been typical.
With a sigh, I threw the washcloth aside and heaved myself off of the bed, straightening the slip dress that I hadn’t had the energy to change out of as I stood. Then I padded over to the door and forced a smile as I opened it.
“Kendra, I really don’t—” My smile dropped as soon as I saw that it wasn’t my boss standing there but rather my lover.
My fucking engaged lover.
“No, no, no, no.” I started to shut the door, but he wedged his shoulder and a shoe in before I could get it closed.
“Just hear me out,” he said softly. Pleading.
The me that had last spoken to him would have let him in right away, not because that me wanted to hear what he had to say, but because she desperately wanted him to understand why she had made that pitch when she hadn’t been authorized.
The last two hours of solitude, though, had given me time to reprioritize my emotions. Yes, I still cared first and foremost for the DRF—well, at least that’s what I was telling myself—but now I was less worried about the lie I’d told and more pissed about the lie Scott had told.
I was almost as pissed at him as I was at myself for having fallen for yet another player’s game.
And while it would certainly feel good to go off on him in the way that I so keenly desired to go off on him, I’d decided the better choice was to have nothing to do with him at all. For the DRF’s sake, but mine as well.
And after I confessed what I’d done to Kendra tomorrow, I wouldn’t have to have anything to do with him. She’d take over negotiations, or she’d kill the whole thing. Either way, I wouldn’t have to talk to Scott Sebastian ever again.
Except that here he was, insistently trying to wheedle his way into my room.
“There’s nothing for you to say, Scott. Go away. You’re making a scene.” He wasn’t, really, but I was astutely aware of Kendra’s bedroom just down the hall.
“I’m not leaving until you let me talk.” He was stronger than me and had already worked more of his leg in without even trying.
Goddammit.
If I didn’t let him in, this would turn into a scene.
I swung the door open, so abruptly that he tripped as he came in. I stifled a chuckle. Served him right. He still looked debonair despite his bobbling entrance and the loose tie around his neck.
Fuck, he was hot. Stupid hot. As always.
I took a step back—as if a handful of inches could diminish his effect on me—and crossed my arms protectively over my chest. “Speak.”
He started to move forward, and I took another step back, my hand flying out to stop him. “Nope. This is my space. Do not invade. You can say what you need to say from there.”
I probably should have established these kinds of boundaries with him from day one. Better late than never.
His mouth was a straight line, but the pinch of his forehead between his brows gave away his frustration. “Fine. I’ll stay here.”
It was a meager win, yet the victory made me drunk enough to push for another. “And when you’ve said your piece, you leave.”
“Sure,” he said flatly. “If you let me explain then I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
I was sure there was a catch, beyond the catch that just allowing him in my presence was dangerous, but it was the best bet I had at getting him to go away.
My arms back over my chest, I cocked my hip. “Well?”
Now that he had my attention, he seemed not to know what to do with it. He ran a hand over his face, then shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s not what you think,” he said finally.
“Oh, no.” Fuck, no. “We’re not having a conversation where you deliver all the stereotypical bullshit that you think you should say when you’ve been caught playing a girl. That’s a waste of my time, and I’ve already given you more than you deserve.”
He frowned. “That...that hurts. But fair.”
“Fuck your hurt.” Especially fuck his hurt because his expression tugged at my chest and made me want to wrap my arms around him, which was definitely not something I should be doing ever again.
It’s a tactic, I reminded myself. He knows how to give good game. So good, I could never possibly win.
The only solution was to stop playing. I looked him square in the eye for the first time since he’d come to my room, pretending I was bolder than I felt. “Now do you have anything worth listening to, or are you ready to leave?”
“I…” His face changed. “Have you been crying?”
Goddammit.
“No.” More false bravado on my part.
His shoulders drooped. “Tessa, I’m sorry,” he said, starting a step toward me then rethinking it. “I hate that I’ve made you cry.”
And I hated that he knew I had.
But also I hated that he automatically assumed he was responsible, which of course he was, and mostly I hated that I’d even cried in the first place.
If I didn’t turn that hate into anger, I’d start crying again in front of him. “Fuck off. Who said I was even crying over you? I have more important things on the line here than a dumb boy.”
Mentally, I told myself to listen to my words.
“The foundation. Of course.” It was almost worth it to hear smallness in his voice. Like it probably wasn’t the first time he’d had to confront the idea that the world didn’t revolve around him, but it was a notion that was embarrassingly difficult for him to grasp.
Then he was back to his assured self. “I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
“And my job.”
“I’ll take care of that too.”
“God, I don’t want your—” Pity/privilege/help. I wanted him to realize that even his mega last name couldn’t fix everything.
But I didn’t actually know that was true.
And I couldn’t turn his help away. Because of the foundation. If I had to accept that help at the moment, though, I definitely would cry.
“I don’t want to talk about that right now, please.” Please? Like he deserves manners. “And I’m guessing that isn’t what you came here to talk about either.”
“No, it’s not. I’m just having a hard time figuring out where to start with the rest.”
Watching him struggle wasn’t helping me either.
“Let me help you—you’re engaged. You fucked around on your fiancée like the player that I knew you were from day one.
I should have known better. And no, I won’t tell Kendra, but only because I want to be through with this whole fucked-up situation, not because I have any desire to protect your stupid ass.
There. No speech needed, and you can go. ”
I sounded exhausted and resigned because I was, and I needed him to leave so I could sleep it off and deal with this whole fiasco tomorrow.
“It’s not a real engagement,” he said bluntly. He let that sit for a second, seeming to realize it was a bomb that needed time to fully explode. “And you can tell Kendra anything you want because it’s not a real relationship.”
I quelled the hope leaping in my chest, reminding myself that he was as smooth as satin. “Well, that’s a line I haven’t heard before.”
“It’s not a line.” Shifting his weight, he let out a frustrated huff.
“Listen, remember how I told you I wanted to get out of PR? I’ve been bugging my dad about it for years.
I know the job. I’m good at the job. But I’m sick and tired of covering up all his scandals.
It’s not fun. It makes me feel like shit. ”
“Skip the emotional stuff. I don’t care about your feelings.” No way was I going to feel sympathy for him.
“Anyway, I was over it. So finally, I asked him what I had to do to get moved to another division. I’d even settle for consumer goods. Whatever to get out of PR. He said I had to get married. Suitably married. He’d give me a seat on the board, too, if I let my parents pick the bride.”
Uh... “And you agreed to that?”
“I. Well. Yes. I had no reason not to.”
That stung for some reason. Maybe simply because he looked as though he’d expected it to sting. Or maybe because it solidified what I already knew—that rich men cared about the world differently than not-rich women.
He rushed to expand. “I’m thirty-five years old, Tess. I’ve never had a relationship that I wanted to be more than casual. Or I hadn’t back then. I’d never expected to end up in a marriage based on love. It seemed like it was probably the right time.”
I ignored his effort to change the tense of what he’d wanted in a relationship. “So Kendra…”
“So my mother has known the Montgomerys for years and has had her eye on Kendra for a long time. She checked all her boxes—came from the right background, had the right kind of education and job, moved around in the right circles. We sat down with her, talked about it. Made sure she agreed that there was no expectation of monogamy.”
He emphasized the last line, obviously wanting the fact to be clear.
It meant little to me. Engaged was engaged. “And she said yes. I don’t know what your definition of real is because that sounds like a real engagement to me.”
“That’s just it—she didn’t say yes. She said she needed time to think about it.
Then she ghosted. That was three fucking months ago.
The next time I had any contact with her was tonight, when I showed up here, and she was wearing the stupid ring my mother had given her.
No one told me she’d agreed. I was as blindsided as you. ”
It was a hell of a story.
I let it sink in, examining the parts so I could appreciate the whole. Kendra ghosting for three months. Yeah, that sounded like her. Spontaneously showing up like she’d been there the whole time was on par as well. “That’s really fucked up.”