Chapter 7
SEVEN
THE DOOR CLICKS shut behind Matthew, sealing the silence. I stand frozen, James’s presence radiating behind me like an open furnace.
He spins me around. “What the hell are you wearing?” he spits.
I yank my arm free and round my desk, gripping the edge until my fingertips turn white. “You locked me out last night.” I force the words out with a defiant tremor. “Or were you too drunk to remember?”
James paces between the sofa and the door, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing furiously at his forehead. The lines around his eyes are deeper, etched by a night of hard drinking and harder truths.
“Last night was one hell of a night for me, Mimi,” he says, voice thick with self-pity. “Watching those videos you recorded… How could you?”
The accusation stuns me. “You were the one cheating, James!” I cry out. “You were the one who lied to me, who said you were working late when you were out with—”
“Don’t you dare bring that up again!” He slams his hand on the desk.
The crack makes me jump. My pulse hammers in my throat.
“And lower your voice,” he commands. “You were spying on me. Not only did you invade my privacy, but you had the audacity to record it too.”
I cover my face with my hands, stifling a scream.
Unbelievable.
I shove my chair aside and round the desk, stopping inches from him.
Rage overrides fear. “What about how I felt watching you make out with another woman? How I felt when you threw me out on the streets knowing I had nowhere to go? All for a stupid ring?!”
His eyes go dark. He grabs my shoulders, fingers digging into the thin fabric of my tracksuit.
“Stupid ring? It’s not just any ring! It’s an investment!
I invested so much in you, Amy. Made you the perfect fiancée.
And that ring? It symbolizes everything we’ve achieved: the image, the stability, the success.
” He crowds closer, his words cold. “And you… you threw it away like it meant nothing.”
“It meant everything to me,” I counter, tears blurring my vision. “It was a symbol of our love, our commitment.” My voice cracks. “But you… you broke that commitment, James. You ruined us.”
“No, you ruined everything,” he snarls, low and menacing. “You betrayed me.”
He shoves me back. I stumble, my hip catching the sharp edge of the desk.
Pain flares, but I refuse to be silenced. “I betrayed you?!” I retaliate. “How? By waiting alone all those nights I thought you were working? By watching you crawl into bed at dawn smelling of whiskey and cheap perfume and saying nothing? How did I betray you? Please enlighten me.”
“By humiliating me!” he roars, his face contorting. “By making me the villain. When I’ve done nothing but provide for you! Invest in you! In this bloody café! I gave you the life you always wanted.”
“The life I want?” A jagged laugh scrapes my throat.
“Is that what you call this? This life where all I do is wait for you? Wait for you to wake up and remember our love? Honor our commitment?” My voice trembles, but he doesn’t show an ounce of remorse.
“Instead, all you’ve done is disrespect me.
Cheat on me. With any woman you cross paths with. A cheap lay—”
His eyes ignite. He shoves me hard, his hand slamming into my chest. The edge of the desk catches the back of my thighs.
My feet fly out from under me, and I cry out as my body slams backward onto the hard surface.
Papers fly, pens scatter, and the small ceramic vase Helen gave me for my birthday explodes against the wall.
Before I can register the pain, James lunges, pinning me to the desk with his weight.
He lowers his face to mine, his breath raspy in my ear. “How dare you speak to me this way?” he seethes, fingers digging into my shoulders before he slams me back down. “I made you, Amy Beckett. And I can destroy you just as easily. Don’t you ever forget it.”
Silence descends, punctuated only by his ragged breathing.
Then, with a deafening crack, the door is thrown open, bouncing off the wall. “That’s enough!” Matthew bellows.
In a blur of motion, Matthew yanks him off me. James stumbles back, face a mask of shock and indignation, as Matthew shoves him hard toward the open doorway. “Get the hell away from her,” he roars.
James turns, fists clenched, ready to fight, but Matthew steps up to him, radiating lethal calm. “Go ahead. Test me. I fucking dare you.”
James scoffs, smoothing down his hair and straightening his blazer.
“You’re out of your league, Counselor,” he says, his lip curling with disdain.
“You clearly have no idea who you’re dealing with, so I’ll let it go this one time.
” He glares over Matthew’s shoulder at me.
“Amy, I’ll see you back at the apartment. Don’t make me wait all night.”
He turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway until they fade to nothing.
Gone.
Just like that.
I lie there trembling, my body heavy, my mind numb. I raise a shaky hand, trying to hide from the humiliation.
“Amy? What happened?” Helen’s worried voice seems to come from a great distance.
“She just needs a minute,” Matthew says.
The soft click of the door closing seals us in a sudden silence, amplifying my muffled sobs. I remain frozen, sprawled on the desk just as James left me. Tears track hot paths into my hairline. The lingering scent of his cologne clings to me, suffocating. Each sob tightens the vice around my chest.
Footsteps approach, slow and deliberate. “Amy…” Matthew’s voice is a soft murmur. “Amy,” he says again, closer now.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
A sob racks my body, stealing my voice, my breath, my composure.
He touches my shoulder, his hand warm and reassuring. “Look at me.”
I resist, too embarrassed to show him my face.
“Please.” His touch is insistent but soft.
Slowly, I turn my head, my eyes searching for his.
He stands beside my desk, brow furrowed, eyes filled with a gentle concern. But there’s something deeper there. A darkness.
He’s taken off his suit jacket, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing muscular forearms. He looks less like the lawyer and more like the man I sat with by the pool last night.
Carefully, he helps me sit up. I sway, dizzy.
“I got you,” he murmurs, his arm tightening around my back. “Did he hurt you anywhere I can’t see?”
I shake my head.
Hurt me where you can’t see?
The question almost makes me laugh. A hysterical, broken sound.
No visible bruises, just the deep, agonizing wounds in my heart.
I shake my head again.
“Let’s get you to the couch,” he says.
Before I can protest, he scoops me up, carries me to the sofa, and lays me down, arranging the cushions under my head. He retrieves his suit jacket and drapes it over me as I turn onto my side.
“Just rest,” he says softly.
He turns to walk away, but my hand instinctively reaches for his arm, my fingers curling around his wrist in a silent plea.
He looks down at my hand, then back at me. Without hesitation, he lowers himself to the floor in front of the couch, bringing our eyes level.
I release a shaky breath as he gently smoothes a stray strand of hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. I lean into the warmth of his touch.
“Thank you,” I say in a trembling whisper.
A soft smile touches his lips, his hand lingering near my cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“I don’t understand…” Confusion rises, the initial shock wearing off. “Why? Why would he…”
Matthew sighs, raking a hand through his hair.
“The man I fell in love with is gone. He’s been gone for a while. I just refused to see it,” I admit, my voice cracking.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Matthew says firmly. “None of this is your fault.”
“But you were right. I was trying to protect what little good is left, thinking if I did that long enough, things would go back to how they were.”
Matthew shakes his head, turning his attention to his hands. “About that,” he starts, hesitating. “I owe you an apology, Amy.”
I look up at him, wary. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” he counters. “What I should have said was… I should have said that I understand. More than anyone.” He pauses, a flicker of empathy in his green eyes.
“I understand the endless ache inside your heart. The nights you lie awake. The brave face you put on for the world.” His voice drops to a near whisper, his gaze intense.
“But still, I’m fading away in his shadow like you said,” I whisper, choking back a sob.
“You’re fighting your way out,” he murmurs. “It was wrong of me to throw my accusations at you the way I did. Look at you. You wake up every morning with a broken heart, yet you hold your head up and face the world. That takes incredible strength and courage, Amy.”
His words find a crack in my defenses. A sob escapes my lips.
Courage?
Strength?
If only he knew how terrified I am.
He gently cups the side of my face, his thumb grazing the curve of my jawline.
A hush falls over the room. The only sound is our breathing. His gaze burns into me before dropping to my lips. A blush creeps up my neck as he leans closer. I hold his gaze, my breath caught in my throat. Slowly, he closes the distance between us—then flinches back, eyes wide.
A wave of disappointment washes over me, but I bury it quickly under the confusion.
“I…” He breaks off, clearing his throat. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” He averts his gaze, running a hand nervously through his hair.
I reach out and touch his arm. He looks back at me, his deep greens dark and turbulent.
He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, jaw clenching.
His gaze darts from my lips to my eyes. He seems to be wrestling with himself, his hands balling into fists.
What’s holding him back?
Then, as if shaking off the tension, he pushes himself up from the floor. “I’ll go get us some coffee,” he says, his voice carefully composed.
A few minutes later, Matthew reappears, balancing a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of croissants.
“Please tell me you didn’t pay for this,” I say, sitting up and placing his suit jacket on the back of the couch.
“Of course I did,” he replies, amused.
I shake my head, smiling, the lingering tension melting away. “You know, if you’d told Helen you were bringing these back here, she’d have insisted it was on the house. Especially after…” I trail off, the memory of James’s attack casting a shadow over the moment.
“It was someone else at the register,” he says, handing me a warm mug. “Besides, your coffee is worth paying for.” He winks, holding out the plate.
Despite the recent turmoil, the gesture eases the knot in my chest.
I take a bite of the croissant, savoring the flaky, buttery layers. “We source the best croissants in town,” I say with a touch of pride.
“They do smell amazing,” he agrees, taking a seat beside me. “Your café is pretty busy.”
I can hear the muffled sounds of customers filtering through the door.
“It usually is around this time of day. We have very loyal customers.” My smile falters as sadness creeps in. “Mary would be devastated if she knew we were being shut down.”
“Mary?” Matthew inquires, brow furrowing.
“Mary O’Connell, the previous owner,” I explain. “She poured her heart and soul into this place. Named it after her daughter, Maddy. If she knew some greedy landlord was refusing to renew our lease, she’d flip.” The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
I take a large gulp of coffee, hoping the strong brew will wash it away, but it doesn’t. It just mixes with the bitterness, creating a more potent kind of ache.
Matthew’s gaze softens, holding a hint of understanding. “I…” He hesitates, his expression conflicted. “I’m just doing my job, Amy.”
“But this café is more than just walls and coffee beans,” I argue. “It’s Mary’s legacy. And it’s become a second home to so many people in this neighborhood. Your job is to erase all that?!”
“No,” he says, firm. “My job is to represent my client. But it doesn’t mean I agree with his actions.”
“Then why help him?”
Matthew sighs, running a hand through his hair. His lips press into a thin line. “Even if I drop him as a client, he’ll find another lawyer to do the exact same thing.”
His words are rational, but cold. A dismissal of everything this café represents.
A surge of anger rises within me. “So you’re all alike,” I say, my disappointment sharp. “That’s a shame.”
I stand, slamming my mug down on the desk. “Well, I’ve taken up more than enough of your time. I need to get my ring so I can get back into the apartment and out of these clothes.”
“Don’t.” Matthew springs to his feet. “Don’t go back to him. It’s not safe,” he pleads, his eyes burning into mine with a fierce intensity.
“Is this your thing, Mr. Warren? Selective concern?”
“This isn’t a game, Amy,” he warns, his voice rough.
I slip into my stilettos and grab my handbag. “No? But my café is fair game, right?”
“It’s not that simple.” He throws his head back, frustration etched on his features.
“It never is, is it?” I fling open the door and shoot him a scathing glare over my shoulder. “You can show yourself out.”
I storm into the bustling café. I weave between the tables, ignoring the curious glances and whispered comments. Anger and frustration claw at me. A relentless storm.
I burst out onto the sidewalk, waving my arm, desperately trying to hail a cab. They all seem to be occupied, ignoring my pleas.
Minutes crawl by. Each one an eternity.
Where are all the damn cabs when you need them?
A taxi screeches to a halt in front of me. “Finally,” I mutter under my breath, yanking open the door and throwing myself inside. “Corner of Odana and Gregory Street,” I instruct the driver.