Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“AMY,” MATTHEW brEATHES.
I close my eyes, savoring the warmth of his skin, the soft whisper of his breath mingling with mine.
He groans, a low sound of frustration that vibrates through his chest and into mine. “You’re everything I’ve sworn to avoid,” he confesses, his eyes darkening.
My mind whispers a warning, a tiny seed of doubt struggling to take root.
But the pull of him is an irresistible force.
His touch is electric, leaving my head spinning.
His hands move up and down my arms, igniting a fire that burns my inhibitions.
In this instant, James, the café, the looming threat of eviction…
all of it ceases to exist. There is only the rhythm of his breathing, the feel of his touch, the way his eyes fix mine with a hunger that mirrors my own.
I lose myself in the sensation, my fingers threading through his hair, urging him closer. He responds instantly, his arms tightening around me, anchoring me to him as if he’s afraid I might disappear. In his embrace, I find a haven. A sense of belonging I haven’t known in years.
“Tell me to stop,” he challenges in a whisper. “Tell me…” He holds his breath, the muscles in his neck corded with tension.
The plea in his voice tugs at my heart. He fears this undeniable connection. And in his fear, I see a reflection of my own.
But the words won’t come.
His gravity is too strong. My yearning is too deep.
His eyes hold me captive. I slide my hands forward to cup his face, trembling fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. I pull him closer, our foreheads meeting, my eyes fluttering shut. The world shrinks to the press of his body against mine, the warmth of his breath over my lips.
In the darkness behind my eyelids, I find a sliver of strength. “Stop,” I whisper. The word is a fragile shield, barely holding.
He doesn’t move.
I can feel his breath, ragged and uneven. Then, a long exhale, as if he’s releasing all the hope that had been building inside him. He steps back. His hands move to my wrists, fingers encircling them firmly.
His thumb brushes against the diamond of my engagement ring. A deliberate, questioning touch.
“Is that what you really want?” he asks, low and rough, his gaze fixed on the ring.
“I—I can’t—” My voice cracks. The image of James’s lips on another woman’s flashes in my mind. “I can’t do this. How am I better than him if I let this happen?”
Guilt chokes the words. Shame threatens to drown me.
I pull my hands from his grasp, the loss of his touch leaving an echoing emptiness. I stumble away, seeking the solidity of my desk. My fingers curl around the edge, head bowed, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.
“Him?” Matthew repeats in disbelief. “James, you mean? The same man who threw you down on this desk?” He slams his palm against the polished wood.
I flinch. The vibration courses up my arms, a physical echo of the violence. The image of James’s face twisted in rage, his hands gripping my shoulders, the sharp pain as I hit the wood… it all comes rushing back.
I take a shaky breath, forcing the memory down.
“Shit,” Matthew mutters after a stretch of silence. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He reaches out, but I jerk away before his hand makes contact.
Anger spikes. Anger at James, at what he did, and at Matthew for bringing it all back.
“Why did you come to see me, Matt?” I ask, squaring my shoulders.
“What?” He looks taken aback.
“Yesterday, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough after you found my engagement ring.”
Matthew runs a hand through his hair, briefly squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s not fair.”
When he says nothing else, I break the silence, my voice brittle. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”
“It’s complicated, Amy.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “How original.” I cross my arms. “Well, thanks for dropping by, Mr. Warren. I should get back to work while I still have a café to run,” I say, my tone final.
Matthew opens his briefcase and pulls out a blue folder. He stares at it, jaw clenched, then places it on my desk.
He pulls his business card out of his blazer pocket. “You have until tonight to decide,” he tells me. He grabs a pen, scribbles something on the back of the card, and slides it into the file. “I know you’ll make the right choice.”
Then, without waiting for a reply, he walks out.
The late afternoon sun can’t reach the small, windowless office. The room sits in twilight, illuminated only by the glow of the desk lamp. The blue folder lies open, the dense legal language of the lease agreement intruding on my sanctuary.
And there, resting on top of the documents, is Matthew’s business card.
I pick it up, turning it over in my hands, fingers tracing the raised lettering: Matthew Warren, Senior Counsel, Blackwood & Dunn. Then, I flip it over, my gaze fixing on the scribbled message:
I will try to help. Statehouse, Edgewater Hotel. 8pm.
Help me?
Or ruin me?
Questions swirl. Confusion, anger, and a flicker of something that feels dangerously like hope.
I drop the card back on the documents.
Lease Agreement.
Maddy’s Place.
I should probably read it now to see if there’s a way out. Instead, I lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the chaos that has taken over my life.
“I thought those last two ladies would never leave!” Helen says as she walks in.
She plops down onto the couch, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs under her with a sigh. “What you got there?” She nods towards my desk.
I hold up the card. “Bancroft’s lawyer wants me to meet him at the Statehouse restaurant tonight.”
Helen’s eyes widen. “Fancy,” she teases.
“It’s not like that,” I say, rolling my eyes—even though a small, traitorous part of me wishes it was. “He says he might be able to help with this whole lease nightmare.”
“Fantastic!” Helen sits up straighter. Then she pauses. “Wait. Bancroft is his client though.”
I shrug, at a loss.
“You’ve charmed the lawyer, Ames!” she says with great excitement.
A genuine laugh escapes me. The first one since… well, since the pool.
But I’m not about to share that little fact with Helen. “I did no such thing!”
“Believe me. You are oblivious to your powers,” Helen insists.
Still laughing, I leave my desk and sit beside her on the sofa. “I have no powers, Helen. Zero. I wish I did. Maybe then…” I trail off.
“Oh, come on! Look at you! Beauty and brains. Must be nice.” She readjusts to face me. “Mind you, your sense of fashion has been questionable at best, lately.”
“Excuse me!” I glare at her as giggles burst out.
Helen grins sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m still not over yesterday morning when you showed up in that oversized tracksuit and stilettos.”
I nudge her playfully, but the lightness fades. The memory of that morning, and the nightmare preceding it, crashes down. James with the redhead at the club. Matthew finding me broken in his yard. It’s all still too raw. My smile falters, and I look away.
“What’s wrong, mija?” Helen’s tone softens.
“There’s just so much going on,” I admit, my fingertips twisting the engagement ring.
“I know, Ames, but look, Bancroft’s own lawyer offered to help you.”
“Matthew.”
“Yes, Matthew. It’s better than nothing. You never know what could happen.”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to meet him tonight.”
“Of course it is! What other choice do you have? I don’t see anyone else offering to help. Certainly not that fiancé of yours.” She says the word like a curse.
“He wouldn’t understand,” I whisper.
It’s more than that.
My hand drifts to my arm, rubbing the spot where he grabbed me. The ghost of his grip burns. “James wouldn’t understand at all.”
“How many times have you brought me a dinner you cooked because James had ‘last-minute business’?” she reminds me. “Well, now it’s your turn. It’s not the end of the world if for once you’re the one out on business.”
“You don’t know him, Helen.”
“And I don’t care to. But I know you should go. Do what is good for you,” Helen insists.
“James met Matthew in here yesterday. Let’s just say they didn’t get along.”
“This is not about them. This is about your business. Your customers. And if James can’t see that, then it’s time you decided whether or not to keep that diamond that is, that is…” She pauses, searching for the words, then switches to Spanish. “?Más grande que mi cabeza!”
“I’m not sure what that means,” I force a smile, “but I can tell it’s nothing good. James can do no right in your eyes.”
“And I don’t know what that means, but he doesn’t deserve you, Ames,” she concludes, pursing her lips.
My gaze drops to my hands.
“Well,” Helen sighs, slipping her feet back into her shoes. “I need to rest these old bones, and you have a meeting to go to.”
She pauses at the door, looking back with concern. “You are going to that meeting.” It isn’t a question.
“Yes, yes. I’m going,” I reply with as much conviction as I can muster.
She hesitates, squinting at me.
“I promise,” I add quickly.
Helen nods, still not fully convinced.
She turns and leaves. “See you tomorrow!” I hear her yell back from the end of the hallway.