Chapter 12
“You know what your problem was in college?” I lean back against the sticky bar counter, two glasses of whiskeys deep and feeling bolder than I should be. “You were a fucking playboy.”
Caleb snorts, signaling the bartender for another round. “And you were stuck-up as hell, walking around like you were better than everyone else.”
“I was focused on my studies, not chasing every skirt on campus like you were.”
“Chasing every skirt?” He turns to face me fully, his blue eyes narrowing. “I dated maybe three women during our entire senior year.”
“Three that I knew about.” I take another sip. “You kept up that whole playboy image, acting like you didn’t have a care in the world beyond your next date.”
His mouth opens, then closes. “How the hell do you remember all of this?”
“Because unlike you, I paid attention to my competition.” The alcohol is loosening my tongue, making me say things I’d normally keep locked away. “You made it look so effortless—showing up to class barely prepared, charming your way through presentations, still managing to ace everything.”
Something flickers in his eyes. Surprise, maybe even approval. “You were watching me pretty closely for someone who claimed to hate me.”
“I was watching my competition.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “Had to know what I was up against.”
“Competition.” He sidles closer, close enough that I can feel his warm breath on my face. “I thought I wasn’t worth your time.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I demand, my pulse quickening as he invades my space.
“I asked you out once,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Remember? Junior year, after that group presentation on market segmentation. You told me you didn’t date frat boys who were more focused on getting off than on their studies.”
I blink, trying to search through my memories, but nothing comes up. “I don’t remember that.”
“Of course you don’t.” His laugh is mocking. “Because dismissing me was so easy for you. You’ve always judged me, Eve. From day one.”
“That’s not true.” The denial comes out automatically.
“Bullshit.” His eyes never leave mine. “It is true. You took one look at me and decided exactly who I was. Rich-boy, playboy, not worth your precious time.”
“You didn’t exactly make it hard,” I shoot back. “You had a new girl on your arm every other week.”
“It’s not my fault girls liked me,” he says with a shrug.
I let out a sharp laugh. “Listen to yourself. Your arrogance is absolutely astounding.”
He leans forward, sneering. “The truth is I was smarter than you, and I proved it, and you can’t bear to be proven wrong. That’s why you didn’t get the Morrison internship.”
I scowl at him. “That’s not why!”
He shrugs completely unrepentant. “You fell short of the requirements.”
“Bullshit.” I slam my glass down hard enough to rattle the bar. “I exceeded every single requirement. You know it, I know it, and Henderson knew it.”
“Then why didn’t you get it?” He crosses his arms, but there’s no guilt in his expression—just matter-of-fact confidence.
“Because you had connections.” My voice turns bitter. “Daddy’s money talked, didn’t it? A nice donation to the business school, maybe? Or just the right phone calls to the right people?”
His jaw clenches. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I shuffle closer. “You think I didn’t notice how you suddenly became Professor Williams’s favorite? How your projects always got the extensions mine never did?”
“That’s not—”
“Face it, Caleb. You played dirty, and we both know it.” The whiskey makes me reckless, makes me push when I should pull back.
“You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Blame my family’s money when you can’t handle losing.” When he looks at me, there’s real frustration there. “You want to know why I got the Morrison internship? My GPA was higher than yours, and my campaign presentation was better. That’s it.”
The words hit like a slap. “My project was flawless—”
“Your project was brilliant,” he cuts me off. “But your presentation was rough. You were reading from handwritten notes while everyone else had PowerPoints.”
My chest tightens because he’s right, and I hate him for it. “My presentation covered everything it needed to.”
“I’m not saying it didn’t. But presentation matters, and mine was more polished.” His voice is pointed, not cruel.
“My laptop died two days before the presentation.” The words come out tightly. “I had to choose between getting it fixed or paying rent that month.”
His expression shifts, surprise crossing his features. “Eve—”
“You can say I always bring up your money, but that’s because you never had to worry about anything.” I drain my glass, the whiskey burning all the way down. “I was working three jobs while studying. So, yes, money was a factor. It’s always been a factor.”
“I didn’t know,” he says quietly.
I shrug. “I never advertised it.”
The silence stretches between us, and then he says quietly, “I knew you were working, but I didn’t know it was three jobs.
” He runs a hand through his hair. “You know what’s fucked up?
The way you looked down on me like I was some spoiled rich-boy coasting through life.
It pissed me off so much that it drove me to work harder. I wanted to prove you wrong.”
I focus on my drink, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Well, whatever. It’s done and over with. I told myself I’d become everything my mother never wanted me to be, and I did it. So here’s to that.”
I pour myself another glass from the bottle Caleb just ordered, and take a gulp. I’m starting to get used to the taste. When I look up, Caleb is watching me with something unreadable in his eyes. I clear my throat, needing to move away from this topic.
“So what happened with Marina?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and I immediately want to take it back. But the whiskey has made me curious.
His expression closes off again. “It was a few years ago. We were together for a few months. She wanted commitment.”
“And you didn’t.” It’s not a question.
“I don’t do commitment.” He tries to act as if it’s no big deal, but there’s something defensive in his posture. “Never have.”
“Right. Because that would require actually caring about someone other than yourself.” The words come out nasty, fueled by old anger and alcohol.
“Careful, Princess.” His voice carries a warning edge. “You’re starting to sound jealous.”
“Jealous?” I laugh, loud and sharp. “Of what? Your commitment issues? Your inability to maintain a relationship for longer than a season?”
“Of the fact that Marina got a whole three months of my attention.” He adjusts his stool closer to me, and his knee brushes against mine. “That’s longer than any woman has managed before or since.”
The casual arrogance in his voice makes my blood boil. “Congratulations. I’m sure she feels very special being your longest failed relationship.”
“She does, actually.” His lips curve in that infuriating smile. “Called me the best mistake she ever made.”
“How romantic.” I drain the rest of my whiskey, the burn matching the warmth building in my chest. “Let me guess—you’ve never met a woman worth changing for?”
“Exactly.” He studies me with those piercing blue eyes.
“Haven’t found one who could make me want to try.
” There’s something in the way he says it, in the way his gaze lingers on my face, that makes my pulse quicken.
But before I can analyze it too closely, his expression shifts into something playful and dangerous.
“Though...” He tilts his head, pretending to consider. “Are you volunteering for the position, Princess?”
The suggestion hits me like a lightning bolt, sending electricity racing through my veins. For a split second, I imagine it—imagine being the woman who could tame Caleb Wilder, who could make him want to stay. The thought is both thrilling and terrifying.
“Absolutely not.” I force a laugh, hoping it sounds more convincing than it feels. “I’m not a rehabilitation center for emotionally unavailable men.”
“Pity.” His voice drops to that low, rough tone that does things to my nervous system. “Could’ve been fun.”
“You need therapy, not a girlfriend.” I pour another glass for myself, which finishes off the bottle, trying to steady my hands by giving them something to do. “Professional help for your commitment phobia.”
“Maybe.” He’s watching me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. “Or maybe I just haven’t met the right woman yet.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” But my voice comes out unintentionally breathy.
“You know what I think?” He leans closer, close enough that I can feel his breath against my ear. “I think you find me attractive.”
The words have me freezing. “I think you’re deluded.”
“Am I?” His hand moves to the bar beside my hip, not quite touching but close enough that I can feel the heat of his skin through my blouse.
I pat Caleb’s cheek. “We’re both drunk. I’m leaving. This bar is a ten minute drive to my place.”
“Not yet,” he says, forcing me back into my seat with a grin and signaling the bartender. “One more drink.”
Two hours later, we stumble out of the bar into the cold night air, both of us considerably more intoxicated than before. The whiskey has hit us harder than I realized. The cool March wind cuts through my coat, sobering me up just enough to realize how drunk I actually am.
“I’ll get a taxi,” I mutter, looking around for one of the yellow cars. The street is mostly empty, just a few late-night stragglers and the occasional car passing by.
“Come on, let’s walk,” Caleb says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders before I can protest. “Fresh air will do us both good.”
“Stop touching me,” I snap automatically.
“I’m not touching you,” he argues, his words slurred.
“You are! I can feel you touching me!”
“Where?” he demands, looking genuinely offended. “Show me where I’m touching you.”
I wave my hand vaguely in his direction, trying to point but missing completely. “There! You’re... You’re doing the thing!”