Page 86 of Our Sadie

I consider explaining to him that I’m in the process of selling the townhouse in the city and buying a historic single-family home in the Back Bay with every amenity we might need.

I consider telling him that I’ve grown to care so much about him, Dom, and Zach that I’m unwilling to part with them—any of them—and will be offering them each a year-long contract. And that’s just as a start. An introduction to have them stay with me for longer.

Possibly forever.

But since I’m seeing red, I don’t cop to any of that. I’m flexing my hand repeatedly, livid.

I don’t know what compels me to admit the next sentence that flies out of my mouth, but it escapes before I can think better of it.

“What you eavesdropped on was Winter and I discussing an issue with the Elegance site. Because it’s our responsibility. Because we’re the fucking CEOs of the company.”

He gawks at me, his lips opening and closing like he’s gearing up to say something that doesn’t quite make it out. When he is able to use his words, they break out of him like the sound of metal grinding against metal.

Like a plane crash.

“You own Elegance?” Bewilderment and horror coat this query, along with pure suspicion. “But how? I thought you were a client.”

“I am. Or I became one.” Yet it’s high time I do some recovery before this goes too far. “Not that it matters.”

“It doesn’t matter?” he asks, his rich voice high and incredulous. “I suppose we don’t matter, either.”

“No. Not at all. That’s...” I huff out a breath. “That’s not what I meant. If you’ll let me explain...”

“I think you’ve explained enough. You bought this company with all your money, then set it up to where you could buy us, too. The fact that we’ve been trying to help you doesn’t matter. The fact that I legitimately care about you doesn’t, either. This is all a setup. None of it is real.”

“It is real,” I object. “My feelings for you—all of you—are real.”

He smiles, but it’s not the customary ready grin that warms every feature of his face. This curve of his lips is cold. Aloof. It makes a chill slither down my spine. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t know,” I call out, my voice cracking, but the damage has been done.

I watch as the cold smile vanishes to be replaced not by the calm composure he’s always shown till now but by an expressionless mask. Except that it’s not quite expressionless. His eyes, those gorgeous irises of light jade are filled with hurt. There’s so much anguish there that it makes me sick to my stomach.

Then, he turns on his heel and like a flash of lightning, makes his exit without uttering another word.

TWENTY-NINE: Experiment