Page 74 of Devoured By You

I’d failed on such a spectacular level that business degrees would add my fuckup to their curricula. How Blaize Kingcaid destroyed a cruising empire would be a subject studied for years to come.

“Yeah. A few minutes ago. Listen, I need the phone numbers for the family members of those who died.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. “Why?”

My jaw flexed. “Because I fucking said so.” In all the years she’d worked for me, I couldn’t remember a single occasion where I’d snapped at Carly. It didn’t feel good, and yet I couldn’t help it. Was this the way it would be now? Me taking out my shitty moods on those who didn’t deserve it?

“Right. Sure. Hang on.”

I bit my lip, knowing I should apologize. Somehow, though, the words wouldn’t come. She reeled off the phone numbers.

“You should know, though, Blaize, that your dad already called them on behalf of Kingcaid Cruises.”

Of course he fucking did.

“That doesn’t let me off the hook. I’m the CEO,” I snapped.

“Who’s had his own issues to deal with,” she replied softly.

I rubbed a hand over my face. “Look, ignore me. I’m not feeling like myself.”

“Blaize.” She sighed. “I’m your assistant and, I hope, your friend. If you want to yell, scream, and curse, that’s okay with me. I’m here for whatever you need. You’re grieving, whether or not you realize it, and you have every right to your feelings. Just do me a favor and don’t bottle them up. If you don’t feel you can talk to those closest to you, then I’m your girl.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Thank you,” I rasped. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

I hung up before I lost control and blurted out how desperately sad I was, how angry and confused, and infuriated. How I felt as if I’d failed in all the things that mattered.

My emotions were all over the place, a pendulum that swung from determination to overcome the challenges that lay ahead, to wanting to shut out the world and become a recluse.

I heaved a sigh, picked up my phone, and made the most painful phone calls of my life.

Chapter 27

Jill

Near-death experiences have a habit

of changing people.

“Scarlett Rose is here.”

Blay’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. Since we’d arrived in Miami two days ago, he’d barely left his study to eat or sleep, and despite my gentle coaxing, he hadn’t even ventured outside to get some sun on his skin. After two weeks holed up in a hospital room, I’d have thought he’d yearn to breathe fresh air, but no. Every time I suggested it, he did little more than grunt at me, most of the time not even bothering to look up from whatever had grabbed his attention.

I kept reminding myself it was early days. He had to travel the full grief cycle, and he was at the very beginning. I’d gone through something similar when I’d walked away from my parents, even though they’d been completely in the wrong and I wouldn’t even say we’d been all that close. I’d still grieved. And despite what some people believed, the feelings you get when dealing with loss weren’t on a continuum. They didn’t happen in order, moving seamlessly from one to the other.

For me, a year after I’d walked out, leaving the only family I had behind, I’d thought I was over it. Then I’d passed my mum in the street, and she’d looked right at me—or rather, through me—as if I were a stranger instead of a child she’d carried for nine months. That singular event had undone twelve months of hard work.

“What does she want?”

I hitched a shoulder. “No idea. She’s at the front gate. Do you want me to have Renata tell her you’re not up to having visitors?”

He considered it, his forefinger rubbing his bottom lip. My stomach tilted. There had been flashes of intimacy while he’d been in the hospital, the odd kiss and cuddle here and there, but since returning home, he treated me almost like one of his staff, barking orders one minute and ignoring me the next. But however he treated me, I still loved him. I couldn’t stop. And even if that was possible, I didn’t want to stop. I knew abandonment, and I’d never do that to a friend, let alone the man I’d fallen deeply in love with.

“It’s fine.” He gestured dismissively.

I gave Renata the message, hovering in the foyer like a bloody butler. A minute later, Renata answered the door and in walked Scarlett, accompanied by two burly bodyguards and what I guessed was an assistant, a different woman from the one who’d accompanied Scarlett on the cruise. I couldn’t blame her for being overly cautious after what she’d endured.

“Hi.” I moved forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Jill. Blaize’s girlfriend.” It felt odd to call him Blaize, but Blay was my name for him. A private name. Ours. Just like Tilly was his for me.