Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98345 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Tell me what’s wrong. Is it us? Have I—?”
“No!” I say, rushing out the word so he knows I mean it. “Just, please. Could we . . . once more. That’s all.” It’s easier if I talk without looking at him. It’s partly cowardice, I realize, but there’s nothing to be done. Phillip intimidates me on a good day when I have my full defenses up. Today, he’d simply undo me. “It feels silly to put myself in your path and then tell you that I’d rather not discuss why I’m obviously upset. It’s . . . complicated, and it has nothing to do with you. Furthermore, you can’t fix it, so in a way, there’s no reason to discuss it at all. So let’s do something else.”
I’m hoping I’m making myself clear enough without having to actually spell it out.
“While I might not be able to fix the issue, I’d still like to know, Casey. You shouldn’t have to carry—”
“I won’t talk about it.”
He doesn’t understand. It’s not an issue; it’s my entire life in shambles here. There’s no easy way to delve into it or I would! Well . . . maybe, I would.
“So you came here to use me, then? For comfort or a distraction or—”
I lift my chin, finally, finally, looking at him. My tone is bold and clear. “Yes. Both of those things, and I won’t deny it. If that doesn’t sit right with you, well, it doesn’t really matter. I won’t change my mind. I’ll just leave.”
His brow furrows as he looks me over. His voice sounds pained when he replies, “It doesn’t have to be like this.”
I laugh, and it rings out caustic and bitter. “It does, actually.”
What would he know of my situation, anyway? He has a multitude of friends, family—Vivienne, even, would likely come running if only he asked it of her. Even without all of that, his money is his biggest safety net of all. There’s no sense in trying to share with him how I’m feeling. He wouldn’t understand. And more importantly, that’s not what we are to each other. There are walls to keep up, lines we shouldn’t cross.
I’m aware that I’m technically the one who first infringed upon them by showing up on his doorstep clearly distraught. I’ve put him in this difficult position and, well—
I stand up abruptly, deciding that now would be a good time to leave. Thoroughly embarrassed, I now have tons of material to torture myself with later in the confines of my quiet bedroom. I’ll recall the fact that I damn near threw myself at him—while crying—and I’ll cringe all over again.
Just as I take a step, Phillip speaks loudly and commandingly. “Sit.”
I go still.
“Sit down.”
God, he almost sounds angry.
“You aren’t going to show up here like this and then leave. Jesus, Casey. Do you think that little of me? That I would just let you wander out of here right now?”
“You have dinner,” I say lamely.
Phillip sighs like I’ve pushed him to his limit, and maybe I have.
What an epic fail of a one-night stand. I’ve really managed to suck all the fun out of it. This is the sort of thing you have to deal with in long-term relationships and, even then, only because you have to.
Phillip stands and comes to me, his intensity radiating off him.
By the time he’s in front of me, I’ve lost the willpower to meet his eyes. I stare at his chest as he holds his hands out to capture mine. Slowly, he weaves our fingers together, tightening his hold. What a simple, intimate act. Just our palms pressed together, nothing more, and it feels like he’s reached inside my chest and stolen my heart.
Chapter Seventeen
PHILLIP
I feel a lot of things while staring down at Casey, our hands linked together—none of them good or easy. Though her current predicament takes precedence, I’m in a tricky position of my own, thanks to her. When she left my suite this morning with that quick send-off about needing to hurry off to work, I stood at my door and watched her walk down the hall, wondering about the pang in my chest, that niggling feeling I was too chicken to give a name to. It seemed best, and easiest, to make a clear goal for myself: I wasn’t going to seek her out today. Not again, not after last night.
Now here she stands before me, like a wounded bird. She’s never seemed smaller or more fragile than in her current state. Her brown hair hangs limp and damp from the pool. She’s still wearing her bathing suit and cover-up. With so little to go on, I’ve looked for something physically wrong with her—bruising, scratches—and thankfully come away with nothing. That’s not to say something physical didn’t happen to her, but I just don’t get the sense that’s what’s gone on here.