She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin to stare him down. “Well then, this crazy person better get the hell out of your life so you can get on with what you do best. Make money.”
She pushed past him.
He grabbed at her arm. “Poppy, wait—”
She brushed him off and with one last withering stare she slipped out of the door, firmly slamming it on her past.
And headed for a future that didn’t include obnoxious billionaires who didn’t trust her at all.
Chapter Thirteen
Divorce Diva Daily recommends:
Playlist: “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake
Movie: Eat, Pray, Love
Cocktail: Morning Glory
Every bone in Beck’s body ached, the same way it had after a beating he’d taken from a bully in junior high for daring to challenge him in football. Now, like then, he felt like pummeling something. He wanted to go after Poppy. He should. But that physical beating he’d taken as a kid was nothing like the emotional thrashing he’d just received.
She didn’t trust him. The only woman he’d ever let get close, the only woman he’d ever considered a real future with, thought he’d betrayed her. It hurt ten times worse than anything he’d coped with in the past.
His folks had been grade-A losers, so every letdown had been expected. He’d grown immune to the hurt after a while, had perfected an indifference not many people could penetrate.
Poppy had managed to do it in less than a month.
“Damn it.” This time he did punch something, a stack of hotel linens that absorbed his frustration.
He’d botched this entire situation badly, demanding she give up the business she’d fought so hard to save. How would he have felt if she’d demanded he walk away from his deal for her?
Only one solution. If she wouldn’t back down, he’d have to.
Because he couldn’t live without her.
He’d spent the better part of two years putting this nationwide expansion together, devoted countless hours and money to ensuring this deal would be the crowning glory for Blackwood Enterprises. His name in every business journal, newspaper, and magazine across the country for being the desert king with the Midas touch.
Would he give it all up for a woman? Could he?
He’d been so close to declaring his jumbled feelings when Stan interrupted, had seen the answering spark of something deeper in her eyes. Could he hang his hopes that she felt the same way he did, and that’s why she’d overreacted?
She’d been irrational at the end, flinging crazy accusations that didn’t make sense.
Beck needed this marriage to work even after the deal went through, though technically she’d been right. Once Stan signed and the cooling-off period lapsed, there wasn’t anything the investors could do without losing a small fortune, something they wouldn’t do, seeing as they were businessmen first and foremost.
He’d intended on ending the marriage when the time was right.
The way he felt now, that time would be never.
But first, he had to do some serious work to ensure he didn’t lose everything, including his business…and his girl.
…
Poppy couldn’t get away from Beck fast enough. Which was how she found herself unlocking the back door of Party Hard’s offices at three a.m.
She’d taken the red-eye to LA with nothing but the slinky chartreuse cocktail dress on her back and a clutch containing ninety-seven bucks. Maxing out her credit card to grab a last-minute seat had been worth it to escape Vegas. And him.
Stupid thing was, even as she’d fidgeted at the boarding gate, she’d half expected to see him vaulting the check-in desk to stop her. And half wanted it to happen, too.
Crazy. Because if he’d wanted to, he would’ve come after her at the party. But he hadn’t, effectively ending her happily-ever-after fantasy.
Though she’d done a good job of ending that herself.
She’d acted like a lunatic, accusing him of leaking her identity to escape their relationship, when every caress, every gesture lately had indicated he wanted the opposite. Though he had demanded she give up the business. Crazy. And what had he said before Stan interrupted them? Something about her being incredible and changing his mind.
Yeah, she’d botched this big time. But maybe it was better this way. End it after a month of marriage before she got in any deeper? Though how much deeper could she get than falling in love?
She stubbed her toe on the edge of Sara’s desk and bit back a yell. Silver-spangly peep pumps were no match for wrought iron.
Fumbling her way to the back room, she flipped a switch.
And screamed.
A figure brandishing a baseball bat leaped at her from behind the door and she kicked out, realizing a second too late the action would only serve to increase the throbbing in her toe.