“She’s nobody.”
Those words keep ringing in my ears. And they shred me to pieces every single time.
I thought I was something to him. I thought I was his friend.
Clearly not.
“No, I couldn’t wait.” His voice is as firm as his stare.
So, I give him a pissed off look back, and I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, what exactly is it that you want?”
He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, putting him closer to me, and I instantly smell the whiskey on him.
He has been drinking.
I don’t know why, but that just pisses me off even more, fueling the hurt and ire in my belly. “You’ve been drinking?”
He gives me an awkward look. “A little. On the flight.” He lets out a sigh. “Look, Andressa, I just—”
“How did you know what room I’m staying in?” I cut him off, the thought out of my mouth the second my brain thinks it.
Discomfort flickers through his eyes. Then, he straightens to his full height, his arms coming across his chest, confidence filling his gaze. “Do you really want the answer to that?”
I stand up straight, mirroring him. “Yeah, I really bloody do.”
Putting his hands on the doorframe, he cockily leans forward. “Because I’m Carrick fucking Ryan, and I have a fuckload of money. Those two things can buy me pretty much anything I want, including the number of the hotel room that you’re staying in.”
Not me. You can’t buy me, Carrick.
Aargh! I’m so ready to slam this door in his arrogant fucking face. This isn’t him. Not the real him. Not the Carrick I’ve spent the past month getting to know.
This…I don’t know who this version is, but he’s a complete tosspot, and I really want to punch him in his rich pretty face.
I take a step forward, poking a finger in his chest, forcing him to drop his hands and move backwards. “What the hell is this? This isn’t you! You don’t say shit like that—especially not to me! And coming up here like you own the place, finding out my room number, waking me up at the butt crack of dawn—you have no right! You know some would call that illegal or maybe an invasion of privacy or fucking stalking!” I all but scream the last part.
He at least has the decency to look contrite. He retreats back a step at the force of my anger.
“Jesus.” He shudders out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is not going how I wanted this to go.”
“No? How did you think it was going to go with you turning up here out of the blue, drunk and acting like an arrogant prick?”
He steadily meets my eyes. “I might have been drinking, but I’m not drunk.”
I drag a hand through my bed-tangled hair, withdrawing into my room. “Look, I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”
I start to shut the door, but he puts a hand against it, stopping me.
“Please, Andressa. Just wait…”
I let out a sigh, lifting my eyes to his. “What?”
“I texted you.”
“I know.”
I can see from his expression that he wasn’t expecting that reply.
“Why didn’t you text me back?” His words are soft. He sounds wounded.
Good, because so am I. Deeply fucking wounded.
“Because I didn’t have anything to say.”
He looks like I’ve just told him that his favorite car has been crushed to smithereens.
He moves back, looking like he’s going to leave, but then he stops. “I didn’t sleep with her.”
The words are spoken so softly that I wonder for a moment if he’s actually said them.
Oh.
The sense of relief I feel at hearing that is immense. And it’s wrong because I shouldn’t feel anything, especially not for him.
His eyes lift to mine. There’s desperation in them, and I feel it deep inside, like an ache in my bones.
“Why are you telling me this?” My voice is cold, devoid of emotion.
“Because…I thought…I don’t know what I thought.” He shakes his head. “I just want you to know that I’m not the complete bastard you think I am.”
Just half a bastard then.
“And I’m sorry. So very fucking sorry.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for. You’re a free agent. You can do whatever you want with whomever you want. It’s none of my business. I’m nobody, remember?”
That hurts him. I see it flicker through his eyes.
Good. Now, he knows an iota of what I’ve been feeling since he said it to me.
Then, surprisingly, his pain turns to anger. And that pisses me right off.
“You don’t think I did anything wrong? I kissed you, dry-humped you on that fucking sofa, and then a few hours later, you found me in an elevator with another woman, who I was readying to fuck.”