Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(19)

"If you're here, it's because they kicked you out. Or you skipped out." Cassie turned to him then and said, "Rehab."

Her mother's upper lip curled as she looked him up and down. "This your boyfriend?"

"No," said Cassie.

She didn't introduce him. This was his cue. "I should probably go."

"No!" Cassie put a hand on his forearm. Then she lowered her voice. "Please stay. She's the one leaving."

"I just need to crash for a couple nights, Cass. I left early because I got it together."

"Oh, and did they give you a refund for the seven grand that January is going to cost?"

Suddenly it made sense. The expensive mother. The modest apartment. The  slow pace through school. She was paying for her mother's treatment. And  from the looks of things, this wasn't the first time.

"You told me you'd really try this time," said Cassie, her voice  breaking. Anger had given way, replaced by hurt, and she suddenly  sounded like a little girl whose mother had let her down one too many  times. She slumped against the wall. As heartbreak flooded into her  expression, it was as if the anger that had been there a moment ago  transferred to him. A spike of rage, sharp and metallic, pierced his  chest. Who the hell did this woman think she was?

"I didn't need to stay any longer. I'm clean."

"Oh yeah?" Angry Cassie was back, and in a flash she pushed off the wall  and lunged at her mother. She grabbed the older woman's arm and forced  it out of a tattered, dirty denim jacket. Turning the arm over, she  exposed it to the dim light emanating from a sconce mounted to the wall.

He had to stifle a gasp. The arm was bruised and overlain with fresh lines of red.

Her mother yanked the arm back. "Excuse me for thinking I could count on  my own child," she sneered, sounding like a schoolyard bully taunting a  victim.                       
       
           



       

Cassie was still standing close to her mother so Jack reached for her,  tugging her back to stand by him where she had been a moment ago. He  didn't drop her hand.

"I thought you said he wasn't your boyfriend." There was that lip curl again. He wanted to wipe it off her face.

"He's not. I don't need to explain anything to you."

The older woman shrugged. "You could never get a guy like him anyway. I  always told you to play in your own league." She flashed a leering smile  at Jack. "But this one, she was always too good for everyone else. Had  to go to university. Always too busy reading, even as a kid. Too good  for her own mother. Too busy."

"That's not true." Cassie wasn't angry anymore, not exactly. But her  voice shook. He squeezed her hand. "All I wanted was your attention. You  were too busy for me. Too busy getting drunk with your friends. Or  high. Or whatever. I'm sorry, but you can't stay. I'm not doing it  anymore."

"So you're going to put your own mother out on the street?"

"Yes." Her voice was so small it was barely audible.

Cassie was about to say I'm sorry again, he could sense it. And he'd be  damned if she apologized to this sorry-ass excuse for a mother ever  again. Cassie's mother made his own, with her benign neglect,  cluelessness, and deference to his beast of a father, seem like a saint.  Jack had been trying to let Cassie fight her own battle, but he  couldn't hold back anymore. He took a step forward, putting himself  between the women. "I think it's time for you to go, Mrs. James."

After narrowing her eyes and holding his gaze for a long moment, she  sneered and said, "It's Miss James." Then, like a teenager, she huffed  over to her knapsack and made a show of hoisting it onto her shoulder.  She didn't spare a look for Cassie as she clomped down the hall and  disappeared into the stairwell.

Cassie watched her mother retreat, her face unreadable. She was still  holding her keys from when she'd been chasing him up the stairs-it  seemed like a lifetime ago. Gently he pried open her fingers and  unlocked the door. She was still staring down the empty hallway. He  stepped inside her apartment and said, "Come inside."

Her eyes jerked to his, as if she'd forgotten he was there, but she  obeyed, closing the door behind her and pressing her back against it.  Her wide eyes darted around the apartment like she'd never seen it  before. God, she looked like a caged animal. He himself was still  feeling the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush that had powered him  through the confrontation. He took a step toward her and she flinched.  "Hey," he said, speaking softly. "It's okay."

She started to shake. He saw then, suddenly, how very alone she was.  Dead father-and one who hadn't been much of a father at that, from the  sound of things. A mother who was worse than useless. There was the best  friend, he supposed, but where had that guy been lately? Jack was used  to being alone. Preferred it, even. He was hard that way. But someone as  vibrant as Cassie shouldn't be alone all the time. It did something to a  person, and he didn't want that something happening to her.

He stretched out his arm toward her, and when she didn't object, he took  another step. He could reach her now, so he palmed her cheek. He kept  his hand still-he didn't want her to think he was coming on to her. He  meant only to comfort. The touch seemed to change something in her  because the hunted, defensive look slowly began to drain away as she  locked eyes with him. But it was replaced by something just as bad. He  watched her face crumple, and those big multi-colored eyes that he had  once thought of as innocent welled up with tears. So many tears that  they began spilling over in earnest-one, two, then too many to count.

"Hey," he said again, gently pulling her off the wall and into his arms.  He hugged her, though she was wooden and unyielding in his arms. But he  persevered, and they stood silently. After a minute she deflated,  softening as her arms snaked around his chest.

Then she began to sob, silent tears superseded by great gasping cries  that echoed in his chest. He let her cry and held her tighter, a  flashback overtaking him. He was thirteen, at a restaurant with his  parents. His father was trying to make him calculate the tip, shoving  the bill in his face, and his mother was pretending not to notice the  confrontation.

The last time he'd cried.

Jesus, he'd like to get his hands on Cassie's mother. He regretted now  that he'd let her walk away without at least giving her an earful.  Cassie's hair fell over her face as she pressed her cheek against his  chest. After a minute the weeping became less intense. Jack kicked off  his boots and stooped, tapping her calf to prompt her to lift her leg.  After he'd dispensed with their footwear, he led the now merely  sniffling Cassie to the bed. Damn, this bed was awkward, wedged as it  was into its alcove. He climbed over the foot, pulling her along with  him, lying down and spooning her against his chest.                       
       
           



       

"You don't have to do this," she whispered.

"Shh. Just rest for a while."

"You should go. I'm not going to be very good company tonight so you should just-"

"You're freezing." He didn't think it was strictly true. She was still  quivering, but more likely it was the aftermath of the confrontation. He  worked the duvet out from under them and covered them with it. "Just  lie here for a minute and close your eyes and get warm."

He expected her to argue but instead she sighed a deep, shaky exhale. So  he wrapped his arms around her, notched his chin over her head, and  took his own deep breath. As she softened and burrowed back against him,  he could feel the tension draining from his muscles, too.

It wasn't five minutes before deep, rhythmic breathing told him she'd  fallen asleep. He closed his eyes then, breathed in her spicy vanilla  scent, and let himself go.

 …

It wasn't like in romance novels, where you wake up and for a moment  have no idea where you are. Maybe you even make out with your bedmate in  some kind of mysterious half-asleep zombie state before you realize  you're actually in bed with someone you shouldn't be. Nope, when Cassie  woke up she remembered precisely what had happened. And, more to the  point, she knew exactly whose arm was slung over her, whose solid chest  her cheek rested against.

Well, this is embarrassing. After her big speech about how this was  going to be casual, she'd put him in a situation where he-Mr.  I-Don't-Do-Relationships-felt forced to stay the night. Without even  opening her eyes, she could picture him, choppy hair all disheveled, a  day's worth of beard growth. Because she'd never closed the curtains,  the west-facing room was flooded with enough sunlight to suggest a clear  and well-advanced Monday morning. She shifted a little bit, trying to  ease a crick in her neck without waking him up. His arms came to life  and tightened around her, immobilizing her against his chest.