“Well.” That gravelly voice interrupting them could only be Charles Wellington. And then the smell of cigars floated in the air, cementing her suspicion. “It’s been a while, Nikki. I wasn’t aware you worked here.”
“Ever since the accident,” Nadine broke in. “Isn’t that right, Nikki?”
What did the woman do? Look through her employee files?
“Right.” Could it get any more awkward? She half-expected Brant to throw a chair or just start yelling again. The last thing they needed between them was yet another reason to feed the anger, and the accident had been his tipping point more than hers. In fact, it was almost more terrifying that he wasn’t reacting.
“Accident.” Charles’s voice developed a rough edge. “You mean the fire?”
Nikki stiffened.
“Grandfather.” Brant’s voice was tight. “Don’t.”
“What?” Charles let out a sigh. “From what I’ve heard, Nikki is lucky to be alive. That must have been terrifying, being caught beneath the supporting beams.”
Memories flashed through her mind, a blur of color and pain. “Yes, it was horrible.” She didn’t want this. The trip down memory lane in front of Brant and his entire family. Not being able to see his face, to know what he was thinking.
For the first time in her life, she truly felt blind. Unable to read the emotional temperature of the room.
“I, um…” She didn’t have her walking stick; she had nothing but hope that she’d somehow be able to make a run for it and not ram headfirst into a table. “I need to go.”
As fast as she could, she turned on her heel and put her hands out in front of her to keep from stumbling. A chair came out of nowhere—or so it felt—and hit her in the shin. She stumbled to the right and slammed against a table, only to bounce back and run right into a passing waiter.
The sound of glass hitting glass was almost as bad as the searing pain she felt when hot coffee came into contact with her arm, followed by something sharp. She fell to the floor with a thud, her hair covered in whatever other liquid had been on the tray.
Maybe if she just closed her eyes?
And hid under the table?
Tears threatened.
Helpless.
She was helpless in front of the only man she’d ever loved—and the family who’d never truly wanted her.
Swallowing past the giant lump in her throat, she tried to stand, teeth chattering from the shock of the burn and what was starting to feel like a really nasty cut on her arm.
“Nik!” Brant’s scent was everywhere. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“Brant!” She didn’t mean to yell his name. “Just…leave me alone. Please. I can’t do this right now. I can’t do this…”
He ignored her pleas as he scooped her up in his arms and started walking. She tucked her head in his neck, wanting to scream at the unfairness of the situation. He wasn’t supposed to be a hero. It was hard to hate a hero. It was hard to forget one, too.
And it suddenly occurred to her like a light going on in her head.
He’d always been her hero. Always.
So much so, that even when he had failed her, she’d still imagined he’d come back, he’d save the day. And when he hadn’t…
It was like she lost a part of her innocence, her faith in humanity, and her love for the man who had promised he would never leave her. And when he did, when he finally did do exactly what she asked, he didn’t turn back.
She choked down a sob as Brant kept walking.
Elevator doors closed. A ding sounded.
She hated that elevator and the ding that went with it—because it made her remember this morning, after they’d used each other. The morning after she’d felt his body beneath her. The morning after she was reminded why his leaving nearly destroyed her.
Doors opened, warm air kissed her skin, and then a lock sounded, the door closed.
His masculine scent was everywhere.
She was back in his room.
Shivering, she clenched her teeth to keep from saying something she’d regret, like, It feels like home in your arms. In your bed.
Because the last thing she needed was to be in his arms or his bed and start an all-out war again.
If she thought about it hard enough she was going to cry all over again.
He gently set her down on the couch and left.
Where had he gone?
The spray of water hitting porcelain reached her ears, and then she was scooped up again—and stripped.
Chapter Twenty-One
Brant’s blood was boiling, his rage barely in check. His grandfather had no fucking right to bring up the past in front of the entire family—in front of the hotel staff. What the hell had he been thinking?