The Billionaire Beast(38)

Anger rose up inside him, a towering inferno of frustration and anguish. He wanted to break everything in his entire house and only just managed to stop himself at the last minute. Calling James instead, he ordered his butler to pack away his entire art collection, then he pulled every book in his library off the shelf and hurled them at the walls.

That didn’t help.

Hours later, fury so thick in his mouth he could almost taste it, he’d found himself standing in Phoebe’s bedroom, with her scent in the air and her clothes still lying on the bed where she’d left them.

He’d breathed her in, and suddenly it was as if his anger didn’t matter. As if his mother and what she’d done to him didn’t matter. What mattered was that it looked like Phoebe had only just stepped out and would be coming back at any moment. But of course, she wouldn’t.

He almost dropped to his knees where he stood, because it had felt as if someone had taken an ax to his chest to hack out his heart.

He missed her. He wanted her. He needed her like he needed air to breathe. But she was gone, and he didn’t know how to get her back.

It wasn’t until he’d sat on the end of the bed, breathing in her scent, that the truth had come to him. That he did know what it was like to lose someone he cared about after all. Because he had lost her.

She must have felt this same pain when her fiancé was in a coma, this same agony when he died. This terrible sense of absence, of loss.

Which meant, of course, that he must love her. Why else would it hurt so fucking much?

It was a terrible thing to admit, and he could feel the hunger for her rise within himself. The urge to find her, grab her, bring her here and lock her away with him so she could never leave him again.

But he couldn’t do that. That was what his mother had done to him, so how could he do that to Phoebe? He may be broken, but he wasn’t that broken. Phoebe had shown him what true love was all about anyway. It wasn’t keeping someone locked away, it was sitting beside a hospital bed and waiting for them to wake up.

He couldn’t get her back. He would have to wait for her to come to him. Because if he truly cared about her, he had to let her make her own choices, even when those choices weren’t ones he liked.

If he truly cared about her, he would set her free. Because anything less would make him just like his mother.

So he’d stopped calling her, stopped texting her. He’d sent her flowers on the day of Charles’s funeral to show her he was thinking of her, but that was it. He hadn’t even run his usual searches on her to see where she was.

It had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life.

Now she was here, right in front of him, tired and pale, and so fragile he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her.

But he would keep to the decision he’d made. He wouldn’t ask anything more of her, and if she wanted to leave then he would let her go.

“Hi, Nero,” she said huskily, her fingers white where they gripped the strap of her purse. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.”

“Of course.” He kept his arms crossed because otherwise they’d reach for her, and that wasn’t allowed. But he let his gaze roam over her face, searching for any hint as to what she was thinking and why she hadn’t come back to him. “How are you?”

She gave him a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

A lie. She wasn’t fine. “I’m sorry about Charles.” And he was.

She glanced away, her red-gold lashes veiling her gaze. “Thank you. It wasn’t unexpected, but still . . .” She stopped, cleared her throat. “Look, I won’t stay long. I just wanted to hand in my resignation and to let you know I’m leaving.”

His heart lurched and he had to sink his fingers into his biceps and hold on tight. He wanted to demand she tell him why she’d stayed away, why she hadn’t even sent him a text after her fiancé’s death, but that would reveal too much, so he contented himself with, “Leaving? Where are you going?”

Her lashes lifted, her golden-brown gaze coming to his. There was something lightless in it that made him want to take her face between his hands and kiss the gold back into her eyes. “Actually, I’m not quite sure yet. Maybe Nepal. But I’m definitely leaving New York.”

Tension crawled through his muscles, and he had to fight to not move. “Why?” Sharp. Too sharp.

Phoebe swallowed, but she didn’t look away from him. “I think I need some space. Some time to myself. I’ve been looking after Charles for a long time and now . . . Well, I think I need some time to figure out what I want. I got too caught up on wanting to be there for my parents, and then I had to be there for Charles.” She made a strange, awkward gesture with her hand. “I think it’s time I was there for myself, if you know what I mean.”

He did know. And that’s exactly what she should do.

Which means she’s not coming back to you.

He hadn’t known that he’d hoped she was coming back until that moment. That a part of him had been holding onto the faint possibility that she was here to tell him she was staying. But, of course, she wasn’t. He’d told her she needed to think of herself more often and that’s exactly what she was doing.

He wasn’t his mother. He wouldn’t keep her.

Hating it, he forced himself to smile. “Then you should do it.”

Emotion flickered over her face, and he thought it was shock and maybe pain. Which was strange. The shock he understood because she wouldn’t be expecting him to agree, but the pain? No, he couldn’t figure that out. “That is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, just to make sure.

She glanced away again. “Yes. I’m sure.” This time there was no flicker in her expression at all. “I’m sorry, Nero.”

His jaw felt tight. Far too tight. “For what?”

“For everything.” Her gaze came back to his. “For leaving you the way I did.”

He wanted to demand why. Why she’d left him all alone. But he didn’t. He didn’t want her apologies. He didn’t want her being kind. His intentions were good, but she could shatter them so easily if she wasn’t careful.

“I’m okay,” he forced out, keeping his voice harsh. “Is that all?”

Her eyes widened at his tone. “I . . . yes.”

“Anything else?”

“What about you?” She was looking at him now, the way he hated. The way he loved. With that soft look in her eyes, as if she cared. “Are you really okay?” Her gaze flickered around the room. “I see you’re back in your office. Have you . . . been out of it recently?”

He wanted to reply angrily, with something cutting that would hurt her the way she was hurting him. Tell her that no, he hadn’t been out of his office for a week now and that was all her fault. She’d left him and now he was back to being the way he’d been before.

But that was something he wasn’t going to do anymore either. He wasn’t going to lash out like an angry child, be that selfish or that petty. Yet he couldn’t tell her the truth either, that he wasn’t okay. Because that would hurt her, too, would trap her as surely as if he’d locked the front door and put bars on the windows. As if he’d boarded up the doors like his mother had done to him.

“Yes,” he said, trying to soften the word. “At least I will be.”

“Will you see someone? About the past? About being in here?”

See someone . . . A psychiatrist, no doubt. Well, he could do that, but he knew he wasn’t going to. Because what would be the point? Once she was gone, he had no reason to leave his house. No reason to leave this room. None at all. He would stay here until he died.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he lied. “I’ll get James to make me an appointment.”

Another fleeting emotion crossed her face. Relief maybe? Or was that pity again? “Oh good.” She sounded breathless. “I’m glad about that.”

Definitely relief. Jesus. Did that mean she cared? She’d told him she did that day in his control room, but he wasn’t sure. Not that it mattered.

All that mattered was that she made her own choices and that those choices made her happy. Because her happiness suddenly seemed like the most important thing in the world.

He made a show of looking at his watch, because he could feel all his good intentions sliding out of his grip the longer she was in the same room as he was, so it was better if she left and quickly. “Is that all?” He tried to make the question sound casual. “I have a meeting soon.”

“Oh . . . yes. Of course.” She gripped her purse strap, a hesitant smile curving her mouth that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Your final pay should be in your account in the next few days and naturally you can expect a glowing reference. I’ll also make sure James sends the rest of your belongings back to your apartment.” He didn’t even attempt to smile since he knew it wouldn’t be pretty. “I’ll show you out.”

She gave a jerky nod, turning toward the door. He followed her, his hands in fists, keeping his gaze above her head and not where it wanted to be, following the lines of her beautiful curves as she moved.