I was exactly fucking right. Exactly fucking right. Emerald should have served as a true warning about getting involved with women, and I ignored it because....
Because why?
Because when I saw Angelica in the elevator, I thought she was perfection.
Magnetic perfection.
I didn’t want to walk away from her then, but I did.
Now I want to walk away from her, and I can’t.
“If I could make a suggestion, Mr. Brandon,” Cook says, calmly as ever. “It’s probably time that we contact the authorities. And your attorneys.” He’s doing is damn best not to provoke me any further. As if keeping things civil in his office is going to smooth over the lightning pain in my chest that throbs with every heartbeat.
“Call them, Cook.” It’s a near miracle that I get the words out.
He picks up the phone, speaking quickly and quietly into the handset. “They’re on their way, Mr. Brandon.”
My jaw locks together, and I have to work at it to get it to release.
I was so fucking right that I can’t stand it.
Never again.
Never again, after this.
Not a fucking chance.
“I want you out of this building,” I say to Angelica before I can stop myself. Acid rises in my throat.
“I can understand that.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper. She presses her lips together again, and more tears fall down onto her skirt.
We sit in silence for a long couple of minutes.
“Would you like me to step out, Mr. Brandon?” Cook says.
“No.”
He doesn’t question it, just pulls a folder to a space in front of him and flips through it. If he leaves, Angelica will probably start talking to me again. And if she speaks to me enough, if, God forbid, she tries to kiss me, I could get sucked in all over again.
Because the truth is, the awful, stinging, horrible truth, is that I want her to take it all back. I want her to tell me, right now, that this is a joke, that this is an incredibly ill-planned prank and none of it is real. I want her to tell me that everything we did together was for the sheer pleasure of it, for the sheer pleasure of being in love.
Being in love.
Not like with Emerald. How could she be another Emerald, after all that we shared?
Angelica folds her hands in her lap and stares down at them. Can she feel my eyes on her?
The moment stretches out, it feels like a century.
Angelica looks up. “Mr. Cook?”
“Yes, Ms. Chandler?” Leave it to Cook to keep a sense of decorum about him, even in fucked-up situations like this one.
“I’m—” She cuts her eyes toward me, just the hint of a glance. “I’m very sorry to have put you in this position.”
Cook nods, giving her the ghost of a smile.
“Him?”
I can’t help myself. I can’t stop myself.
“You’re going to apologize to him?”
Angelica looks back at me, chin quivering. “Would it matter if I apologized to you? Because I’m sorry, Jett. You have no idea how sorry I am. I never wanted....” She has to stop to swallow hard. “I’m so sorry.”
It doesn’t fix anything.
This could have played out so differently. I could be kissing her on the landing on the way out. I could be asking her to stay for as long as she wants. I could be holding her hand right now.
I clench my fist. I will not reach out to her. I will not touch her. No matter how much I want to, I won’t touch her.
She doesn’t deserve to be comforted by me. Not after what she’s done.
Cook’s phone rings, and he picks it up and answers it with a terse, “Cook.”
He nods once as he listens, then says, “Thank you. Goodbye.” He looks from me to Angelica, then back to me. “The police should be here any moment. They’re bringing along some members of their tech crime team to attempt to sort out what’s happened here.”
“Great news.” My voice is cutting, sharp, and I want to get it under control, God damn it. I don’t want anyone other than Cook to see how much this has rattled me, how much this woman has affected me, gotten under my skin....
Betrayed me.
So there’s one thing left I have to do before they get here.
“Angelica.”
She looks up at me, her eyes like storm clouds rimmed with red. There’s pain there, and a tiny spark of hope.
“When we leave here, I want you to understand something.” My voice is even, steady.
I can do this.
“Okay.” She threads her fingers together and holds on tight, her eyes searching my face like she’s looking for a sign of what’s to come. Surely she cannot be imagining that I’m going to forgive her, that I’m going to ask her to solve this with me, together.
Not now.
Not ever.