The Dirty Series 2(85)

Because she gave a shit about how I felt.

She always did, which is why she was so God damn devastated in Cook’s office.

And I didn’t give her the fucking time of day.

“I have to go.”

“Yeah,” Connor says, and helps me up off the chair. He takes my phone, texts Stuart, and gets me to the car.



My head throbs with the memory, my cheeks sickly hot remembering the random girl I kissed at the Swan. No more women like her. Never again.

I have to see Angelica.

I have to tell her I’m sorry.

I have to give her a chance to explain everything, and then I have to do whatever I can to make sure she’s not locked up for this or doled out some other insane punishment.

The truth is that I did know Angelica. I do know her. And she would only do what she did if she absolutely had to.

Whether Charlie was going to make good on his threats or not, she felt like she had to do whatever was necessary to protect her brother.

Including stealing from me.

But that moment in the elevator—it doesn’t matter why she was going to the penthouse. What I felt then was as real as anything I’ve ever felt.

More real.

I get out of bed too quickly and my stomach lurches, so I take a second to get my balance. I have to get to her. But first I have to shower.



It takes me ninety minutes to get to Angelica’s place, and it involves some shady business of my own. I have to call her office and convince her boss to give me her address. It’s a damn good thing I’ve practiced being charming all my life, because she eventually gives it to me.

Riding the elevator on the way to her floor, my heart thuds against my rib cage.

There’s a good chance that this is going to turn out just as badly as what happened in Cook’s office did. There’s a good chance she won’t forgive me for the way I broke up with her in front of my accountant, then stood by as the police escorted her out of the building. There’s a good chance she’s done with me forever.

But I’m not done with her.

The elevator crawls upward.

In what seems like an eternity later, I double-check the number on the door, then glance down at my outfit. Dress pants and a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A jacket would have been too much.

I hesitate, then raise my hand and knock hard on the door.

There’s no movement or sound from inside.

I knock again.

Then I hear movement, faint, and her voice calling, “Just a minute.”

Dishes clatter against a sink.

Another long pause.

Then the door swings open, and in front of me stands the love of my God damn life.

“Jett.”

Her face is blank, expressionless.

“Can we talk?”

She takes in a breath, lets it out, and considers.

“No.”





Chapter Forty-Three





Angelica



I can’t fucking believe he’s standing in my doorway. My heart turns over, clenches, then explodes within my chest, pieces hurtling toward my rib cage.

What is he doing here?

“Jett.” I don’t have any other words. To say his name, to acknowledge that he’s here, is almost too much as it is. I can’t even breathe.

“Can we talk?” He doesn’t waste any time. He knows what he wants.

Do I?

My mind reels. Cook’s office. His anger. The look of sheer betrayal on his face.

When we leave here, I want you to understand something. We’re over.

We’re over.

We’re over.

We’re over.

So why does he want to talk to me?

Even though he does, it doesn’t change what I’ve done.

No. I can’t do this to him.

I can’t do this to me.

“No,” I say, and I close the door.

I don’t slam it. I close it gently, and then I turn around and lean up against it, my back against the smooth metal surface.

There’s a silence.

My entire body strains to hear what’s happening outside the door. I wait for the footsteps to retreat, for the ding of the elevator, for the inevitable stillness of Jett walking back out of my life forever.

Instead, there’s a gentle knock at the door, somewhere near my left shoulder.

“Angelica, let me in.” His voice is smooth, so fucking smooth, and I want to obey him. I want to open the door, but if I open the door I’ll be setting us both up for more heartache. How could he ever trust me again? I would never trust me again. I’ll be a constant reminder that he always needs to be wary.

I clear my throat. “No.”

“Why not?”

I blink a couple of times to clear away the tears that have started to form just from the sight of him. “We shouldn’t talk, Jett. We should just...leave each other be.”

Another pause. A rustle of fabric as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.