The Gentleman Mentor(51)

Hale grasps my arm, but when I look down to glare at his hand, he removes it. “Once we talked, I knew it was never about Kirby. I told you that in the beginning. This was about you. I wanted to help you build your confidence and understand your wants and needs. That was all. Then I was going to walk away. Let him have you, if that’s what you really wanted.”

His words make no sense.

“Why did you lie about your name?”

“I didn’t. It’s Cameron Hale. Close friends call me Hale, and when you assumed that was my first name, I didn’t correct you.”

“And the woman you’re buying a house with? Is she your…” The words die in my throat.

“Chrissy’s a friend. That’s all. We’ve shared scenes together at the club, but there was never any sexual contact between us.”

“Did you do that to her? The bruises?”

“Fucking hell. No!” he roars.

“I don’t really know you. How should I know what you’re capable of?” Planting my hands on my hips, I meet his dark, stormy eyes.

“The fact that you think I could hurt a woman like that…” His voice breaks, and he doesn’t continue.

“How am I supposed to know what to think?”

“You know more than you think you do.”

“What does that even mean?” I remember the whispered story I overheard in the ladies’ room, and what Kirby told me about Hale’s fiancée. Cameron, I remind myself. It’s going to be difficult to call him Cameron after thinking of him as Hale for so long. My hunches were right about him from the beginning. He was heartbroken, and that’s why he keeps his distance.

“We were done anyway, so what does it matter?” he says, his tone low, defeated.

“You cut our arrangement short. Not me,” I challenge.

God, that last night we spent together would forever be burned into my brain. The sweet and tender way we made love, the thoughtfulness behind every gesture he made, the hungry look in his eyes when he studied me in the mirror and lavished me with compliments. In four short weeks, he’s come to mean so much to me, and that night we spent together solidified everything.

“You know why I did that,” he growls.

“Enlighten me.”

“You never once considered calling off this whole game, admitting that Kirby wasn’t the man for you.” He pauses and I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He simply holds me with that icy stare, his look challenging me to disagree.

He’s angry—at me—and the injustice of it inflames me. “It doesn’t matter now. You lied. You lied about everything. You knew who I was the entire time. How can I trust—” I shake my head. “You’re fucking women all over the city of Chicago. None of it matters.”

I see that clearly for the first time. Cursing myself, I realize I should have never given him my heart. I feel like a fool for even considering for one second that we could work.

Hale stares at the floor, looking less and less like the domineering man I thought I knew. Still not meeting my eyes, he says, “I haven’t taken a client since we began seeing each other.”

My heart slams against my ribs as if this moment means everything to me. “You’re telling me there was no one else?”

“Just you,” he whispers.

Tears spring to my eyes. I have to get out of here. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I just can’t.”

Clutching my purse, I let my heels carry me back to the ballroom. I know I owe Kirby an explanation. He was just blindsided, learning that I’ve been sleeping with his roommate.

I spot him immediately. He’s at the same bar where I left him, but it appears he’s switched from beer to something stronger. When I get close, I overhear a conversation that wasn’t meant for my ears.

“No date tonight?” the man next to Kirby asks.

Kirby shakes his head. “No, my date canceled with the flu, so I invited my friend Brie. She’s always free at the last minute.”

Anger and disappointment rush through me, and I stop in my tracks as if I’ve been physically struck. I don’t want to be someone’s second choice. I’ve wasted five years of my life, and it’s suddenly crystal clear—Kirby is never going to see me as more than a friend. And do I even want him to?

Tears spring to my eyes, and I make my way toward the ladies’ room. The last thing I want is for someone to see me cry.

Thankful to find the bathroom empty, I grab a wad of tissue paper just as a sob rips from my throat. I just need to compose myself enough to hail a cab and end this disastrous night. As I sob, I become aware on some level that I’m crying for what will never be with Kirby, and what I can’t have with Hale.