That thought gives me some small amount of satisfaction. I like the idea that he will realize he doesn’t have me under his thumb. Everything that has happened so far, I’ve let happen. I’ve been a willing participant. But the instant I decide it has to stop, it will. The end.
A tiny, irritating voice speaks up from the back of my mind. It’s laughing at me, asking if I really think it will be that easy to just walk away from Nash.
Much as I did Nash’s text, I ignore it.
My jaw aches from clenching my teeth in determination, but I feel somewhat accomplished an hour later when I zip my small overnight bag closed. The prospect of getting out of this condo, out of Atlanta is incredibly appealing at the moment.
I hear the front door slam and my heart stutters in my chest. I wonder if I’ll always have that reaction now, whether rational or not. Once my brain kicks in, it reminds me that it’s got to be either Olivia or Nash. Or Cash, although unlikely. They’re the only ones who could even possibly have keys and I locked the door.
I wait a little breathlessly for the footsteps to make their way to my bedroom. When Nash’s big body fills the doorway, my heart skips another beat. He’s so incredibly handsome. And so incredibly angry.
“Why the fu—hell haven’t you answered my texts?”
“I wasn’t aware that I was required to.”
His teeth are gritted. I can practically hear them grinding. He hisses through them. “You’re not required to. It’s just common courtesy. I thought you rich, snobby bitches were all about pretending you have manners and putting on a good show.”
Although I know he’s probably using it as a generality, it still stings to hear him lump me in with bitches. “Maybe we rich, snobby bitches don’t always follow the rules.”
I see the anger in his eyes dim. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I suspect that he didn’t, but I refuse to ease his conscience by saying so.
“Maybe you should learn to watch your tongue.”
“Believe me, I don’t say half of what I’m thinking when I’m around you.”
“Well, then maybe you should say what you mean.”
Nash stomps across the room and stops with less than an inch between us. At nearly five nine, I’m tall for a girl, but he still towers over me. I resist the urge to back up. Rather, I raise my chin and meet his eyes in defiance.
“Trust me, you don’t want to hear that.”
“Maybe not, but maybe I need to hear it.”
His fingers wind around my upper arms like bands of carbon steel and he pulls me tight against his chest. I get the feeling he’d like to shake me. “I haven’t given you enough reason to hate me? To stay the hell away from me?”
“Maybe now you finally have,” I spit through the tight line of my lips. He’s not the only one who can get angry.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
We stare at each other, both unwilling to give an inch, but both unwilling to walk away. For the first time, I can see past his carefully crafted façade. He doesn’t want to want me, he doesn’t want to feel anything for me, but I think he’s beginning to, despite all the warnings and reasons that he shouldn’t.
After what feels like an eternity, Nash releases my arms and takes a step back. He reaches up to smooth hair that isn’t mussed back into his ponytail. His eyes flicker to the bed and stop.
“Going somewhere?”
“As a matter of fact I am. Not that it’s any of your business.”
His eyes slide back to mine and narrow. “Were you even going to bother telling me?”
I narrow my eyes right back at him. “I figured I’d text you later.”
Since you’re so fond of that method of delivering your lies.
“Later, huh?”
I can see the sparks in his eyes again.
“You don’t check in to tell me every detail of your life and your day.”
It feels good to get a little dig in, especially considering his recent trip to the jewelry store, a trip that he lied about. But when I see his lips twitch, I realize my barbs aren’t even making a dent. He finds it amusing.
Of all the times to get a sense of humor . . .
It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating!
“Somebody’s got a temper,” he says playfully.
I feel like stomping my foot. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.
When Nash takes the step to bring him back closer to me, it’s not in anger this time. There’s something else in his eyes. And it makes my knees weak.
He reaches out and twirls a lock of my hair around his finger, tugging until my nose is nearly touching his. His voice is little more than a whisper when he speaks. “I can be very . . . therapeutic if you need to get some of that anger out. Want me to show you?”
Looking into his eyes, listening to the velvet of his voice, I feel dazed. Mesmerized. Hypnotized. If not for his secret trip to the jewelry store, I’d press my lips to his and sink into the distraction of him like a stone in water.
But I can’t get past the lie so easily. Of all the things I can tolerate from him, that I can overlook and deal with, dishonesty isn’t one. When most of my life is built on lies, I need something that’s real and honest. And I thought that was Nash.
But I was wrong.
Holding his gaze, I take a purposeful step backward. I let a chill drip into my voice. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
One dark brow rises. I don’t know if it’s in surprise or in challenge, but it causes a little shiver to skitter down my spine.
“Fair enough.” Slowly, he turns and walks back to the door. He looks back at the last minute, his lips still curved. “I’ll leave you to your packing, then.”
I don’t move until I hear the front door open and close. As I carry my bag into the living room, I can’t help but feel like I just lost some sort of battle.
TWENTY-ONE
Nash
Cash mentioned Olivia’s birthday in passing. Her present was one of the things I went with him to pick out today. What he really wanted me along for, though, was to ask me if I’d be his best man. He’s planning to propose to Olivia.
“I know it seems like it’s too soon, which is why I’m not doing it now. And definitely not around her birthday. But I want to go ahead and get the ring, so that when the time is right, I’ll have it,” Cash said this morning on the way to the jewelry store.