Beg for It



Chapter Forty-One



“I don’t have long,” Corinne said without preamble as she took a seat in the booth. “The kids both have homework and stuff.”

“Thanks for coming.”

Did he have to look so good? It wasn’t fair. She wanted him to at least look hollow-cheeked, shadow-eyed. Like he hadn’t been sleeping. Something, anything, that would’ve shown her he’d been missing her.

“I’m not taking that money,” she said, again without any hesitation. No point in beating around the bush. “You can’t buy or sell me like I’m a business.”

Reese smiled. “It’s your severance package. If you’d read the contract amendment I had you sign when I took over, you’d have seen that.”

“I did read it, as a matter of fact, because I don’t sign contracts without reading them first,” she answered sharply. “It did not say anywhere in it that you were going to give me half a million dollars for quitting.”

“It said, if I remember correctly, that the severance package would include full benefits for six months as well as a discretionary bonus.” He was still smiling.

Jerk.

Corinne sat up straighter. “I don’t want your payoff. The severance I’m owed will be fine. I don’t need a bonus.”

“I gave it to you, and I’m not taking it back,” Reese said complacently.

“I said I don’t want it!”

At last, that smug smile faded. “It’s not for you. It’s for your kids. So you don’t have to worry about another job, or uprooting or abandoning them.”

“I can take care of my kids just fine, thank you,” she snapped, keeping her voice low so as not to attract attention. “I don’t need you to take care of them. Or me!”

“I want to take care of you, Corinne. For the rest of your life, if you’ll let me.”

Not the words she’d been expecting. Startled, she sat back. “What?”

Reese leaned forward. “You told me to choose. I’m choosing.”

“What, exactly, did you choose?” She swallowed tears, hoping against every shredded scrap of hope she’d been denying she was holding on to.

“You. Us. If you’ll let me, the kids. Your sister,” he added with a grin that faded after a second so he could look serious.

He took her hand, and she let him, because she wanted to believe. She wanted to trust him. She squeezed, gently.

“You said you wouldn’t ask me to do what I absolutely can’t, Corinne. Right now, I can’t live in Lancaster full-time. But,” he cut in hastily before she could speak, “I can live here a lot of the time.”

“You want to move in with me?”

“Yes. Some day. When we’re ready. When it makes sense. Until then, I have a place I’m going to rent while I build something. I’m going to sell the farmhouse. I’ll spend whatever time I need in Philly, but I’ll make a home base here too. And eventually, if everything works out, we can talk about making a place together for all of us.”

“You’ve thought it out,” she said. “Sounds like you’ve really analyzed it.”

“It’s what I do,” Reese told her. “Figure out how to make the pieces work. I want them to work with you.”

“Me too.” She leaned across the table to kiss him, then sat back. “I’m still not keeping that money.”

“I’m going to take care of you the way I always wanted to, whether you like it or not,” he shot back.

Corinne studied him, this man who’d once been her boy. She sat up straighter and gave him a long, cool look. Then a smile.

“My list,” she said in that tone guaranteed to make him shiver and make his cock hard, “just got one item longer.”





About the Author


Megan Hart writes books. Some of them use a lot of bad words, but most of the other words are okay. She can’t live without music, the internet, or the ocean, but she and soda have achieved an amicable uncoupling. She can’t stand the feeling of corduroy or velvet, and modern art leaves her cold. She writes a little bit of everything from horror to romance, though she’s best known for writing erotic fiction that sometimes makes you cry. Find out more about her at www.meganhart.com, or if you really want to get crazy, follow her on Twitter at www.twitter.com/megan_hart.

Megan Hart's books