Heated

I couldn’t decide if I was pissed that he hadn’t told me the problem, or relieved that he hadn’t pummeled me into dust.

Either way, I wanted to ask Tyler what was going on. I knew that he’d arrived about a half hour before, so hurried to his office and pushed through the door. “What the hell is up with Cole?” I began, but the dark expression on Tyler’s face chilled me.

“What’s up with Cole?” Tyler repeated, bursting to his feet, his face a portrait of anger and hurt. “Maybe the better question is what the hell is up with you.”

“Jesus, you too?” I snapped as confusion and a sick feeling pounded over me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Cole saw you,” he said. “You’re working with Kevin Warner, that goddamn prick. I trusted you. Hell, Sloane, I love you. How the hell could you—”

“You son of a bitch.” I was beyond furious, and my words came out low and harsh and cold. “You goddamn son of a bitch. You really believe I would betray you? That I was working with Kevin? He’s been dogging me, Tyler. Trying to get me to find dirt on you. And all I’ve done is tell him that you’re clean. I compromised my own fucking values to tell him you’re clean.”

I stalked to his desk and ripped open the drawer. I pulled out the envelope and tossed it in his face. “There. That’s what he has on you. I thought you might find it useful in case you wanted to clean up whatever goddamn mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Fuck,” I added, then slammed my fist down on the desk. “I’m not Amanda, Tyler. I didn’t run to the cops. I’m not betraying you.”

But I couldn’t stay, and without another look back, I ran from the room, grabbed my purse from my locker, and headed back to The Drake, not even bothering to change my clothes.

The shorts and bra-top got a few stares, but I barely noticed, I was still seething too much.

And it wasn’t until I reached the penthouse and was in the bedroom digging workout clothes out of my drawer, that I realized the irony. I’d come here. To the penthouse.

I’d been pissed, and I’d come home. And to me, home was where Tyler was.

How fucked up was that?

I changed into leggings and a sports bra, then called down to the front desk to find out the location of the fitness center. As it turned out, the tenth floor had its own, and I found it easily enough, and was grateful to see it had a punching bag.

I quickly taped my hands, then shoved on some gloves. Then I started to beat the shit out of a bag while a skinny man in headphones jogged on the treadmill, occasionally shooting me concerned glances. I wasn’t surprised. If that bag had been a man, he’d have been dead, several times over.

I’m not sure how long I tortured the bag before the door opened and Tyler eased inside. I saw him approach in the mirror. I didn’t turn.

“Want to take a few swipes at me, too?”

“Hell, yes.”

“We need to talk.”

“We really don’t.”

He moved closer, then reached out and held the bag steady. “We can talk here with an audience or we can go back to the suite. But we are going to talk.”

“Fine.” I headed toward the door, then waited for him to open it as I was still wearing the gloves.

He glanced at them as we walked down the hall. “Planning on punching me?”

“Depends on what you say.”

“I’m apologizing,” he said, and the fist around my heart loosened. “There may even be some groveling.”

I crossed my arms and tilted my head as he opened the door to the suite. “All things considered, yeah. I think groveling is in order.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again once the door closed behind us. “This thing between us—I want it so desperately, but it scares me, too. I told you, I don’t trust easily. And when Cole told me what he’d seen, it was Amanda all over again. I fucked up.”

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