She would have loved him forever if he’d let her. But enough sentimentality.
“Yes, I would have left. I didn’t want you to pay that debt because it would always be between us. And not only is the money between us, but you don’t trust me. All I’ve ever wanted is you. I may be poor and trying to pick up the rubble of my world, but I’m not afraid to live. There’ll always be something holding you back. Live in your penthouse, surrounded by your white walls and furniture. Live in your asylum, if it keeps you safe to retreat here. Where you don’t have to get your hands dirty or let anything impinge on your well-ordered life.”
A barely audible mewl alerted her to Kevin. She hunched down, which she noted was much easier in these low-heeled shoes, and found her cat under the Barcalounger.
“Come on, Kevin, we’re out of here.”
Kevin decided now would be a good time to play at statue. Please, kitty, I’m barely holding on by my fingertips here.
The least empathetic animal in the universe heard her silent plea and crept out into her arms. Fighting her tears, Emma picked him up, barely managed to unfold her aching body from the ground, and marched out the door of the penthouse.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Where the hell is the oolong?”
Serena’s eyes widened at Brody’s abrasive tone, and she looked around for someone to defend her from the cranky, tea-deprived brute looming over her desk.
Not her desk. Emma’s desk. Serena was merely filling in until they could hire someone Brody could shout at on a more permanent basis.
“Well?”
“I don’t even know what that is,” Serena whispered, her mouth in a wobble.
“It’s f*ck
ing tea and my f*ck
ing client happens to like it!”
Brody looked up to find the entire staff, including Hunter and Flynn, staring at him with not a small amount of pity.
“I can go get some.” Tears sprang into Serena’s eyes and she sniffed in Flynn’s direction. “Do they have it at Starbucks?”
“Basketball court,” Hunter said to Brody. “Now.”
“Smythe-Osborne will be here in thirty.”
“So how about we get into fightin’ mode on the hardwood? Beat Cross’s lame ass. Feel a shit-ton better.”
That sounded like the best idea he’d heard in days.
Ten minutes later, Brody was taking his frustration out on the boards instead of the poor, innocuous assistant whose only crime was that she wasn’t Emma. He bounced the ball several times. Then several more.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Flynn took a slug of water. “Got it.”
“I could waterboard S-O with that tea and he’d still dick me around.”
Hunter rolled his shoulders and wisely kept his mouth shut.
“This is your fault.” Brody pointed a finger at Flynn. “You and your strip club recommendation and your flavored condoms and the land of sensual taboo.”
“Yup.”
Unappreciative of Flynn’s mature acceptance of the blame, Brody turned his ire on Hunter. Standing before him was the definition of self-made man. Born and raised in a Texas trailer park, Hunter’s childhood was filled with pain, misery, and death. But he was a survivor, through and through, just like Emma. Character always outs.
So does ass*ole
ry, Kane.
Brody glowered at his friends. “Why aren’t you telling me what a dick I was to Emma?” A week of telling himself wasn’t enough; he needed the condemnation only true friends could dispense.
What in the f*ck
ity f*ck
of f*ck
s had he been thinking? On his way back from paying off Grigson, that video—and Emma’s prior knowledge of it—had fueled his fury. Deep down, he knew she would never have used it against him. She’d had chances. Not once had she come out and asked for the money.
Then he told her he forgave her, as if it was in his power to give.
He’d treated her like she owed him, and that his trust was this special reward she had to earn. All along, she’d resisted his help because owing Brody instead of Ray would be no different in her eyes—and he’d proved her point a million times over. She’d confided her brokenness to him and like the class act he was, he threw it back in her face. Assured her that the nature and circumstances she’d worked so hard to overcome were insurmountable.
Brody had thought he was over Kerry. He wasn’t over shit.
God, he was so damn spineless a new genus of invertebrates needed to be invented. f*ck
heads like him were never more righteous than when in the wrong.
“Well?” he snapped when neither of his buddies had the common decency to be pricks about his behavior.
“You seem to be doing a fine job on the self-flagellation,” Flynn said. “But it’s time you stopped taking it out on the staff at the office. We can’t afford to lose any more employees, especially as we just lost the best one.”
Brody slapped the water bottle out of Flynn’s hands.