Page 49 of Love What's Left
Sydney’s driver, Brady, has sent a single photo. Holding the unconcerned half smile on my face is a losing battle. My left eye twitches hard enough that the photo becomes a blur.
Keep it together, you jealous bastard.
I take a deep breath through my nose and one last glance at the photo before I pocket my phone. Now that the first shock has worn off, adrenaline shouldn’t spike through my veins, but it does. Because Sydney Walsh is wearing the red wraparound dress that always tempts me to untie that bow to get to the full curves underneath. She looks like a gift ready to be unwrapped.My gift.
And the asshole with her has his hand on the small of her back in a move that is the human male equivalent of pissing to mark his territory.
I’ve been doing with Sydney the same thing I did with business: waiting, hoping patience would eventually win her trust. The ticking clock hasn’t done a thing except give her time to build thicker walls.
Fingers lifting in a move that’s now ingrained habit, I rub the tattoo on my chest through the crisp cotton of my shirt. Anytime I wanted to reach for a bottle, I traced the swirling ink instead, my permanent reminder of the cost of failure.
Catching myself, I smooth my navy silk tie and try to force away thoughts of what Sydney could do tonight if I don’t fix this. My brain floods with images of her kissing him, letting him touch her, offering him her hand and dragging him through her eclectic living room and down the short hall to the bedroom I’ve never been invited to, no matter what everyone who knows us thinks.
If a man could die from wanting a woman, I’d have been in my grave years ago.
Nausea whispers through me, and I rise. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me and your honesty.”
James joins me, and, though his face is set in the same hard lines it usually is, he eyes me with something that could be sympathy. “Do you play basketball?”
The last thing I’m interested in is small talk. I’ve got places to be and a wannabe boyfriend to run off. “Yeah. Sometimes. It’s been a while.”
He nods in satisfaction. “I’ll text you. We can shoot some hoops.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. James is probably close to a decade older than I am. “Think you can keep up with me?”
He snorts. “I was going to take it easy on you. Now, I’ll have to kick your ass to prove a point.”
I bark alaugh. “You can try.”
A ghost of a smile crosses his face before he turns serious once more. “If your PR team isn’t equipped to help you rehabilitate your reputation, let me know. I’ll lend you some of my people to consult.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I was the one who told them I wanted to keep my head down.”
“There’s your problem, Gabriel. It’s time to lift your head up.”
James is right. I have to make the world—Sydney—see me as I am now. The woman is stubborn as hell, and once she sets her mind on something, it’s written in stone. Time alone won’t wear her down. If I have any hope of getting through to her, it’ll take a hammer and a chisel.
I give it 70-30 odds that when the dust clears, there’ll be nothing left of me to scrape off the floor. What’s the alternative? Give up without a fight? Starting tonight, the next bridge I build will be made of iron. Let her try to light that fucker on fire.
20
Sydney
Two Weeks Later
Rufus curls in a puddle of sunlight in the library, his orange tail flicking as he picks up on the tension in the room.
The brunette forty-something woman who wants me to talk about my feelings pisses me off. According to her, I’m irritable because my emotions are “dysregulated.” According to me, she’s a terrible psychiatrist and should find another profession.
How did I not notice before today how creepy her eyes are?
Seated in the armchair catty-corner to mine, she speaks with a concerned smile. “Are you taking the medications Dr. Granthy and I prescribed?”
I shift on the huge ottoman located in front of the big green chair and run my fingers over the velvet ridges in the upholstery. “Not yet.”
“But you’re hiding them?”
“No one n-needs to know where they are. S-someone could tamper.” After my awful three-day migraine passed, I looked up the meds they prescribed online. They appeared to be legitimate. So I ordered equipment to check for tampering. When I was confident the medications were safe and appropriately prescribed, I hid them in the drawer with the fingerprint lock.
