Page 12 of Bad Influence
“She gave me the apartment when I moved here,” I tell Caroline.
This is not what I need right now.
I turn back to look at her just as her phone rings again. This time, she doesn’t even check who’s calling before pressing the button on the side and ending the call.
“Look, no offense, but you can’t stay here,” I say. “I don’t need this drama in my life.”
I haven’t seen my family in five years and I want to keep it that way. I don’t need their toxic presence affecting my life.
“Yet, you RSVP’d to the wedding,” Caroline points out, nodding at the wedding card stuck to the fridge. “The biggest drama the York/Sinclair families will put on.”
That’s because I’m a masochist, sweetheart.
“If you didn’t want me to come to the wedding, you shouldn’t have sent the invitation,” I say.
“I obviously didn’t,” she says. “Don’t you think I would have remembered the address or thought it seemed familiar when I arrived here? Or do you think I’m an idiot?”
Her face is set, eyes angry, and she still hasn’t realized she’s only wearing a towel. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to look because a part of me really wants to let my eyes travel down her body. I pour myself another splash of whisky and drink it slowly. I’m hoping the alcohol will erase the image of her in my house, in nothing but a towel while her bare skin glows golden in the fading rays of the sun.
She’s going to marry your brother in two months, asshole.
Right.
“Maybe you should put some clothes on before we continue this conversation?”
Eyes widening, Caroline looks down at herself.
“Oh my god!” She gasps, turning away from me. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I’m sorry, I was a little distracted by finding a woman in my apartment.”
She grumbles something under her breath before stalking to her luggage and taking her bag into the bathroom with her. She’s been in my apartment long enough to know where the bathroom is and she’s beennaked in my apartment.
That’s the least of my concerns. Did she take it upon herself to give herself a tour? Has she been in my studio? No, that’s stupid. If she had, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see me.
I push a hand through my hair, setting my glass down on the counter. What was my grandmother thinking sending Caroline here? Did she really give both of us this apartment, knowing Caroline was always expected to marry Beckett?
I look at the wedding invite stuck to my fridge. I didn’t put it there so I don’t forget the wedding date. I put it there so I don’t forget Caroline chose Beckett.
The bathroom door opens and Caroline steps out in leggings and a thin t-shirt which shows the pale pink sports bra she’s wearing underneath. Her skin is flushed, hair twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck. She doesn’t look at me.
As much as I want her to look at me, maybe it’s for the best that she doesn’t.
“Caroline, I’m not saying this to be cruel, but you can’t stay here.”
“No, I got that from your very welcoming reaction,” she says.
“I don’t like people in my space,” I say, feeling defensive. Why the hell did I have to explain myself? “This is my apartment, not a vacation spot I’ve run off to because I’ve had a disagreement with my fiancé about centerpieces.”
“Killian.” My name is a sharp sound on her tongue, like tiny knives piercing the skin. She’s finally looking at me, her eyes red rimmed.Fuck.
“I get it. I’m not welcome here under any circumstances. I’m booking a ride share to a hotel right now.”
Picking up her phone, Caroline scrolls through it. Even though this is exactly what I want, I still feel a twinge of guilt. If she can fly out to New York on her own, she can live out her fantasies on her own. She’ll probably be back in San Francisco by the end of the week.
“You can stay here tonight and find a hotel tomorrow,” I offer.
Caroline scoffs. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want my presence to destroy yourinner peace.”
