Page 52 of One Night Stand After Another
“I’m sorry, Clara.” He’d shown her the location, and she’d said no. He had no reason to delay giving her what she did want. Him—gone. “I’ll drop you at your hotel.”
“I’ll call an Uber.”
“That’s ridic—” Even when he stopped trying, he couldn’t stop trying.See me.He felt every cell of his body screaming the words, and it was humiliating. He blew out a breath. “Fine—call an Uber, but I’m waiting with you until it gets here.”
When they arrived back at the Lexus, she called for a car and met his gaze with determination. “I have to do this, Zane. I promised myself. It’s my plan, my dream.”
“And there’s no room for me in your dream.” He said it like a statement, not a question. He needed to remember it.
“We said one night,” she said hopelessly.
“It’s been nearly a week, Clara. One night went by the wayside days ago. Give me one more. I’m not asking for a commitment. I’m not asking for forever. You can take all the time you need while we explore what’s between us. Let me be part of your life. Let me dream with you. What’s stopping you?”
He was doing it again.Shut up, dumbass. How many times do you need to hear no?
She lifted her chin. “You make it sound so reasonable, so logical. But I made a plan. When I missed my flight, the plan changed, but the goal was always to get me here, to my interview. I get it—you’re competitive. I enjoyed the benefits of your competitive instincts enormously, but don’t make this more than it is. No strings, remember? Stop trying to tempt me into another night. This is game over. Go home and tell Jack you scored a week. Unless, you leased this space?” Her eyes looked wild. “You’re not staying, are you?”
Not anymore. Not if it put that look on her face. Maybe Roman would change his mind and take it off his hands. Zane would find another project in New York.
He shook his head. “Nope—you’re right. I’m going home.”
The game really was over—a loss.
But it felt like so much more than just losing. He’d cut his losses before and it had never felt like he was excising a vital piece of himself.
In a rush of understanding that made him feel like he was having an out-of-body experience, he realized she was partly right. Trying, fixing, competing, and refusing to give up were his success patterns, but they also made him feel hollow as hell when it didn’t work out. Like a failure. An imposter. He’d engineered a perfect train wreck for himself this week. Nothing made him happier than excelling, but nothing made him more miserable than coming up short. His competitive instincts drove him to acquire, to expand, to never feel like he had enough except when he was with her.
She was the only thing that made him feel peaceful. With her in his arms, he felt connected, complete. Real. Worthy. The king of the universe he’d been trying to conquer since he’d walked into Breeze and seen Jack, who already had everything he wanted and still wasn’t happy.
Jack was going to laugh his ass off.
Clara was absolutely right. He had been competing. For her. He’d been trying to convince her to give him a real chance. Hell, he was still trying. But he’d made a mistake that had cost him her trust. The end didn’t justify the means, and telling Jimmy had been a mistake.
He had to let her go. For her. And for him. Because he shouldn’t need her to feel whole. The connection between them was false if he had to convince her of anything. Stupid fucking imposter syndrome. Sneaky bastard. Why couldn’t you conquer demons and leave them behind forever? Why did they sneak up on you when you got comfortable? He wasn’t playing anymore. The only way to get what he wanted—the only way to be true to himself—was to admit defeat.
A black Toyota pulled up to the curb. She checked her phone. “This is me.”
He popped the lock on the Lexus and transferred her bags to the trunk of the Toyota. “Good luck, Clara. The Fiber King will be lucky to have you working for him in any capacity. But I hope you’ll think about what I said. You really are talented, and there are tons of resources available for small businesses. I never could have succeeded with Standing Room without help. It doesn’t have to be me, but when you’re ready, I hope you’ll reach out to someone.” It felt weird not to kiss her cheek, at least, so he did. Her citrusy scent hit him in the throat, the heart, and the gut. “Text me your address when you have one. I’ll have your yarn delivered.”
“It was a fabulous trip, Zane. Thank you for everything.” She pressed something soft into his hand, and he clasped it, heart sinking. He didn’t have to look down to know what she’d given him.
He watched her get into her Uber.
And because he was a masochist, he watched it drive away, just to see if she’d look back at him with anything like regret in her eyes.
She didn’t.
…
No strings, no strings, no strings, Clara repeated to herself as she left Zane on the sidewalk.
Ha.So many strings. Every skein of yarn she’d bought on this trip would remind her of him, and that was a lot of yarn. It was going to take her another decade to get rid of that yarn and cut all the strings between them.
But she would. Hadn’t she just cut the first one? In the span of a blink, his clear, gray eyes had gone dull and shuttered. He’d looked at her like she was a stranger.Good. Great.But she felt like hell.
Her hotel wasn’t far—she’d splurged—but it seemed to take forever to get there.
“Thanks.” She’d barely noticed her driver, who had thankfully not tried to make conversation beyond confirming her destination.
