I step into the hallway, watching.
She gets to the elevator, then looks over her shoulder. She calls out, "He has other women. Lots of them. You're just another notch on his post!"
A claw grips my gut.
She's lying.
The doors swallow her. Silence crashes down. I lock my door, walk into my kitchen, pour a glass of water, and drink it like it's medicine.
Jealousy sits in my chest like a live coal. My mind replays the scene, making me feel ill.
I pick up my phone and text Brax.
Me: Your little friend was in my condo when I got home.
Brax: What are you talking about?
Me: Just what I said. Security wants to know if we're pressing charges.
Brax: Are you okay?
Me: Of course I am. She almost got her throat slit open.
Brax: I'm on my way over. Don't go anywhere.
I walk through my home, looking in every room, but everything seems to be in place. I pace for a bit, then go over to the window and stare at the waves crashing against the shoreline.
Brax flies through the door with worry and anger in his expression. But fatigue is also etched into the angles of his face.
It pisses me off further that she was in here.
He's working his ass off, burning the candle at both ends, and shouldn't have to deal with her.
His eyes sweep the room, then land on me. He stalks closer and asks, "Did she hurt you?"
"No. I already told you that."
His jaw clenches. "So she didn't touch you?"
"She grabbed my arm."
Brax's gaze darkens. "What did she want?"
I throw my hands up. "Who knows! She was unstable and ranting. I had her escorted out right before I took her out."
He exhales slowly. "She's really sick."
I cross my arms, trying to keep my voice neutral. "She implied she has a history with you."
His eyes flicker. A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Implied?"
The jealousy sparks again, and I hate that it does. I press. "So? What's the history?"
He lets out a low, humorless laugh. "You've got to be kidding me."
I glare at him, my insides shaking.
He points at me. "You're jealous."
