“And you know what the worst part is?” she continued, voice dropping to a near-whisper that somehow hurt more than if she’d screamed. “I wanted you to help me with it. For real. As a partner. I respected your opinion. I valued your input. I actually thought we could build something amazing together.”
“Mari—”
“I would have shared everything with you willingly if you’d asked,” she said, and the slight catch in her voice nearly undid me. “If you’d seen me as a partner worth respecting. Instead, you stole not just my ideas but my dream.”
I reached for her, unable to stop myself despite knowing better. “Please let me fix this. I’ll tell Eleanor the truth. I’ll decline the position. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Don’t touch me.” She stepped back, putting distance between us.
The muscle memory of dominance, of pulling her against me, of claiming her mouth with mine, surged through my body. But I restrained it. That man had no right to impose his touch now. Not when I’d violated something far more intimate than her body.
“Sweetheart, please?—”
The slap caught me completely off guard, her palm connecting with my cheek with enough force to snap my head to the side. The sharp crack echoed in the empty room.
I raised a hand to my stinging skin, more shocked than hurt. In all our heated arguments, our passionate encounters, our professional disagreements, I’d never seen Mari resort to physical force.
“You can have the damn app,” she said, voice shaking. “You can have the creative director position. You can have Chicago. I’m done,sweetheart.”
I straightened, my hand still on my cheek. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m going back to New York.” She wrapped her arms around herself, a protective gesture that made her look suddenly vulnerable despite her rigid posture. “There’s nothing for me here anymore.”
“That’s not true.” I stepped toward her again, desperate to pull her into my arms, to make her understand how sorry I was. But I stopped myself. “What about the expansion of your business?”
“Oh, you mean my ‘small wedding planning service’? God, you couldn’t even defend me to your parents when they were clearly trying to tear me down. I don’t know what I ever saw in you.” She shook her head. “Anica will figure it out. She’ll probably send Devonna out here until we can hire someone else.”
“No. You can’t leave.”
“Screw you, Gable. You don’t get to fucking tell me what I can and can’t do anymore. Fuck, I’m an idiot.”
“You’re not?—”
“Shut up. I can’t believe I ever thought any of this was real. You were just using me.”
“Mari, what happened between us was real. That wasn’t part of any plan.”
“How am I supposed to believe that?” she asked, and the genuine confusion in her voice was worse than her anger. “How am I supposed to trust anything you say? You were using me for my ideas and for a good fuck. God, you’re despicable.”
My father’s callous words about Mari floated back to my mind, and I struggled to keep my calm. “I wasn’t using you.”
“Your five minutes are up,” she said, glancing at her phone. “I have things to take care of.”
“Mar, please?—”
“Goodbye, Mr. Gable.” She turned to leave, then paused, looking back over her shoulder. Her eyes, usually so bright and expressive,were dull. “You know what’s ironic? I was falling for you. Hard. I actually thought we had something special.”
The past tense gutted me. “We did. We do.”
“No. We don’t.” She shook her head. “Whatever we had died the moment you decided your career was more important than my trust.”
With that, she walked away, heels clicking against the marble floor, the sound growing fainter until she disappeared through the service entrance, leaving me alone.
For the first time, I understood exactly what Mari had meant when she’d talked about her app, about her dream and her future. Because I’d found my dream too, and then I’d lost it through my own actions.
Her.
CHAPTER 16
