“This person,” Athena says.
“Aspen?” Grant sounds surprised, but I’m too angry to buy it.
“My limo’s here,” she says as a white stretch limo pulls up.
“I can see that.” Grant escorts her toward the sparkling car while holding up a finger and mouthing,Give me a second.Like I have a choice if I want to talk to him. “They’ll take care of everything so you won’t have to a lift a finger.”
“I hope so.” Athena sighs. “Last time, they absolutelywreckedmy breakfast.Twice.”
“And they’re thrilled to have a chance to redeem themselves,” Grant says soothingly.
Guess he cares about his mom. I haven’t seen him this solicitous with anyone else. Well, he was with me, but that was only to get laid. I doubt Athena has anything Grant can want…
He might want the photos she’s taken.
True, but if that’s the case, he’s even worse than I thought. I’d prefer that he isn’t quite that awful. I’d like to think that the guy I gave my virginity to has at least one teeny redeeming quality, like being nice to his mom.
A uniformed chauffeur steps out and opens the door for her. She air-kisses Grant’s cheek, then slips inside the car. The chauffeur puts her suitcases into the trunk and gets behind the wheel. Soon the engine starts, and the car’s gone.
Finally. My turn.
Grant turns to me and gestures to come inside.
I follow him into the foyer and stop. I’m not here to sit down in his huge living room, likely furnished to impress, and hold a conversation. I just want to lay down the ground rules, like I should have when Grant first asked me about Grandpa.
Grant stops and turns around. He isn’t stupid. He can sense something’s up. “What are you doing here?” He sounds genuinely confused and maybe even concerned.
Why is he faking it? There’s no audience to impress. “Stay away from my grandfather. We’re not some misery porn for you to enjoy.”
“What?” He looks at me like I just slapped him. “You think I visited your grandfather for some kind of sick emotional kick?”
“Why else? It isn’t like you have anything to talk to him about.” Even if Grandpa weren’t suffering from dementia, there wouldn’t be anything for them to talk about. Not civilly, anyway.
Grant’s jaw slackens, then his cheeks turn red. “What kind of an asshole do you think I am?”
“The absolute worst kind.”The kind that betrayed me. The kind that I’m still having trouble getting over. Which is what makes it even worse. I’ve never had difficulty ignoring people who don’t add anything positive to my life. Why can’t I do it with him?
He couldn’t look more awful if I’d buried a knife in his gut. “If you think I’m such an asshole, why did you pick me to be your first?”
His question cuts deep, reopening the wound I’m trying to heal. He wants to force me to admit how badly I misjudged him, doesn’t he? Does he want me to break down and cry too? He’d like that, the way he would’ve enjoyed torturing me by making me work late and run at the crack of dawn. If he didn’t have to pay me overtime, he’d still be harassing me.
I put on a brave front because pride is all I have left. I’ll be damned if I let him take that away from me, too. “Like you said, it was my first time. I didn’t know any better.”
His jaw tightens and his eyes flash. “You still don’t seem to know any better, because fourteen years later you let me fuck you in the office.”
I bite my lip, my face burning with embarrassment and self-loathing. I should’ve known better than to have sex with him—that it would inevitably come back to haunt me. “I was taking one for the team,” I mutter finally.
“What?”
“Everyone was wondering if you should just get laid because you’ve been impossible! The prevailing opinion was that I should sleep with you or find somebody who would.”
His face turns beet red; a tendon stands out in his neck. He clenches his hands, likely fantasizing about strangling me. That’s fine. I dare him to try. I’ll kick his balls up into his teeth and call 911. It’ll be satisfying to see him in cuffs.
“Are you finished?” The softness of his tone makes his voice awful.
“No. I forgot to add that I couldn’t find anybody who’d sleep with you without getting paid.”That’s right—feel the same pain you’ve caused me.
He grabs my face between his hands, crashing his mouth down in a punishing kiss. I bite his lip and taste a coppery tang of his blood. Instead of pulling back at the pain, he kisses me harder. I clutch his shirt, then kiss him back—if what I’m doing can be called that, since there’s more teeth than lips and tongue. I want him to be as frustrated, hurt, confused and crazy as I am. I want him off his equilibrium. I want him to be as helpless as I am, as guilt-laden and conflicted.
