“Believe me, the feeling is mutual.” I’d gladly give up a kidney not to see Jude ever again.
Bryce’s eyes bore into my face, like he wants to gauge if I’m being truthful. I look him in the eye.
“I can tell,” he says finally. But his voice is so flat, it doesn’t seem sincere.
“Can you?” I say softly, pained. Although I’m grateful he interrupted when he did, part of me wishes he hadn’t let me go through the hell of preparing for a wedding with Jude. But then, he might’ve done it to show me that he’s the one in charge. It’s impossible to forget the frustration and helpless fury in Bryce’s gaze when Jude used me to taunt him back when we were in Harvard. The memory still makes me want to squirm and look away in shame. At that time, I felt like I had no choice—I was too young, panicked and afraid of being abandoned unless I was perfect, like Finley would’ve been if she hadn’t died. But I should’ve opted for honesty, even if it meant public shame and being kicked out of the Oberman family. “I didn’t think you’d do anything, especially not after what happened in your office.”
“Barging into my office was rude.”
“So is going back on your word.”
“I’m neither polite nor forgiving.”
“Maybe not now. But you used to be nice.”
Something dark flashes in his eyes as his mouth twists into a cynical line. “You mean I used to be a sucker.” He sits down and stretches his legs. Still no invitation to sit.
Guess he’s still unhappy with me. But if that’s the case, why did he rescue me from the wedding? He didn’t bring up the money just now or want to continue our talk just to kick me out again.
Bryce swirls his drink and studies the movement in the glass.Although he looks like a lazy lion, my skin crackles with the tightly suppressed energy coming from him. He’s barely controlling some kind of urge I can’t fathom.
“You said something about wanting to borrow money and pay it off,” he says.
I nod. “A fair proposal.”
“Fair?” He cocks a skeptical eyebrow.
My hackles rise. Even though I don’t have many cards to play, he doesn’t get to question my sincerity. “Yes. You give me something, I pay you back.”
“How very transactional.” His eyes chill.
Frustration suffocates me. What does he dislike about what I said? I didn’t say anything out of the ordinary. If we were having this discussion ten, even eight years ago, I might’ve thought there were simmering feelings underneath, but it’s been too long. We haven’t stayed in the same place, emotionally—we’ve moved on. “Because that’s all there is to it. You should’ve given it the consideration it deserved. Instead, you mocked my proposal, then insulted me.”
“You’re the one who got on your knees,” he says.
I gasp at his outrageous framing of what happened. “My knees gave out!”
“What—too shocked I didn’t offer to just give you the money? The idea of actually having to pay back the two million was too much?”
I bite my lip. He’s acting like I’m a witness he needs to break. Inexplicable tears sting my eyes, but I blink them away. He wasn’t like this before. Yes, he hated me, but he never treated me like he wanted to destroy me. Back in college, he sneered at Jude and generally pretended I didn’t exist. I thought that hurt, but this is much more painful. I thought I’d moved on, but maybe I haven’t made as much progress as I believed.
“When did you become such a jerk?” I whisper.
“I was always a jerk.”
“No. You weren’t like this before. You werenice.”
His eyes flash dangerously. “Are you calling me a good boy?” The muscles in his jaw bunch. “Do you think you know me because we used to fuck? If you understood anything about me, you wouldn’t have donewhat you did. And you certainly wouldn’t have thought you could come beg for a favor afterward.”
The rough displeasure in his tone says that talking about our past won’t be productive. We’re just talking in circles. If I tell him what really happened, will his attitude change?
He brings his glass to his mouth and knocks back the rest of the whiskey. His legs are spread, the free arm draped over the back of the couch. The muscles on his strong frame are both thicker and leaner, the words sharper and colder. He gazes at the world like everything’s at his feet, and nothing can touch him.
Bryce exudes a confidence and authority he didn’t have when we were in college, but they aren’t his only new trait. An impenetrable shield is up around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length, including me.
Especiallyme.
I realize with gut-wrenching pain that the truth about the past won’t penetrate that shield. He might listen, but he wouldn’t believe. I can’t even present him with evidence. What could I show him? The pictures and videos are gone. And Jude would never admit to anything because he’d rather cut off an arm than say anything that could restore my relationship with Bryce.
