Panic twists my insides as I go through the articles filled with details only a handful of people know. And Eliza.
My phone pings again with a message from an unknown number. It’s a picture taken from outside Quinn’s coffee shop. Fuck. This can’t be.
Eliza is at the coffee shop with— I slam the phone on the bed and bend over in pain, clutching my head. I couldn’t have been this stupid. The only man who hates me more than my business rivals is chatting with her, taking notes. Fred Pierson, the reporter hunting for any scrap to write shit about me.
I leap out the door, anger filling me. With every step, something cracks in me.
“Hi—” She jumps back when I burst through the unlocked door of her tiny home.
“You sold me out!” I yell, chest heaving with rage.
Her forehead creases. “What’re you—”
“I was an idiot for believing your sweet girl act.” Pacing through the small living room, like a cornered animal. “I have to admit it. You were pretty good, I’ll give you that.”
“Carter!” Eliza stomps her feet, eyes big with worry.
“I’m talking about this.” I shove the phone in her face, and she pales as she scans the headlines.
“How? Wait.” Her eyebrows scrunch and understanding dawns on her. “You suspect it was me?”
Without a word, I show her the incriminating picture.
She squints at the screen and a flicker of recognition flashes in her eyes. “He’s the guy I met a few days ago.”
“Yes, you met with Fred Pierson. A fucking reporter.”
Her mouth hangs open. “I had no idea who he was. We chatted for five minutes and then he left,” she says feebly, wringing her hands.
“Chatted. That’s what you call spilling my biggest secret?”
“I’d never tell anyone about—” she stammers. “He said he was on holiday and asked about a good restaurant.”
“And I’m supposed to believe it’s a coincidence?”
“Have you had any reason to doubt me so far?”
“I—” I swipe a hand through my hair in frustration. “I don’t know, Eliza. OK? When you’re me—”
“Oh, poor rich guy, everybody is out to get him.” She slashes the air with her palm, looking at me with pure anger. “Me sleeping with you was a long con? So I can spill your secrets to the press?” She paces, agitated, furious.
“I—”
“We have this thing. ‘Casual’, as you put it,” she says, slashing the air with her palm. “Yet you don’t act it.”
I want to defend myself. I never intended to lead her on in any way.
“You’re the one who does these sweet and thoughtful things, who touches me like there’s not going to be another woman, who wants to share secrets and truths andyouaccusemeof being deceitful?” Her tone is shrill, pointing a finger toward me.
This conversation took a turn I wasn’t expecting, and my reply sounds feeble even to me. All anger drains away, leaving too much room for doubt.
“Eliza, you know I have to leave.”
“Yeah, I know.” She exhales loudly, trying to expel her emotions. “And still I’m falling for you like a fool,” she says, looking straight into my eyes.
My brain refuses to have any reaction and my muscles are rigid. Her cheeks turn redder and her lovely hazel eyes are shiny. Eliza’s throat contracts and her hand flies to grab the truck keys from the table.
She swiftly maneuvers around me, leaving plenty of space so she doesn’t have to touch me, while I can’t find my voice or ability to move from where I’m rooted in place.
