Page 106 of Resist

He’s right. I put myself in the situation. I set this whole goddamn thing up.

And, it seems to me, I’m the one who tore the whole thing down.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Vaughn

The bills stare at me. They call my name.

Dramatic, I know, but it’s been a shitty ten days, and the last thing I want to do is to get even more depressed when I go to check balances and see that they aren’t moving as quickly as I need them to.

Yes, I have thirty girls on the payroll so far, but out of that thirty, only ten are high-dollar earners for me. The others are just starting out, just figuring out if this is their thing, or if that crappy feeling in their tummy after they’re paid for their bodies, their services, is worth it.

If they’re cut out for it, when I sure as hell am not.

And of course, the word hypocrite flits through my mind again. It’s hard not to when there are flowers on the counter in front of me and on the credenza behind me from a man who I experienced the same thing with.

“Keep telling yourself that, and you might actually start believing it,” I mutter as I reach for my planner in its usual place only to find it on the opposite side of my desk. “Bills. I need to pay bills, not think about Ryker.” I laugh. “Or talk to myself like a crazy person.”

But isn’t that how I feel? I put distance between us so I could sort out how I feel, and all it ended up doing was make me feel more unsettled.

And of course I miss him just as much.

The question is, do I miss him . . . or do I miss the idea of having someone to be with, confide in . . . laugh with?

With a deep sigh, I turn back to my spreadsheet and way-too-big balances and figure I need to tackle all of this so I can get it off my table before Lucy comes tomorrow. She’s already asked me once what all the papers on my table were.

So did Joey.

“Bills, Vaughn. Focus.”

And with perfect timing, the doorbell rings.

Are you kidding me?

I laugh. It’s all I can do and hope it’s not another delivery, because this is getting quite ridiculous, but my smile fades the minute I open the door.

The man standing before me is a little over six feet tall. He’s wiry with dirty-blond hair that’s long enough it tucks behind his ears. His cheeks are hollow, his fingers twitching, and his eyes are an unforgiving blue as he stares at me.

All I see is the man who helped my sister end her life. No, he didn’t tie the noose, but he sure as hell fueled her depression with drugs and dependency.

If I hated him before, I sure as hell loathe him now.

“What are you doing here?” I ask when what I should have done is slam the door in his face.

“What? No Hi, Brian, so good to see you? No Brian, how have you been since your girlfriend died? No—”

“Nope. I don’t care how you’ve been.” My smile is tight as my blood pumps with fury through my veins.

“You always were a holier-than-thou, little-goody-two-shoes bitch. I shouldn’t have expected you to change.”

We stare at each other in the entrance to my house, so much bad blood between us, and I know there’s only one reason he’s here.

“What do you want, Brian?”

“Have you seen my little girl lately?”

“Is it that hard for you to bring yourself to say her name? Or are you so zoned out on your latest high that you forgot it?” Every word I utter to him is pained.