Page 112 of Resist

But I don’t.

“What’s your question?” I finally ask when I can find my voice.

“What should I tell him? Can I tell him you’re going to have her call him?”

“Are you feeling all right, Lola? Normally you’d swoop in and claim a high-dollar client like him for yourself.” I chuckle because it’s something I’d normally do—call her out on her ruthless business acumen—when right now I’m so damn thankful she suddenly has morals.

“He said something to me that struck a chord.”

“What did he say?”

“He said she made him appreciate the unexpected.”

“Oh.” It’s all I can say, his words making emotion clog in my throat.

“Yeah, oh.” She laughs. “Those words gave me pause. I mean, I’m the furthest thing from romantic, but fuck if that didn’t make my cold heart thaw a little bit.”

“Mine too,” I murmur.

“And look, you’re right—normally I’d jump all over a client like him, but it’s not worth the drama it would cause among the girls. The last place I worked someone did the same shit, and I learned you don’t piss in the pool you’re swimming in with your coworkers, you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So you’ll call him for me. Get her to call him. However you want to handle it?”

She made him appreciate the unexpected.

“Yes. I’ll get in touch with both of them.”

“Thanks.”

We hang up the phone, and all my restraint is gone. All of the times I had to turn the ringer off on my phone so I wouldn’t pick up and the voice mails I deleted without listening to them. Each of the extra shifts I worked so I wouldn’t be at home, bored and desperate to talk to him. They all go out the window.

Every single one of them.

Nerves buzz as the phone rings.

“Lockhart.”

His voice. That voice. It’s all I need to know that I was an idiot. It’s all I need to hear to know that me wanting to be with him doesn’t make me a bad person because I have interests outside of taking care of Lucy.

“Hello, Mr. Lockhart,” I say quietly and secretly pray that he’s not going to hang up on me and give me back a taste of my own medicine.

“Vaughn?”

“You never apologized,” I say immediately, finally telling him the one thing I’ve been needing to hear from him.

“You never picked up the phone so I could. And if you had listened to your voice mails, I assure you there were a few in there.”

Oh.

Shit.

I guess I neglected to think of it that way.

“Ryker . . .” I miss you. I need to see you. God, why did I wait so long to call you?

But I don’t say any of those words because I don’t want to negate the right I had to be angry at the things he said to me. Sure, I can admit to myself that my stubbornness might have prolonged my misery longer than it needed to be, but I still get to retain the right to deserve an apology.