Page 140 of A Song for You

Behind her desk, she tucks her chin and takes a few deep breaths. Cautiously, I shuffle closer, ready to be there for the moment it finally clicks, desperate to be close when she’s finally ready to give in.

With her palms pressed flat against the desk, she pushes herself to standing, as if she’s getting her strength from the piece of furniture itself. Then she lifts her head and her eyes meet mine. They’re full of nothing but darkness. Coldness. The mask is firmly back in place.

“For the record, Mr. Hanson,” she grits out, “I don’t put on shows. I choreograph them. I’m the puppeteer, standing in the back, ensuring all my plans come to fruition. I don’t say things flippantly. I’m not looking for a reaction from you. Truly, I could give two shits what you think.

“For the last thirteen years, I have put my blood and sweat into this business. I have worked myself to the bone so I could one day take over as editor in chief. I have missed out on dinners with my family, dates, time with Chl—” She clamps her mouth shut before she can finish that sentence, piquing my curiosity. “Time with people who matter. This job was meant to be mine. You want to know what my story is, you’ll see it when it’s ready. Just like any other owner of a magazine. You don’t dictate what goes in the magazine, Mr. Hanson, I do.”

“What about tears?” I ask.

Faint lines around her eyes appear as she frowns in confusion. “Tears?”

“The saying is blood, sweat, and tears.”

She huffs. “I haven’t cried in almost twelve years. No one gets my tears. Not even Jolie.”

I swallow thickly, afraid to make a sound. Afraid to move. This is what my lies have cost her. She doesn’t even feel anymore. She’s like stone before me. With a heart encased in armor. It’s kept her from crying, for fuck’s sake.

I did this.

I step closer and reach out for her. “Cat⁠—”

Pulling back, she shakes her head and glowers. “No. You don’t get to pity me. I’m fucking fantastic, Jay. You didn’t break me. And what you witnessed in that meeting wasn’t a show. Your concern is unnecessary. I have a story, I’m going to tell it, and then you’re going to give me the position I’ve earned over the last thirteen years.”

I close my eyes and nod. “Whatever you want.”

She huffs out a sarcastic laugh and turns toward the window. “You’re not Santa Claus. Stop making promises we both know you’ll never keep.”

Sixteen

Jay

Sway by the Perishers

Sitting at home and obsessing about Cat’s words would only send me spiraling into a depression I may never crawl out of. So instead, I called the guys and forced them to meet me for drinks.

“You don’t understand. Watching her…seeing her break…maybe I should just give her the magazine.” Defeated, I down my drink in one go.

Garreth glares at me. “You think she’d accept your handouts, brother?”

Tired of the weight I’ve been carrying for so long, I drop my head back and close my eyes. “Of course she wouldn’t. But it’s not a handout. She’s earned the position. Fuck, she’s earned the right to everything. I destroyed her.” I drag a hand down my face and groan. “Watching her day in and day out fight me? I thought…Fuck, man, I don’t know what I thought. That I could walk back into her life and convince her to forgive me? Now, though? I see the damage I did. I really think I lost her. And the right thing to do would be to give the woman I love her freedom. Give her the one thing she does have control over—her job.”

Garreth shakes his head. “She won’t accept it like that, and you know it. Let her earn it.”

Growling, I ball my hands into fists in my lap. “Let her go do a story on a sex club? That’s your suggestion? Have you lost your damn mind?”

This time it’s Gavin who jumps in. “She’s fucking her brother’s friend, right? So it’s not like she’s at home pining after you. She’s not yours, and what she does is out of your control.”

I bring my fist to my mouth to keep myself from punching the table or my friend. “Sex clubs are dangerous. Who knows what kind of skeevy fucks could get their hands on her there.”

Garreth shrugs. “So buy it.”

A disbelieving laugh skates up my throat. “Buy it? I don’t even know which fucking club she’s going to.”

Beckett runs his finger over the rim of his glass as he studies me. “So buy them all.”

God, we sound like a bunch of rich pricks. Which is exactly what we are. Beckett owns Boston’s baseball team. Gavin, hockey.

And my brother and me? Well, we aren’t exactly hurting for money.