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“Lauren.” He rubs at his forehead roughly, his shoulders drooping in defeat. “You need to apologize. Right now.”
Her head snaps back as if he struck her, but her lips remain pressed together in a tight line. She’s not going to take it back. Angry tears spring in my eyes and I swear hers gleam with a renewed sense of triumph. Destroying someone in a verbal sparring match is one of her favorite things to do; it doesn’t matter if the person she’s cutting with her words is her flesh and blood. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m moving. My legs carrying me around the table, past my dad’s shocked face, into the house to grab my keys and purse and then out of the front door to my car.
The whole time tears are flowing freely down my face, and they don’t stop until I pull into my driveway and find Dominic Alexander sitting on my front steps.
.
13
Dominic
Now
Insanity. Pure insanity. That’s the only thing that can explain why I dropped every single one of my plans for tonight to show up at Sloane’s house without an invitation or the slightest clue how to keep her from thinking someone died because the last time I came to her house alone was four years ago when it was Eric and both of our worlds were split open.
Most of that day is still a blur for me, but the shit I do remember still fucks with my head. Driving to a job site and coming across a crash that had traffic backed up to the hell. Texting Eric to tell him he should take a different route, so one of us could get there on time. Finally moving around the wreckage, seeing the Archway Construction logo on a crumpled door and knowing….The rest is just blank until I saw her face.
“Dominic, what are you doing here?”
I look up and find Sloane standing over me. Both arms crossed over her body in a protective stance. It takes me one second to note the redness around the rims of her eyes, and the black smudges of mascara caked up around the corners. Her hair, which was a cloud of loose curls that framed her heart-shaped face earlier today, is pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head, drawing attention to the fresh tears that have just cascaded down her cheeks. Fuck, she’s upset. I push to my feet and go to her, every one of my protective instincts roaring to life, demanding I find the person who made her cry and plant a fist in their face.
Bonus points if it’s the asshole I saw her kissing today.
I would bet my life that’s not it though, especially not after the conversation we had in the hallway once we were away from Sloane. I’d taken the hand he had on my shoulder, the one he’d just used to hold her body to his, and twisted it up and back until pain wiped away the smug smile on his face. Then I told him if he ever touched her again, especially without her permission, I would gladly make him disappear.
At first, he looked shocked at my volatile reaction, but then understanding dawned on his face, and he apologized profusely for coming on to my best friend’s wife. Muttering something about not knowing it would matter since its been four years. If it hadn’t been for the red clouding my vision and the angry beast snarling in my chest, I would have laughed.
I wish my issue with them kissing had something to do with Sloane being Eric’s wife. It would make my reaction a hell of a lot more honorable.
“What’s wrong?”
It’s a challenge to keep the rage out of my voice, and the tears shining in her soft hazel eyes make it even harder. Sloane blinks up at me. For a moment, she looks ready to spill her guts. Vulnerability isn’t an easy thing for Sloane. Especially not with me, and I know why. Being cordial for less than a week doesn’t negate years of gutting each other verbally, but now more than ever, I wish it did because the urge to hold her is so strong I have to physically restrain myself from doing so.
I see the exact moment she decides I can’t be trusted with her pain and watch in awe as a carefully constructed mask falls into place. She schools her features into passive submission and then wipes the tear tracks on her cheeks away with a flick of her hand.
And just like that, the transformation is complete.
“Nothing.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. The movement makes the hem of her dress swish around her knees. “Did you need something?”
The name and location of the person who put those tears in your eyes.
I scrub a hand over my face to buy some time to make up an excuse. The truth is, I have no idea why I’m here. I should be meeting up with Chris, Mal’s ex from college who’s just moved back to the city, but instead I’m standing in front of Sloane and choking down the questions I have about her and James. That kiss. His hands on her skin. The indecipherable look in her eyes when she turned around and saw me standing there.
None of your fucking business.
“Yes.” I lie smoothly. “My assistant lost the contact information for the stone vendor. The guy who has the marble you chose for the Presidential Suite. I wanted to call him and get an estimate for another project I’m working on.”
Sloane frowns, and a small crease pops up in the center of her forehead. “Oh. You didn’t have to come over here for that. You could have texted me, and I would have sent it again.”
“You’re right.” I put my hands in my pockets. “Except I needed the information immediately, and we don’t have a great history with text messages.”
She laughs, and it’s a sweet, simple sound that works at the flame in my chest that started hours ago when I barged into that office just because I knew she was in there. Alone with him. “Speak for yourself, Dominic. I have a perfect text message return record.”
Does she? I probably fucked up my only chance to find out when I left her on read last week. I doubt she’ll be giving any second chances.
“Text message return records.” I suppress the smile pulling at the corner of my lips. “If there was such a thing, you would be the kind of person to keep track of it.”
She raises her chin. The sadness in her eyes is chased away by a glint of playful stubbornness. “Of course, I would. I’m detail-oriented. Unlike you and your assistant, who somehow manages to lose the information I sent in an email. How does that happen?”
