AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yeah. He was. Our breakup was public. He appeared at an event with another woman on his arm. And when I confronted him, he said who do you think you are? And then they all laughed.” The same words I said to her earlier. She’s shaking, and regret twists in my gut, ugly and black. Christine would be ashamed of me.
“I think I could have handled tonight. I’m not weak. But with my outfit, and the shoes, and then someone laughed.” She tenses. “I couldn’t do it.”
I rub her back until she stops shaking. Only then do I unlock the part of my brain that won’t stop clamoring about how good she feels in my arms. I shut my eyes for a moment, savoring the smell of her hair in my nose, her hot breaths puffing out against my shirt. I can feel them through the material, can almost feel the shape of her lips. I keep my hands to safe areas, but I want so badly to let my palm drift to the dip of her waist. I want to feel where it flares out into her hips, just once. Just once. It’s wrong and I’m a sick fuck for lusting after her while I’m the one who caused her pain. My employee. My enemy.
She pushes against me again and I drop my arms. I have no reason to hold her if she’s okay. Her eyes are wary, flat, when she meets my gaze. “I think I need to sit down.”
She sinks onto the couch and looks up at me bleakly. “You’re going to fire me now, aren’t you?”
Shame lances through me. She believes the worst of me. Of course she does, you fool. “Why would I fire you?”
“This was the plan, right? Humiliate me in front of everyone? Make me bow to you? Your pet reporter.” Her voice is hollow and she looks down to where her hands are knotted together, so tightly that the bones stand out against her skin. Suddenly, my behavior, my regrets, come rushing at me like an avalanche. Who do you think you are? He liked having power over me. My pride. Her determination. My failures. Her vulnerability.
I crouch down in front of her. She won’t make eye contact, and something shifts inside me. I press my forehead briefly to her clasped hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. And even so—” My breath stutters. “I shouldn’t have done that. Forgive me.” She tenses at my words. Surprise, maybe? I’ve surprised myself. I’ve never begged for a woman’s forgiveness before. I’ve never cared enough to ask. Not going to examine that right now.
Our breaths are loud in the quiet room while I wait for her response.
“Okay,” she whispers. My body sags. I rise, ill at ease with how relieved I am.
“Do you need me to go back inside? I mean, was tonight about me, or was there another goal?” she asks.
Dylan is in there. His board members. I can approach them about selling their shares. I can see if they know about the tax fraud. And if I don’t, if I can’t take down Green Media, if Christine and Mia’s baby grows up in a world in which Dylan doesn’t pay…the thought makes rage rush through me.
But Callie. She’s so resigned, so small. And in that moment, I don’t question it when I say, “No. There’s somewhere else we should go.”
21
Callie
“A diner?” I ask as the driver pulls up to the chrome and neon facade. “I pass this one all the time. I’ve never gone in.”
“You’re missing out. It’s the last one left on the Upper West Side. Diners all over the five boroughs are disappearing.”
“I know. My father laments this exact same thing.” I’m surprised you care, I don’t say. I’m wary of Jonah and his reactions, now more than ever. That party was my worst nightmare come to life, and while he couldn’t have known about Eric, it’s clear he still hates me, apology or no. I’m not sure what to make of him. He’s arrogant and cold, but unflinchingly honest. Cruel, but caring, in his own way. He’s too hard to predict, and I need to protect myself.
The middle-aged man behind the counter looks up when Jonah opens the door. “Hey, J, it’s late for you. Dinner?”
“Wait. You know him?”
Jonah doesn’t respond to me, but spots of red ride high on his cheekbones.
“Thanks, Paul. A table for two, please.”
Paul leads us to a booth on the left, and Jonah slides in like he’s been here a hundred times. And maybe he has. Our knees brush under the table, and I scoot to the side. I’m all raw and worn out from the party and his apology. Forgive me. No one has ever begged for my forgiveness before, like he would die if he didn’t receive it.
“I’m surprised to see you this late. Everything okay?” Paul hands me a menu.
“Just wanted to show her the best food on the Upper West Side,” Jonah says, and then he winks. I gape.
Paul’s chest puffs with pride. “That’s right. Pitas are homemade and the burgers are fresh.”
“Thank you,” I say, stunned, as Paul walks away.
My gaze flicks up to Jonah, who is watching me warily. He should be wary. I haven’t decided if I want to sit across from him for this. I feel like a skittish animal, unsettled, nervous, and ready to bolt.
Jonah’s midnight black tux is delightfully incongruous against the green vinyl of the seat. He’s not looking at his menu. Probably because he knows it by heart. My eyes narrow in thought.
“Wait. Is this where you come every morning?”
