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“What about a boyfriend, Lainey? Do you still have one of those?” I shouldn’t be mad that her first worry is the status of her employment, but I am. What about me?
She looks up through her lashes. “I don’t know. Do I?”
“That depends on whether you actually want one.” I lean into the door, feeling emotionally drained. We’re constantly going back and forth over the same thing. “Do you still want one?”
“I don’t want one,” she says quietly. “Not just any one. I want you. If you still want me.”
I’m comforted, but still so fucking muddled. “If I still want you?” I ask, taking the tops of her arms. “Lainey, when have I ever given you the impression that I don’t want you? Even now? I’ve listened to what you’ve said, and though I’m shocked, I knew you had a history. Jesus, I’ve fucking seen you with most of them. And it’s not like I can talk. Between us, we’ve probably worked our way through most of London’s single population.” The red hand mark on her cheek reminds me that Lainey’s not only been through single men, but I ignore it, moving on before she tries to bolt again. “I can get over it. Just tell me there’s no other shocks on the horizon.”
Her tearful eyes fill with hope as I release the tops of her arms. “Don’t let go of me,” she whimpers, moving into me. “Please.”
I sigh and seize her, hauling her into my front and crushing her to my body. “I love you,” I say sternly.
Her head nods in my hold, her arms grappling at my back to hold me closer. “I told you I don’t deserve you. I’m sorry.”
“I know you are.” I feel drained. I never knew love could be this fucking exhausting. And this fucking chaotic, either.
“All in,” she whispers.
“Then stop fucking running away from me.” I pull out and hold her securely in front of me. “Whatever’s happened in your past is something I have to accept, but as long as it stays in your past.”
“It will,” she says.
“Mine too.” I drop a light kiss on her cheek. Now all I need to do is deal with Sal. He didn’t look at all happy once he’d picked his mouth up off the floor after that showdown, but I’m not having him laying into Lainey and making her explain herself again.
I wipe under her eyes. “Get yourself a coffee. I’m going to pacify Sal.”
“Are you going to tell him about us?”
I laugh under my breath. “No. Not now. I think he’s had enough for one day, without our little bombshell. So you get your way.” I run my thumb down her cheek gently.
“I still want to tell him, Ty. Please, let me tell him. Promise me.”
“Even now?” I’m a little stunned by her determination.
“Yes.” She nods, adamant.
“Okay,” I relent, admiring her gusto. “Come on.”
She looks at the door as she backs toward the couch. “I think I’d rather hide in here.”
I don’t blame her. The blemish on her cheek is glowing, and the office will be gossiping already. “Why don’t you go home? Put today behind you and start afresh tomorrow?”
“But Sal—”
“I’ll deal with Sal. Go home. I’ll get Gina to fetch your coat and bag and bring it here for you.”
“Thank you.” She smiles. “I don’t deserve you.”
What rubbish, and a massive part of the problem. She seriously undervalues her self-worth. It’s my job to reinstate it. “I’ll call you later.”
Stuffing my foot back in my shoe, I hardly feel the pain at all, too focused on sorting this mess out. I leave Lainey behind, giving Gina her instructions as I make my way to Sal’s office.
When I enter, I’m nearly knocked back by the smell of . . . Scotch? He’s at his desk with a tumbler in his hand that he doesn’t get time to hide. Christ, are things so bad he’s on the hard stuff at work? He freezes as he watches me close the door, caught red-handed.
“Shit,” he mutters, shrugging and knocking back his drink.
“At work, Sal?” I question, making my way to his desk. I don’t mean to sound accusing, but alcohol during work has always been a no-go for Christianson Walker, except, maybe, for the odd occasion we’ve got the bubbly out to celebrate a big deal that we’ve secured. Even then it’s only a token toast and a sip before we get back to grafting.
“Don’t judge.” He slams his glass down and looks at me challengingly. I get the feeling he’s looking for a fight, searching for someone to vent his frustration on. Looks like that lucky someone might be me.
I raise my hands in surrender. “Not judging, mate.” I sit down as he tops up his glass, resisting asking him to pour me one, too. After what just went down, I can’t deny I could do with a drink.
