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I clear my throat and focus on the ice cubes melting in my glass. “I don’t really like to talk about it.”
“Of course not,” Elaine croons. “I know your father was so happy to get out from under it, but I can understand why you wouldn’t want to talk about it. You put so much work into it.”
A painfully cold chill winds its way around my stomach, and I take a second to catch my breath before I look Elaine in the eye. “My father?”
“Selling the restaurant to Mr. Cade. Your father was—” But she stops herself when she takes in my expression. The blood drains from my face, and I shake so hard I have to grip the table for support. Elaine’s face is a mask of confusion as Nate hisses her name. She stares helplessly between the two of us, then her mouth drops open. “Oh. Oh. Miss York, I’m so sorry, I—”
But I can’t hear her as I push away from the table and storm out the exit door. I can’t breathe. Can’t think clearly. And this is how Jackson finds me, pacing angrily outside the ballroom door, red-faced and panting and ready to explode.
“Flick, what the hell is—” He freezes in place, taking in the fury on my face as I stalk toward him. We’re attracting attention again, but this time I don’t care. I just want answers.
“What did Elaine mean about my dad selling York’s.”
He sucks in his cheeks and pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake—”
“What. Did. She. Mean?”
I shove his hand away when he touches my shoulder, and his own slump a little. “Your father came to see me early this week. He knew I was buying properties on that block and he wanted to sell.”
Oh, god. Oh, god. I stumble away from him, nearly tripping on my heels as I grip the first thing I can find—an ornate pedestal with a vase of fresh flowers on it. “Did you accept? God, Jackson, please tell me you didn’t accept.”
His gaze hardens and I know his answer before he speaks it. “Yes, I did.”
I’m going to be sick. I’m going to vomit all over his expensive shoes and the floor of his fancy hotel. I wrap my arms around my stomach and swallow down the nausea in the back of my throat.
“Was that your plan all along?” I choke out. “Is that why you were so goddamn awful about cutting us any slack when I asked you for an extension? Because you knew all along that you’d get the place somehow.” Again, he’s quiet, and I have my answer. I press my hand to my mouth, staring up at him with new eyes as he comes closer to me.
“Please don’t touch me,” I whimper, shaking my head.
“Felicity, everything has—” His fingers skim my cheek, and I slap him. Hard. The sound makes a terrible noise, a loud crack, and my heart sinks to my stomach. I’ve never hit anyone in my life and now everything burns—my hand, my body, my fucking heart. He jerks his head back in shock. I doubt I did any damage, but he still touches his face as he glares down at me.
When he speaks, his voice is dangerously low. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I fist my hand to stop it from shaking. “Right? Is that before or after you fucked me? You must have gotten a good laugh, huh? Get the business, fuck the daughter at any cost. Jesus, how much should we thank you, Jackson? How much are we up to now?”
“It’s not like that anymore, Felicity,” he grinds out, pulling me to him and holding me by my wrists. He’s not gripping me hard, but my skin still aches from the contact. “He was going to sell to someone else and I wouldn’t let that shit happen. I couldn’t.”
“Because you’re so goddamn caring,” I snark back. I’m furious. So angry I could scream, and hot tears stream down my cheeks, dripping from my chin onto the white dress he had me wear so he could parade me around as his virgin conquest. “Congratulations, you won. I’m sure whatever you’ve spent on my father and me is just a tiny blip on your bank account.”
“Goddammit, Flick, stop it and just listen.”
“No!”
Struggling away from him, I take off toward the lobby of the hotel, a sob hitching in my throat. He calls my name, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. Right now, I hate him too much—love him too hard—to let him feed me more lies.
11
Felicity
An hour later, I sit at my kitchen table with Wendy. I was hysterical by the time I walked through the door—infuriated with Jackson, with my father for selling out and not answering my calls when I tried to reach him. Angry with myself. I had stupidly fallen right into Jackson’s plans. What had started as a business arrangement had turned into more. On my end. Only on my end. He’d paid me and he’d played me.
