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And I was too busy getting off and falling for the bastard to realize his end game.
“Are you finally going to tell me what’s wrong?” Wendy probes, making herself a shot of rum. She downs her shot and pinches her lips. “You came in here crying so hard, I thought someone died. Nobody died, right?”
I shake my head. When I motion for her shot glass and the rum, she knits her brows but pours it anyway. She slides the glass across the table, and I catch it before it flies off the edge. “My dad sold the restaurant to Cade.” I don’t even want to call him by his name anymore. He’s just … Mr. Cade.
He’s just a business transaction, as much as it destroys me to admit that.
Wendy’s brown eyes pop wide. “What the hell do you mean your dad sold the restaurant? I mean … wasn’t he the same guy who was freaking out about losing the place just a few weeks ago.”
That’s what I don’t understand. My father was heartbroken the afternoon he finally let me know how far in debt he was to the Cade family. He had gone to every bank in Chicago—called everyone he knew—just to pay off the loan in time. And then, the moment it was done, he had waltzed into Jackson’s office and sold the building. I can’t wrap my head around it. I drag my fingers through my hair as I let out a frustrated sob.
“Guess he heard a prick with deep pockets was buying up property on the street and he figured he could get in on it.” I swallow the rum without flinching, then drop my head to the table. “Fuck, who knows what he was thinking. He won’t answer my calls and he wasn’t at home or the restaurant when I drove by.”
“I’m so sorry, Flick,” Wendy whispers, leaning over to stroke my arm. “Maybe there’s a logical explanation for all this.”
Yeah, I’d considered that too. Driving home, I told myself over and over again that my father must have had a good reason, but why wouldn’t he tell me? He’s had plenty of time to bring it up, and he hasn’t said a word. Lifting my head slightly, I look into my best friend’s eyes and feel my face crumble again. “I’m so stupid, Wendy.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t say shit like that because it’s not true.”
“Really? I sold myself to save the place. I shouldn’t have tried to help. I shouldn’t have cared.”
I shouldn’t care.
Except, I do. And the only thing more painful than my father going behind my back is that Jackson had intended to keep it from me too. If Elaine hadn’t said anything, we would have probably gone another week fucking like rabbits and then—on the final night of our agreement—he would have told me the truth. Because it wouldn’t have mattered then. I wouldn’t have mattered. As if on cue, the phone he gave me vibrates, and my chest constricts, my ribcage tightening around my heart. Jackson has called me at least a dozen times since I left the party, but I haven’t had the nerve to answer.
Wendy reaches across the table and shoves the phone in my direction. She nods down to it. “If you don’t pick it up, it’s just going to keep ringing.”
She’s right, and I hate that. Swallowing hard, I accept Jackson’s call, growling, “Leave me alone, Cade.”
“Not until you listen to me and hear what I have—”
“Leave me alone.”
“We have an agreement, Flick,” he says in a dangerous voice, and my eyes narrow to thin slits that water at the corners. I can tell myself a million times not to cry over him, but it won’t do me any good. He owns everything—from my body to the ridiculous tears that won’t seem to stop.
Parting my lips, I fight for a calm breath. “Would you like me to return your money? I will if that means you’ll just stop bothering me.” Wendy’s dark eyes widen and she shakes her head as I continue in a shattered voice, “You have what you want. You got to fuck me and you got the restaurant. You should be happy.”
“Do I sound happy, Felicity? Do you think I wanted to feel—” He inhales harshly and releases it along with an angry growl. “At least let me explain what happened. You owe me that much.”
I owe him. God, I hate hearing him tell me that I’m indebted to him. “Goodbye, Jackson.”
“Felicity, so help me god if you don’t—”
I had hoped that hanging up on him, crushing him mid-sentence, would make me feel some semblance of relief. That it would put some of the control back in my corner. It doesn’t. Every muscle and nerve in my body burns as I place my phone face-down on the table. It vibrates again, the harsh tremors shaking through me, but I shake my head. “Screw him.”
