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“I told you about Mr. Gates!” she screams, a sob lurching out of her. “I told you about Shawn, and you said you’re not a cheater! You said nobody is allowed to hurt me, ever again, and then you came in here and threw me away like I never mattered!”
My heart feels like it’s physically shattering. I take a step toward her, determined to convince her. To fix this mess I’ve created. “I’m sorry. I think maybe, in part, I was sabotaging myself. I think a piece of me maybe got scared of how much I’m feeling for you, Georgie. Because, I swear, I’ve never felt the way I do with you before.”
She stares at me with disdain for a very long moment, before saying, calmly, “I have one question. And I want you to answer it with complete honesty.”
My heart leaps. Is she throwing me a lifeline? If I answer this question right, will she forgive and forget that stupid kiss ever happened?
“Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”
Her nostrils flare. “Did you have anything to do with me getting my internship, including but not limited to donating the money that ultimately went to me as my salary?”
Oh, fuck. “Yes. But let me explain...”
But she’s done listening to me. As quick as lightning, she grabs a golf club out of my bag and marches straight for my Bugatti, the club raised high above her head.
“Not the Bugatti!” I shout at the top of my voice. “Georgie, please! Not the Bugatti!”
To my surprise, Georgina stops mid-swing, barely missing the hood of my Bugatti, and marches to the next car in line. My yellow Ferrari. The first expensive car I bought when I started making some real money. Up Georgina’s golf club goes... and then down it comes, smashing into the Ferrari’s newly repaired right front fender.
“You told me to go Left Eye Lopes on the next guy who hurts me?” she shrieks. “Well, guess what, asshole? You’re that guy!”
As I stand to the side, watching in shocked silence, Georgina raises her club and smashes my Ferrari’s windshield. “This one’s for you, Reed!” Panting, she heads to the car’s passenger door. “And this one is for Shawn!” She brings the club down again. Next up, the passenger window. “Another one for Reed!” She walks around to the back of the car and whacks both taillights and the bumper with her club. But this time, the name she yells breaks my fucking heart. “Mr. Gates! Mr. Gates! Mr. Gates!” From there, she marches to the driver’s door and whacks it with all her might, yet again in Mr. Gates’ name. The same thing with the driver’s side window and left front bumper. “Mr. Gates! Mr. Gates!”
And through it all, I say nothing. Do nothing. I stand back and watch, and take my punishment. It kills me to hear her scream my name along with Mr. Gates’. And worse, it shatters me to know I deserve it. Indeed, I deserve every single dent in that car. Every drop of her rage. She trusted me completely. I asked her to surrender to me, without holding back. And she did. In body, heart, and soul. And I knew it. And then, I turned around and betrayed her. What’s wrong with me? Women have been asking me that my whole life. And now I’m wondering the same thing. What’s wrong with me?
As I watch Georgie turning my three-hundred-thousand-dollar car into a pile of scrap metal and shattered glass, I feel pain and remorse and regret like nothing I’ve felt before. But I also feel two unexpected emotions, too.
One, I feel pride. I’m damned proud of Georgie for going Left Eye Lopes on me, and on all the men who’ve hurt her. As she should. Smash that Ferrari, baby. Smash it and never let anyone hurt you again.
And, two, as strange as it sounds, even as I watch Georgina decimate my Ferrari, I feel a twinge of hope. Because, even in the midst of her justifiable rage and confusion, Georgina didn’t bring her club down on my beloved Bugatti.
Yes, Georgina is heartbroken and angry and deeply confused. She doesn’t know what happened between Isabel and me in this garage tonight. She doesn’t understand how or why the money for her salary came from me. All of which isn’t good for me. Obviously. But, thanks to my Bugatti, and the fact that there’s not a scratch on it, I have reason to believe it’s not hopeless for me. Indeed, thanks to my pristine Bugatti, I have reason to believe Georgina is holding out hope I’ll eventually be able to win her back.
Chapter 34
Reed
I’m panting as I follow Georgina out of the garage and toward the house.
“Hey, Georgie!” Savage calls to her as she passes.
He’s at the ping pong table with Davey from Watch Party. And I swear to God, I’m this close to wringing his fucking neck.
