Page 92 of Wait for Him

I stare at it for a second, waiting to see if either one of them comes back out. Nothing happens, although knowing those two, whatever conversation is taking place on the other side probably requires protective equipment.

"What the hell?"

Claudia hunches her shoulders. "Fuck if I know."

My mouth drops, and her hand flies up over hers. "Oh — I'm so sorry, Mr. Jackson. Forgive my language."

I laugh out loud and clap her once on the shoulder. "He brings out the best in all of us, Claudia." I'm still laughing as I head for my office to wait on whatever fuckery is coming next.

***

Rose has effectively avoided me since we woke up together yesterday. My texts get read and left sitting there, every call goes unanswered, and she slipped out of the office right after whatever the hell happened between her and Bennet. We fly to New York this morning, and I haven't slept worth a damn, too busy worrying about her, worrying about us, which is a fucking joke because there is no us. No matter how completely I belong to her, there's no us to worry about.

Last night didn't exactly help. I got home to the usual hellfire that is Elyse, except Frank had gone straight to his daughter and repeated what I'd said about her needing to grow up and get some actual help, so she was in particularly ripe form by the time I walked through the door.

I'd barely cleared it when a glass tumbler came flying at my head and shattered against the wall an inch to my left.

"The fuck—" I slam the door behind me, and that's when the rest of the scene rolls into view. Broken glass everywhere. Clothes shredded across the floor, mine naturally, because God forbid she take a pair of scissors to her own shit. Paint poured into my shoes. More of it flung across the furniture and curtains like a toddler had discovered abstract expressionism during a psychotic break.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

"I'm craaazy, remember?" She spreads her arms wide. "Isn't that what you told Daddy? That I need to grow up? Get myself a shrink?"

I just stare at her.

I genuinely didn't think Elyse had any surprises left in her, but we've still got unexplored territory. Holy fucking shit.

I pinch the bridge of my nose because I do not have the reserves for this tonight. Not after Rose, Bennet, the article, Frank, and everything else this week has decided to drag behind it.

I don't answer. I start past her toward the bedroom, and her palm cracks across my face hard enough to turn my head.

"Don't you fucking ignore me, Marcus!"

She winds up for another, but this time I catch her wrist before it lands.

"Don't push me, Elyse."

I keep my voice low and my grip loose, just enough to stop her and nothing more. She can throw glasses, destroy every shirt I own and paint the fucking dog if we ever get one, but the one thing I will never become is a man who hits her back.

"Here's the deal." I hold her stare so she understands that whatever tolerance I walked into this house with is officially gone. "You're going to see a therapist of my choosing, starting tomorrow. I'll be in New York for a few days, thank fuck for that, and you won't see a single red goddamn penny until you've completed six sessions. Six. Run to Daddy all you want; I'm not moving on this one."

I release her wrist.

"Now clean up this mess and stay the fuck out of my face."

For once, she does.

She makes herself scarce for the rest of the evening and has cleaners in within the hour to deal with the wreckage. I shower and get into bed before seven, completely fucking exhausted, where I proceed to accomplish absolutely no sleeping whatsoever. Instead, I toss, turn, check my phone, call Rose, text Rose, stare at the ceiling, check my phone again and repeat the whole pathetic cycle until morning.

By the time I board the Sullivan jet, I've had enough coffee to qualify as medically interesting.

Rose is already seated.

She glances up when I step aboard, sees me and gives me absolutely nothing. Just that blank, unreadable face she keeps in reserve for courtrooms, hostile negotiations and, as of today, me. Rose isn't naturally difficult for me to read. Quite the opposite. So, when I can't read her, it's because she's making damn sure I can't.

She's shutting me out.

Fine.