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“I’m not,” Cory snapped, managing to close his mouth as conversations resumed around them. “Asking you.”
Dillon shrugged. He had his own problems.
“Are you going to ask her to the benefit?”
Dillon stared into his beer. “I already did,” he said finally.
“They’re going to give you an award, you know.”
“For what?” Dillon snapped.
“You’re always busting your ass for that charity. How many houses have you rehabbed this year?”
“A lot. But—”
“But nothing. You deserve the recognition.”
“Recognition’s the last thing I want right now,” Dillon said under his breath.
After tonight’s spectacular fail, he didn’t give a shit about the benefit. He’d hurt Alexa when all he’d wanted was to help her, so what the hell made him qualified to help anyone else?
He couldn’t even take care of the woman he loved. He fucking loved her, and he didn’t know if he’d ever get a chance to tell her. If she’d ever believe him.
God, he didn’t want to lose her.
Cory shifted his way. “It’s your business too. If you want to cancel out her debts, no one’s stopping you.”
The shift in topic made Dillon lift a brow. “She can do it herself.” She’d be paying them off soon enough.
“You honestly think she can clear that much back debt? In this economy?” Cory’s tone held the evidence of his doubt. “And even if she can, how far behind will that put her for the future? Just maintaining current operating capital will take a toll.”
“She can do it,” Dillon repeated. “She’s already on her way.” He slammed down his beer. “She didn’t give up on the store, and I’m not fucking giving up on her.”
He’d prove to her what he felt. Whatever it took.
…
Alexa stewed all night long, tossing and turning on her stupid air mattress. Jeez, she needed a real bed.
Real was the most hateful word in the English language.
Lying alone in the dark, she tried to cry, just to get out some of the pain. But her tears had dried up, spent in the fury she’d unleashed on him at her store. And it still hadn’t been enough to close the gaping wound he’d left behind.
She was so in love with the ass. Didn’t it just figure that the first time she fell for a guy, it was a lying jerk like Dillon?
But why had he lied? That was the one question she just couldn’t answer. For sport? To try to take down her business from the inside out? And if so, why had he helped her? There was no denying he had, even if he’d ripped her to the bone afterward.
She finally gave up on trying to sleep and dragged herself through a shower at first light. The moment she entered the kitchen she saw the source of the scratching noises she’d been too worn out to investigate earlier.
Her cat crouched over her prey, looking sickly instead of triumphant, and a fresh wash of tears blurred Alexa’s eyes.
The violet was dead.
Oh, technically it probably wasn’t. Dirt was scattered over the floor and the leaves looked gnawed on and limp, but if she wanted to replant and nurture it, maybe she could save it from plant heaven. Compared with the dried-out flowers from Dillon she’d foolishly saved that were now lying, crumbled, all over the floor, the violet didn’t look half-bad. But she just didn’t have the energy. Or the time, since she was late for work.
“You’re a bad kitty,” Alexa admonished as she scooped the cat into her arms and cuddled her close. What had gotten into her? Trixie was three years old and never got into anything she shouldn’t. Or at least she hadn’t at the old house. Seemed her cat was having as hard of a time adjusting to their new normal as she was.
She nuzzled Trixie’s cheek while she hit the vet’s speed dial. Five minutes later she had an emergency vet appointment and her understanding best friend was on the way to Divine to deal with Mrs. Yancy. Thank God for Nellie. She’d have to buy the baby another frilly dress to go with the fifty she’d already stockpiled.
