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More nostril flaring. “You’re a real asshole. God. I can’t believe I fell for this shit. You should be proud. You proved to me how stupid I actually am. I opened up to you. I did things with you that I’ve never done with anyone before.”
“Me too,” he admitted, although he wasn’t sure why he was still offering the truth when he was sure that she didn’t want to hear anything from him, truth or lies.
“Yeah right,” she snorted. Her eyes ripped to his and she looked him straight in the face. “I bet all that shit you told me about your dad wasn’t even true. You just wanted me to feel sorry for you. You probably got that scar being a huge douchebag and someone finally stabbed you with your own pitchfork.”
He crossed his arms slowly, just so she could get an eyeful of his bulging biceps as he did so. Not putting a shirt on had never served him better and he wasn’t too proud to admit it. “Are you implying that I’m the devil?”
“No. You’re worse. Although, you do have a forked tongue. I doubt that one thing that came out of your mouth was genuine.”
“Actually, most of it was genuine. You’re the first person I’ve told about my family. Honestly. Other people knew. The people that worked for my dad, but I’ve never volunteered that information before. I’m a rather private person. My PR team works hard to keep my pictures off the internet, as well as my life story and what happened with my parents. It’s not the kind of shit I want known.”
“Why? Because people wouldn’t buy shoes from someone who basically killed his own father?”
He winced. Yeah. Ouch. That one had barbs. Even though she was pissed, Noemi obviously realized that was over the line and she winced too. Her lips wobbled and she stuck out a hand, bracing herself on the other side of the door frame.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. At least she had the courage to maintain eye contact. “That was a horrible thing to say. Being angry at you being the world’s biggest ass didn’t give me the right to say something like that. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t think that I think that or that it was true. If you actually were honest with me, and I seriously doubt it, so I feel even more like an idiot at the moment, I’m sorry for what happened to you. It obviously scarred you in horrible, irrevocable ways.”
“Turned me into a monster?”
“Yeah. Pretty much.”
“So that was really an apology and an insult all wrapped into one?”
“I don’t honestly know. Take it how you will. Just like you can take this how you want. Oh wait, there really only is one way to take this. I don’t want to have anything else to do with you. I know what you look like now so you can’t trick me again. When my dad hears about what you did, he’ll drop the whole marriage thing. He would never want me to be married to someone who would treat me so callously, lie to me, use me, toy with my feelings. That’s not the kind of husband he’d want for me. You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t come after you with everything he has. He’d probably love to ruin your business.”
Byron leaned against the doorframe a little harder. His legs were doing funny things, threatening to give out and his stomach was doing worse shit, dropping down somewhere around his toes, but he was good at putting on a face by then and tried to appear as causal as possible.
“Yes, well, to do that, he’d have to ruin your reputation first. Are you going to tell him all the sordid details? Every single thing we did, just to really help him understand? Because if he heard where I was coming from, that I wanted to get to meet you and help you get to know me so you could make an informed decision, I think he’d be on board with that.”
Noemi’s face turned a deep shade of scarlet so abruptly he nearly stepped back to avoid being slapped. “You’re a real class act, Byron. God. Seriously. Do my father and I both a favor and stay out of our lives. If you want to sell your shitty shoes in Europe, do it on your own.”
His eyes flicked back down to the black flats she had on, right when she said the word shoes. She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, as though she just realized that she’d made a fatal error.
Because she was wearing his shoes.
They were unmistakably his shoes.
“You’re wearing my shoes,” he pointed out, because he was a serious asshole and she was right, he was beyond redemption. “Are they comfy? Your go-to pair? So much so that you completely forgot and didn’t even realize when you slipped into them? They look nice and worn in. Like you actually enjoy them. Do you think they’d sell well in Europe? I could really use your endorsement if your father isn’t going to give me his. Hold on. One second. I’ll get my phone. Just wait. Wait right there…”
