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“Yeah,” Samantha says. “I pity the woman who ends up with him one day.”
I chuckle, but my mind drifts away from Sam talking shit about her brother and back to Blake. I wish he would just talk to me. It would change so much. He was so open and reachable when we were on our weekend away, and he’s so closed off now. It’s hard to tell it’s the same person.
But it’s still worth a shot. What we share is something worth fighting for. I can’t give up so easily when I’m serious about this. It’s how I feel about my career, and despite not wanting to date, it’s how I feel about him, too.
Chapter 25
Blake
When I wake up on Saturday morning, I’m in a foul mood. I feel like shit for losing my temper with Emma. I hate that I ruined our friendship.
And I hate that I’m too fucking proud to call her and apologize for my actions. Because I’m better at being a dick who doesn’t talk to people about what I really feel rather than being open and honest and setting things straight.
Maybe it’s time I start facing facts and stop trying to ignore reality. I can’t keep acting like nothing is wrong when everything is crashing down around me.
Emma was right, of course. A grand gesture is a good idea to win Rachel back, but maybe I should take things one step at a time.
Like telling her what’s going on in my life. She knows the worst about me, and she’s still here. She still came to see me to figure out if we could make this work.
If I don’t jump on this while I can, I’ll lose her. And no matter how terrified I am of my past and what I might do, losing Rachel will be worse.
It’s been three decades. Maybe it’s time I stop looking back and start taking control of my life. I can’t keep running away. I’ll just end up alone.
Hell, if it wasn’t for Rachel, alone is what I would be already. I’ve pushed so many people away, I’m on the verge of being an emotional hermit as it is.
I shower and shave and get dressed in the clothes Rachel put together for me in the wardrobe she created. I might be biased, but she’s fucking good at her job and I’m glad I hired her. Not only because it meant we could spend a lot of time together. I’m glad I took this step. It was the first step in moving forward.
In the kitchen, I make a cup of coffee. While I wait for the machine to produce my cup of caffeine, I try to figure out what I’m going to say to Rachel. I’m not good with words—I’ve hidden away all my life andnotput things to words. To change that and start talking about everything I feel is tough.
I rub my sore hand while I think. It hurts like a bitch. I went to the doctor to have it checked out as Emma suggested, even though I was determined to be stubborn. The doctor told me I was lucky to not have broken it; it was only badly bruised. I should have had it bandaged, but I’m a sucker for punishment and a bandage is a reminder that I can be an ass.
I have to make things right. I have to take one step and then another until I beat this thing.
But I have to start somewhere. Like a conversation that’s going to be hard as hell. I want to do it for her.
When I pick up the phone to call Rachel—I want to find out when she’s free for a chat—a notification waits on my home screen. It’s from the celebrity gossip app I keep tabs on to make sure I’m in the right light to the rest of the world. I would have swiped it away and dialed Rachel if it wasn’t for the headlines.
Blake Ford, business mogul billionaire bachelor, hides a shady past
All heroes have feet of clay, and this much is true, even for our very own Blake Ford. When we hear the name, we think of a man who’s not only built an empire from the ground up, created millions of job opportunities, and conducted himself with pride but also made a difference to the economy. It’s difficult to realize, then, that this man is a man of secrets and shadows, a man who hides a very dark and stormy past.
My vision blurs as I read the words, painting a picture of my past as the son of a man who beat his wife. My ears start to ring, and blood drains from my face as the past I’ve been working years and years to hide is all hashed out in so many words. The article tells all, from my abusive father, to how I left my mother behind and how I started a life here without them.
A completely different image comes to mind when we think about Blake Ford now. None of us were inclined to see him as a man who would abandon his family values for a life ruled by riches, yet here we are. It’s a bitter pill to swallow that someone we love and revere to show his true colors, but Blake Ford has, from the start, been to good to be true.
I can’t think straight. Immediately my mind jumps to Austin Howe. The son of a bitch leaked it all for the publicity. My chest feels tight and I can’t breathe right. My hand throbs in time with the dull ache between my temples as my heart rate climbs. Panic and anger war for first place inside me.
I’ll take him for everything he has. He signed a fucking NDA; he can’t do this to me!
I start to dial his number but frown and pull up the article again. When I focus on the name at the bottom of the article, I recognize the name. And not because my private investigator wanted to make a quick buck. Because I’ve met this man.
He rubbed me up the wrong way before.
Alexander Evans.
My stomach drops. There’s only one way he could have written this piece.
I storm out of the kitchen without drinking my coffee, ride the elevator to the ground floor, and get into my car. I floor it out of the parking garage and into traffic, weaving my way through the cars until I’m in front of Rachel’s apartment. I see red. I can’t think straight. My heart hammers against my chest and my skin is on fire and I want to break something. Or everything.
