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I need to get out of here.
More importantly, I need Ben to drop this.
“We need to talk, Lola.”
He doesn’t drop it though.
Of course, he doesn’t.
Why won’t he fucking drop it?
Why does he live to make every step of the way difficult?
“Why didn’t you have your dad back you? Or why wouldn’t you have gotten a traditional loan? Hat says you always have someone in the bakery. Income. It seems it would have been easy to get a small business loan. You didn’t need to go and get involved with them.”
His words dig. It’s what anyone would ask in this situation, of course. But I guess a part of me—a small hidden part—had hoped that despite Ben thinking I’m a spoiled princess, he would see through it.
But he’s like everyone else.
And just like everyone else, I cannot reveal too much. I cannot show him the truth of my situation. I look for my shorts, stumbling to catch my footing in my fury and frantic need toget out.
“I didn’t.” I squat when I spot my shorts and put one leg in.
“You had an envelope in your hand, Lola. He took it with him. I don’t think there were secret family recipes in there.” I stare at him, annoyed that he’s jumped to a conclusion that I can’t build a business on my own.
Sweet Lola, so innocent and kind. She could never have the backbone to start a business without help.
If he only knew.
My shorts make a satisfying snap as I tug the waistband up over my hips and stare at him, shrugging into my bra.
“I built this bakery on my own. No one’s help.”
“I’m not saying you didn’t—”
“Yes, you are. You’re saying what everyone says. There’s no way sweet, ditzy Lola, who can’t even remember to lock her back door and loves to bake cookies and takes care of her little sister, could scrounge money and get a hefty small business loan to start her business on her own. There’s no way in hell Lola could find a space, secure a lease, and renovate a bakery by herself. There’s no fucking way she could watch YouTube videos and fix ovens she found on Craigslist, and there’s no way she could move everything she owns into her apartment single-handedly.” Okay, that one wasn’t an easy feat, and I regretted it for weeks after when my body could barely move, especially when that body couldn’t rest properly thanks to an asshole neighbor, but I did it. “And there’sno waythat there would be another fucking reason that sweet, innocent Lola has to hand an envelope of cash over to some scum of the earth asshole who corners her in her own fucking business, propositioning her and telling her there are other fucking ways to pay off the debt.” My chest is heaving as I slip my shoes back on, pulling my shirt—his shirt, which I will not be returning—over my head. Tears are clawing at my throat, but I refuse to show weakness, to cry in front of another person who doesn’t believe in me.
Old Lola would have.
Not New Lola.
“No fucking way, right, Ben? Because I’m Lola, the sweet and annoying neighbor you can’t fucking stand. Can’t stand me, but you sure as hell can fuck me. Fuck me and fuck with me and get your rocks off and fuckinguse melike every other human being on this earth.”
Now where the fuck did that come from?
My chest is heaving as I stand in front of him, where he’s naked as can be in his bed, sitting up now and resting on his arms behind him, eyes wide.
I need to leave. I need to turn, walk out the door, let it slam, and not worry about this man anymore. Let this have been me getting him out of my system. A reminder that while the sex can be good, it doesn’t fix a shitty attitude. Just because he held me after a nightmare and danced with me in his living room and we had our first real conversation that didn’t include taunts and frustration doesn’t mean—
No.
Don’t read into it.
It will only hurt more later.
“I’m going to my bakery. Thanks for everything, Ben,” I say, heading for the door, but his voice has me turning back to stare at him.
“You’re not going there, Lola.” Who the fuck does he think he is?
