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“She stayed for two weeks.”
“You were shacked up with my girl for two weeks?” Maybe I really would rip his arm off.
“Yourgirl?” An eyebrow cocked up his face. “If she were your girl, she wouldn’t have needed to come to me in the first place. She drove straight here because she was so depressed, she didn’t even know how to take care of herself. Didn’t know how to check in to a hotel. So, yes, I let her stay here. And the only thing I should be hearing from you is thank you.”
“How long did she stay?”
“Two weeks. I just told you that.”
“So she was here for Christmas?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t sure what made me more jealous. Grave or Bartholomew. “Did you fuck her?”
Grave withdrew slightly, his eyes narrowed in deep offense. “Elise is my woman, and I’ve always been a one-woman kind of guy.”
“You didn’t answer my question—”
“Fuck you, Cauldron. Of course I didn’t sleep with her. She made her bed—now she can lie in it. You think I desire her whatsoever after she made her decision? No, asshole. I’m better than that. I deserve better than that. Elise is all over me every chance she gets. That woman makes me feel like more of a man than Camille ever did.”
I looked away, my rage still pent-up with no avenue for release. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because she asked me not to.”
“Why wouldn’t she want me to know?”
“Maybe because she has some pride?” he suggested. “Didn’t want you to know just how badly you hurt her. Can’t say I blame her. She’s always been proud.”
“She said I didn’t want her anymore because you moved on—and she heard it straight from my mouth. What’s she talking about?”
“Remember that night you stopped by?” he said. “You woke up on my couch?”
“I remember waking up…”
“You went on a long rant about her, and that’s what you said.”
I had no recollection of it. “And she heard every word?”
“Yes.”
“A little heads-up would have been nice.”
“You were so drunk, you probably wouldn’t have understood a word I said.”
“I don’t remember saying that, and if I did say it, I didn’t mean it.”
“I told her you were drunk, but she didn’t believe me. Said you sounded sober, but she couldn’t see you.”
Fuck, this was a nightmare.
“But in the end, what does it really matter?” he asked. “You’re done.”
If we were done, why did it hurt so much? “Is Camille working as a whore again?”
“I have no idea, Cauldron. I got her a job at an art gallery, but I guess she didn’t take it.”
I needed to know. Was this guy a client—or someone she actually cared for?
