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I cross my arms, looking around and imagining a young Xavier working here. “So that’s what you do?” I smile when he nods. “I always figured you’d be a baseball star someday. But this makes sense.”
“Baseball was a hobby,” he says, and a bolt of heat courses through my body as he walks around, his smile growing by the second as he remembers his first business. “This was my real passion.”
“So, you probably know a lot of movie stars?”
“A few,” he answers, smirking.
How cool is he? I hate to say how proud I am of him, given the circumstances, but I am. So proud.
“I’m proud of you, Xavier. I always knew you were destined for greatness.”
He moves closer, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I think you are too.”
“Thanks.” Like fog on a mirror, all the good feelings dissipate, leaving harsh reality staring back at me. “Will you vote for my husband?”
He shakes his head. “Rhi,” he whispers. “I know you’re angry because you were running away from your life, but he would have just found you.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
He moves closer, stalking, watching, and I swallow—hard. “I do know.”
“You know what? You’re crazy. One minute you’re this sweet Xavier I remember from growing up, and the next you’re the biggest asshole.” I take a deep breath. “And then, you act like I should be thanking my lucky stars because you kidnapped me?”
He blinks, moving closer.
“Don’t.” I hold up a hand to block him from coming too close. “You don’t get to sit here and pretend like you’re some white knight rescuing me. You kidnapped me and stopped me from findingmygreatness.”
Our eyes battle each other, and he finally relents, letting me win a war I am clearly losing. “You want to leave?”
“Yes. For the millionth time, yes.”
Because the longer I stay, the more I forget about why I should be leaving.
Chapter 22
Xavier
God, she lights my blood on fire. And makes my heart pound out of my chest. And if she wants to run, fine. I want to tell her everything, but I won’t. I can’t.
“Let’s go,” I bite out, wrapping my fingers around her arm.
We get in the car, and I peel out of the parking lot.
She’s pretty when she’s mad. Her pursed, pink lips frown as she glares out the window.
And I curse myself silently for my straying, rampant thoughts. I curse myself for the hold she has on me. She's not the prisoner; I am.
“You still want to run from me?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer but turns slightly in her seat to look at me with loathing.
“Do you?” I ask again as I drive further down the road toward my estate. I’m not far now.
She still doesn’t say a fucking word.
“Answer me. You want to run?”
“Yes,” she shouts, and I pull the car off the road.
