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“But now, the oligarch wants more than money. He’s changed his focus. I guess you could say he’s become kind of obsessed with me. Wants me to come work for him on his yacht in Croatia. And by work for him, I don’t mean serve him cocktails.”
Perhaps I should have left out that detail because the growl from Wade hints that he’d like to use a nail gun on an oligarch’s testicles.
“As soon as I figured out the old rich dude had a fixation on me, I grabbed my things and fled New York. That worked for a while. But they found me by tracking my eBay and Etsy accounts, which I used to sell some of my designer clothes. And now these random guys keep showing up and getting me fired from my jobs, and…and I guess it’s a good thing everyone in this crazy town watches everything that goes on because—”
No other words come out because of the knot in my throat.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.”
Wade reaches across the bed, and he takes my hand between both of his big mitts. “Don’t ever apologize for crying about how everyone failed you. Literally, everyone in your life failed you. That ends today.”
What is it about Wade that he knows exactly what to say to get me emotional? I never thought about my situation like that before.
And who knew he was so very kind?
Before I can stop them, the tears flow. No parents, nannies, or teachers are here to tell me to stop it, suck it up, and pull myself up by my bootstraps. Wade has put everything in perspective. I don’t deserve the way I’ve been treated. I never deserved to be left alone and forgotten.
And no one in my situation deserves to be told to fix her own problems.
I let it all out. I barely register what I’m saying as I sit there and blubber with Wade holding my hand, occasionally handing me tissues, and thumbing tears away.
His touch is so gentle, and his words are so kind that I know my instincts are correct. He has to be a good one.
If Wade turns out to be bad, I’m done with men forever. I can go live with Ernestine; surely, no one will mess with her.
Finally, I get a hold of myself.
“Any other questions?” I ask.
“Just one,” Wade says with a soft note in his voice.
“What?”
“I need to know what clothes you want from your house.”
Wade produces my purse and asks me to retrieve my house key so he can fetch my things.
“I can get them myself,” I say.
Wade leans forward and gets right in my face, so close his breath warms me and makes me shiver simultaneously. “Do you think I’m going to let you go over there after everything you told me?”
He holds my gaze for several long seconds while I consider this.
My bottom lip sneaks between my teeth. Wade’s pupils widen as he glances at my mouth.
“I’ll be fine. I don’t want you mixed up with me and my problems.”
I gasp as Wade reaches forward and firmly cups the back of my neck, pressing his forehead to mine. At first, I wonder if he’ll kiss me—a girl can always hope—but then he murmurs in a deadly, low-pitched voice, “Let’s get one thing straight, baby girl. Your problems are my problems now. You let me handle all that shit. You understand?”
My lips part, and I have to force the sound out. “I understand.”
The simple nod from Wade communicates volumes. He’s dead serious.
“Now, I gotta go check on the tile guys at the Ingalls house and probably do some other shit at the job site, too. But after that, I’ll pick up a few of your things, and then I’m all yours.”
All mine. Your problems are my problems.
If only he knew how crazy-making those phrases are when it comes to him. If only he understood what his protectiveness does to me and how baffling my feelings are for a man 15 years my senior. A man I had determined to hold a grudge against forever on behalf of Grace.
