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He puts his hands on his hips and looks down, shaking his head. “I hear ya. Busy, busy, busy. Always something to do, huh?”
I want to ask him to leave, to not remind me of the mess I’m in financially… and personally. But one, I can’t bring myself to do that, and two, I’m not about to let on how much I was enjoying his and the guys’ company. They don’t need any flattery from me, they probably get all they need on a daily basis, anyway. I don’t have to wonder whether women from all over the city throw themselves at these guys—I’ve seen it firsthand.
“What can I do for you, Wes? You here to pick up some food for the cat that is Owen’s, which he pretends is his mother’s?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Owe doesn’t have a cat. Does he?”
I roll my eyes. “The cat at his house. It’s always there, right? It’s not his mom’s. It’s his.”
He shakes his head. “That’s his cat? Huh. Never really thought about it. But anyway, I’m not here for cat food.”
I know he’s not here for cat food. I just don’t know what else to say. A tsunami of emotion is swirling in my stomach, and it’s hard to think straight.
I’m not supposed to like these guys. WTF?
“I… I just want to say… I’m sorry about how things have gone sideways.”
His arms hang straight at his sides, and if I’m not imagining it, there’s a pleading in his tone. Guess they need me to help fight the developers and such.
I’m tempted to tell him I’m sorry too. Sorry that his lame-ass band-aid will do nothing to put the pieces of our partnership—and other things— back together.
But damn. His eyes, normally the epitome of confidence, logic, and even-handedness, are full of something resembling genuine regret. And that sincerity in his voice? It’s making me second-guess the fortress of animosity I’ve built for myself over the last several days.
How do you hate something like this? I want to, but I can’t.
So. Unfair.
Here’s this guy who has everything a person could want, and he’s just gotta be friends with me. I don’t get it.
It’s nice, but I don’t get it.
“Another thing I wanted to bring up, Livvy, is your debt.”
What?
My mouth drops open because I can’t speak.
He quickly picks up the slack, knowing he’s skating on thin ice. “Look, I know this is your personal business, and that you pride yourself on your independence, but Owen saw your list. He told me about your debt. And it’s something I can help with.”
I want to screamget out. I want to tell him to eat shit and die. I want him to get hit by a cab crossing the street.
But my goddamn eyes are filling with tears, right here in front of him, at what is the most humiliating moment of my life.
So, the good-looking, blessed-in-every-way guy next door pities me? Wants to save the loser girl he and his friends were slumming with to make himself feel like a big man?
I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms in the hope that the pain will chase away my tears, but that’s stupid, I know it’s stupid, and it does nothing but make my hands hurt.
Universe, how did I get here? Was I that horrible in a previous life? Because I know I haven’t been that bad in this one.
A tear dribbles down my cheek and Weston reaches over the counter like he’s going to wipe it away. But my phone buzzes at the same time, and I grab for it to put some more distance between the two of us.
The minute I say hello, I am sorry I accepted the call, because apparently the universe has not had enough fun fucking with me today and it’s my landlord on the line.
I hold a finger up to Weston like I still have manners, and trot to the back of the shop, closing the door to my office.
“Livvy, we need to talk,” he says.
“I know. I know we do,” I say.
