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Even if Stuart the douche canoe had more money than I did, I still had a lot.
I mean, how much cash did Jillian need? I’d been making millions a year.
For years.
She knew that.
Christ, the entire fucking world knew that.
But for some reason that wasn’t enough.
Or—I wasn’t enough.
My heart cracked again and it fucking hurt. I rubbed the middle of my chest and took a deep breath.
Okay, I tried to take a deep breath.
But I couldn’t.
It just hurt too fucking much.
When I finally pulled into the parking lot, I was relieved.
Relieved to be home.
Relieved to be away from the cameras.
Relieved to be away from Jillian.
I pulled my bag off the seat and opened the door.
And I kid you not.
The second I stepped out of my truck—Jillian pulled in right beside me.
Fuck me.
I slammed my door shut and walked around her car. “Cash, wait a second!” Jillian called out, but I kept moving. There was no way in fucking hell I was going to stop and talk with her. What was she going to say? All that woman could do now was drive another nail into my coffin.
If I let her.
And I never would.
Not again.
Nope.
I was done with her.
For sure this time.
“I’m busy, Jillian!” I yelled back. “Go call your fiancé. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to hear from you.”
A warm hand landed on my arm and tugged. “Give me one freaking minute,” she said, sounding completely out of breath. “I deserve one minute.”
That made me stop on a dime and laugh. I turned to her and squinted. “Are you kidding me right now?” I stared a hole through her. “Please tell me you did not just say you deserve anything from me.” I pulled my arm out of her grasp. “Because that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. After everything you’ve done to me—” I inhaled sharply, “I owe you? I owe you exactly fuck-all, Jillian. Now leave me the hell alone.”
The expression on her face changed so drastically I thought she might start crying.
