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He’s got his nose buried in his phone when I find him standing in a sea of people coming and going. His position in the dead center of the vast, open space forces everyone to go around him.
“I want out of the contract,” I tell him. “What do I have to do?”
Burke darkens his phone and meets my pointed stare. “What?”
“You heard me. How do I get out of this? You don’t have to pay me a dime, I just want out.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“You got your inheritance. You got the one thing you wanted. And you didn’t even need me. I don’t see why it matters now.”
He chuffs, rolling his eyes. “Of course you don’t see why it matters, and that’s exactly why I can’t let you out of that.”
“I don’t want the money.”
“Then don’t take it. But I’m not ripping up the contract. We had a deal. You signed on the dotted line.”
“I signed without knowing exactly what I was getting myself into,” I say. “I didn’t know . . . I didn’t know your father was dying. You told me you wanted to give him a memorable summer, put his mind at ease.”
“Everyone’s dying. That’s part of life. Every day we’re twenty-four hours closer to death.”
“You lied to me about the reason Audrina left you.”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with the agreement you and I made.” The smug tone in his voice makes me want to slap him across the face, and I don’t have a violent bone in my body. “Look, if you want to sit here and tell me what an insufferable bastard I am, go ahead. You wouldn’t be the first, and you sure as hell won’t be the last. If you want to walk away from your million-dollar payout, be my guest. But I’m not letting you out of that NDA. And that’s what you’re getting at, right? You want out of the NDA so you can chase after my brother.”
His astute perception steals the oxygen from my lungs and the words from my mouth.
“I already told you,” he continues, “Dorian would never go for you. You’re my sloppy seconds in his eyes. You’re damaged goods. You’re Audrina all over again. Do yourself a favor—take the money, walk away, and forget you ever knew either of us. Your future self will thank you—and that advice is on the house.”
“I don’t understand why it matters.” I refuse to back down, not with my future on the line. “You’re getting your inheritance whether or not you’re with someone. Why would it matter if Dorian and Nicola know that this was fake all along?”
Raking his hand along his angled jaw, he tilts his head and sighs.
“Not that I owe you an answer to that, but my brother and sister would never let me live that down,” he says. “That’s why. The whole thing reeks of desperation, and I’d never hear the end of it. I’d be the laughingstock of the Rothwell family.”
“So this is about your pride? Your ego? I have to sacrifice everything just so you can save face?” I close the distance between us, unafraid to get in his face so he can hear me crystal clear. “That woman he met last summer? The one he was waiting for? The one he still loves? It’s me.”
He begins to respond—only before he says a single word, his eyes skim over my shoulder, and his mouth presses flat.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath.
I’m confused . . . until I turn around and find none other than Nicola standing behind me, arms crossed, an expression on her face that tells me she heard everything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
DORIAN
Present Day
“You should put your phone in airplane mode if you’re just going to ignore all those texts.” The middle-aged woman beside me on an extremely packed flight to Nashville points to my lap. “It’s been going off like crazy since you sat down.”
We’re still in the boarding process, and the center aisle is packed with travelers all waiting to find their seats, all being held up by some neck beard trying to shove his overpacked carry-on into an already crammed compartment. It isn’t until a flight attendant appears out of nowhere that the proverbial roadblock is dislodged, and the line moves again.
“I will once we take off,” I tell her.
“What’s the point of leaving it on if you’re just going to ignore it?” She rips open a travel-size bag of white cheddar Cheez-Its and tosses a couple in her mouth.
“It’s just my sister. She does this whenever she wants attention. She’ll stop eventually,” I say, quietly recalling a time when I woke up to eighty-seven text messages, sixteen missed calls, and four emails. I thought someone died, but it was just Nicola being Nicola. When she wants something, she really wants it.
