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“Feels like a hummingbird attacking the inside of my skull,” I murmur. I let him believe it’s completely because of Scanlon and my concussion, but at least half of my headache has to do with the man right in front of me. All of the years I spent crying for him. All of the nights I sat in my dorm at school and wondered where in the universe he was. All of the times I sat there and wondered how painful death is, hoping his didn’t hurt, and wondering about the easiest ways to accomplish the same in hopes to see him again.
My concussion hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what this man makes me feel.
He kneels down in front of me and watches as I take the pills with a shaking hand. “Do you feel sick?”
I shake my head, but stop again when it hurts. “No.”
“Are you sleepy?”
I look down at my bare legs and the Griffin Industries shirt that dwarves my otherwise naked body. He acts like we’ve known each other forever. He acts like we met when I was nine and we didn’t miss a single day between. “A little sleepy, but the regular kind, not the kind where I think I’m dying.”
His heavy bottom lip twitches with a grin. “Want something other than water? I’ve got juice, or a beer, I guess. I don’t think beer will help your headache, but some might say the relaxation is worth it.”
“No.” I sip my glass of water and avoid his eyes. “I don’t drink.”
He lifts a brow. “At all?”
“Nope. Not at all. Don’t like it.”
“Okay…”
His eyes scour my face while I stare at the far wall and try to process what the actual hell has happened tonight.
“I need you to talk to me, Lib. Why were you inside the club so long?” He reaches up and grabs my face to bring it around. “What took you so long?”
“I had to talk to Alex, then I went to the bathroom because I felt sick. Sophia followed me in and asked questions.” Theo’s eyes darken with awareness. “She wants to know who you are. She wants to know who the real you is, because she knows Theo Griffin came out of nowhere a little more than a decade ago. She knows Theo is likely a fabricated name, and she suspects I know the real man beneath the fake.”
“How does she know this stuff?” He readjusts on his knees and drags my face back each time I try to look away. “Libby? How does the bimbo know that stuff?”
“I already told you; she’s smart. She’s the brains behind Checkmate. She dressed up tonight to do to you the exact same thing you were doing to her. You want her secrets, she wants yours. You offered money and sex, she put on a tiny skirt and did the same. Neither of you got answers, because then I walked in, and apparently you stopped paying attention to her.”
A grin pulls his lips up to the side. “That’s kind of true. I had the bimbo in a booth in a sexy club, but then my cop walks in, and suddenly I’m thirsty.”
I know he’s making a joke, but I still frown and pull away from the hand on my chin. “I’m not your cop, Gunner. I’m not for sale.”
“Youaremy cop,” he argues in a low, dangerous voice. “Everything that you are belongs to me, and everything that I am belongs to you.”
“Gunner, no–”
“Theo,” he snaps. “My name is Theo. And trust me when I say, I’m not pleased that you’re a cop. I fucking loathe cops. But we’ll excuse the fact that your job sucks, and focus only on the fact that you’re you, and I’ve waited a long time to see you again.”
“No.” Shaking my head, I turn away and try to slide off the bed. “This isn’t going to work. I’m not a cop for hire, and you’re not a guy I can get messed up with.”
“It’ll look bad on your résumé, huh?”
He turns as I slither from his grasp and walk across the room.
“I don’t understand you, Libby. What is your problem?”
“My problem is that you have a lot of money. You have bunches and bunches of it, and nobody your age, especially not a boy who started out homeless without a single cent, earned all of that money legitimately. And you know what? Even if you did, it doesn’tlooklike you did. And at this point in my life, I don’t much care about how your company began. I care about how thislooks. I care that people will make assumptions, and for the rest of my life, I’ll be suspicious in their eyes.”
“Suspicious? What’s suspicious?”
“They’ll see my name and know it’s the same as my father. They’ll seeyourname and assume I’m carrying on the family business of being a Bishop’s little bitch. They’ll see your money and assume I opened my legs for a few dollars.”
“But none of that is true. Libby.” He snags my wrist as I pace past, and drags me back to sit on the end of the bed. His blue eyes bore into mine as his hand comes up and holds my jaw in place. “None of that is true. I’m not my father, and you’re not yours. Every single cent that I have came to me legitimately. You might not believe that, but it’s true. And every cent I have started on the back of you.”
“Me?”
