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Avery steps out.
No, he doesn’t step out. He dashes out, making a beeline for me.
Shit, shit, shit. I fish my keys out of my purse and try to shove them in the lock, but my hands are shaking so violently that I drop them to the ground. I bury my face in my hands, crying harder, because I’m just falling apart at this point.
I bend, reaching blindly for my keys, but Avery swoops in, scooping them up in his big hand.
“Give them back,” I plead, reaching for them. He holds them away, his free hand wrapping around my wrist.
“Can I come in?” His smooth chocolate eyes beg me, more distressed than I’ve ever seen them.
He cannot be serious, and the look on my face must be answer enough.
“I’m not giving them back. Not until you talk to me, Claire. I’m not letting you walk through that door and watching you slam it in my face.”
With two hands on his chest, I shove him as hard as I can. He doesn’t even budge. “Fuck you! You can’t do this! Give them back,” I sob. “Please, Avery.”
“We need to talk about this, Claire. We need to talk about us.” His throat bobs with a swallow, chest heaving. He catches me around the shoulders, squeezing tightly. “Please, Claire.”
“No,” I croak out, long and slow. “You’re just going to lie to me.”
He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him, his eyes no longer soft, but hard, impossibly dark, a raging storm, like whatever the hell is going on in my stomach right now. “I would never lie to you, Claire, and I never, ever have. I promise you that.”
His lips are on mine suddenly, hungry, demanding, possessive, and I hate myself for melting into him, moaning into his mouth. Why does this man have such a carnal effect on me even after seeing him with another woman?
Our tongues duel viciously, fighting for control while I try to fight the desire to crawl up his body and latch onto him. My hands are buried in his hair, just like the words I want to say to him are buried in my throat, begging to be released.
I love you.
When he pulls back, both of us breathless, our chests lifting and falling erratically, I swipe at my wet lips and watch him walk away from me.
“I’m going upstairs.” He presses the call button for the elevator and covers my keys in his fist. “When you’re ready to talk, you can come up. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.” He glances at me before he steps inside. “The quicker you throw out your stubborn attitude and come up, the quicker we can both put ourselves out of this misery.”
Oh my God. He did not just—
“Avery!” I run toward him as the doors start sliding shut. “No! You can’t! Ugh!” I bang my head off the closed stainless-steel doors and immediately regret it—because, fucking ouch.
I become a caged animal, pacing up and down the hallway, growling, snarling, crying.
Why? Why does it have to be Avery? Why is he the person I fall in love with at the worst possible time?
I slink against the wall, sliding down to my butt, face in my trembling hands. Everything Charlee said last night about Avery rang true. Every single thing. I've been stupid to try to stay away from him, to deny my feelings for someone who made me feel so genuinely happy.
But now? Now what? Was it all a lie? Everything he said to me? I’ve never been more confused in my life. On the one hand, he looks destroyed. The pain that flashed across his face when his date stepped up to his side, kissed his cheek, introduced herself to me…he looked like I felt on the inside—crushed.
Charlee told me I still needed to tell him how I feel, regardless of this mess. That I need to get it off my chest, be honest, even if only for myself, to know that I’ve done everything I should.
I don’t know if I can bring myself to do it, not now. All I’d needed to do was admit to him that I cared for him, that I liked him. That was all he’d asked for in my office yesterday morning.
But that’s not accurate. Those words aren’t strong enough for what I’m feeling. Even if I didn’t already think that it was love, the pain pulsating through my body would be enough for me to realize it now.
No, I can’t do this right now.
Climbing to my feet, I tug a pin from my hair, bending one end backwards. Planting my palms flat on my door, I stare at the lock, tipping my head side-to-side, the tension in my neck cracking. I have no idea how to do this, but they do it in the movies, so…I shove the tip of my pin in the lock, twisting it desperately.
Nothing happens. And then it snaps in half.
Growling, I try again. The second pin joins the first on the floor.
