A familiar profile catches my eye and my step falters. I’d probably recognize it anywhere, especially in a place like this where his ponytail and goatee are particularly out of place.
It’s Nash. But what in the world is he doing here? He’d said he was with Cash, which means he lied.
He’s alone in the room, with only one male attendant. He’s looking at bracelets, likely diamond ones considering which area he’s in. But why? And for whom?
He had to have asked Cash where he could go for jewelry. This place isn’t exactly on the beaten path. But why would he lie? Unless he didn’t want me to know, didn’t want me to ask questions.
I feel betrayed and near tears, and I jump when the attendant speaks to me. “Would you like to look at the diamond bracelets instead?”
“Uh, no. No, I’m only interested in emeralds.”
I hurry to move away from the doorway, unwilling to get caught in such a humiliating situation. My feet feel leaden as I follow the girl farther into the back of the store. I’m having trouble focusing on why I even came to the jewelry store in the first place. My enthusiasm for picking out a wonderful present for Olivia is even more dampened now.
It only takes me a few minutes to find the perfect gift for her, but I browse a lot longer. I don’t want to risk running into Nash.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, I make the purchase so I can leave. On my way out, I look cautiously into each room as I head down the hall toward the exit. I’m relieved that there seems to be no sign of Nash.
As I’m getting into the car, my phone sounds again. It’s a text. And it makes my heart hurt. Again.
U ok?
Again, I ignore it. Nash is playing games that are far beyond my ability to withstand. I thought I could take the heat, but I think I gave myself way too much credit.
I refuse to shed any of the tears that threaten the backs of my eyes. I give myself a quiet talking-to, something to help me keep my focus where it needs to be.
I’m going home to pack a small bag and then I’m heading to Salt Springs. I’ll see if Ginger needs any help getting things ready for Olivia’s party. I gave Ginger Cash’s number. If she didn’t tell him to invite Nash or if Cash didn’t think to, it’s not my fault. He can just stay in Atlanta and wonder where everyone went.
That thought gives me some small amount of satisfaction. I like the idea that he will realize he doesn’t have me under his thumb. Everything that has happened so far, I’ve let happen. I’ve been a willing participant. But the instant I decide it has to stop, it will. The end.
A tiny, irritating voice speaks up from the back of my mind. It’s laughing at me, asking if I really think it will be that easy to just walk away from Nash.
Much as I did Nash’s text, I ignore it.
My jaw aches from clenching my teeth in determination, but I feel somewhat accomplished an hour later when I zip my small overnight bag closed. The prospect of getting out of this condo, out of Atlanta is incredibly appealing at the moment.
I hear the front door slam and my heart stutters in my chest. I wonder if I’ll always have that reaction now, whether rational or not. Once my brain kicks in, it reminds me that it’s got to be either Olivia or Nash. Or Cash, although unlikely. They’re the only ones who could even possibly have keys and I locked the door.
I wait a little breathlessly for the footsteps to make their way to my bedroom. When Nash’s big body fills the doorway, my heart skips another beat. He’s so incredibly handsome. And so incredibly angry.
“Why the fu—hell haven’t you answered my texts?”
“I wasn’t aware that I was required to.”
His teeth are gritted. I can practically hear them grinding. He hisses through them. “You’re not required to. It’s just common courtesy. I thought you rich, snobby bitches were all about pretending you have manners and putting on a good show.”
Although I know he’s probably using it as a generality, it still stings to hear him lump me in with bitches. “Maybe we rich, snobby bitches don’t always follow the rules.”
I see the anger in his eyes dim. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
I suspect that he didn’t, but I refuse to ease his conscience by saying so.
“Maybe you should learn to watch your tongue.”
“Believe me, I don’t say half of what I’m thinking when I’m around you.”
“Well, then maybe you should say what you mean.”
Nash stomps across the room and stops with less than an inch between us. At nearly five nine, I’m tall for a girl, but he still towers over me. I resist the urge to back up. Rather, I raise my chin and meet his eyes in defiance.
“Trust me, you don’t want to hear that.”
“Maybe not, but maybe I need to hear it.”
His fingers wind around my upper arms like bands of carbon steel and he pulls me tight against his chest. I get the feeling he’d like to shake me. “I haven’t given you enough reason to hate me? To stay the hell away from me?”
“Maybe now you finally have,” I spit through the tight line of my lips. He’s not the only one who can get angry.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing for you to concern yourself with.”
We stare at each other, both unwilling to give an inch, but both unwilling to walk away. For the first time, I can see past his carefully crafted façade. He doesn’t want to want me, he doesn’t want to feel anything for me, but I think he’s beginning to, despite all the warnings and reasons that he shouldn’t.
After what feels like an eternity, Nash releases my arms and takes a step back. He reaches up to smooth hair that isn’t mussed back into his ponytail. His eyes flicker to the bed and stop.
“Going somewhere?”
“As a matter of fact I am. Not that it’s any of your business.”
His eyes slide back to mine and narrow. “Were you even going to bother telling me?”
I narrow my eyes right back at him. “I figured I’d text you later.”
Since you’re so fond of that method of delivering your lies.
“Later, huh?”
I can see the sparks in his eyes again.
“You don’t check in to tell me every detail of your life and your day.”
It feels good to get a little dig in, especially considering his recent trip to the jewelry store, a trip that he lied about. But when I see his lips twitch, I realize my barbs aren’t even making a dent. He finds it amusing.