Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 149(@250wpm)___ 124(@300wpm)
She’d trusted me this morning. She was settled. Warm. Happy.
And now she was hurting because some parasite with a camera angled a shot so it looked like my new PR rep was in my personal space instead of her simply handing me a damn file in the lobby.
My phone buzzed on the seat, and I reached for it.
Not Ivy. Fuck!
I didn’t answer.
Nothing mattered but getting to her.
I raced through two more green lights in a row and then turned onto her street, parking behind a delivery van. I didn’t bother adjusting or straightening the car. I just grabbed my phone and shoved it into my pocket.
The door slammed behind me as I sprinted for the building entrance. The elevator was too slow, so I ran right by it and through the heavy steel door into the stairwell. I took the steps two at a time, adrenaline roaring through my system.
By the time I hit her landing, I was breathing hard but not winded. Just keyed up in a way that made my pulse pound in my neck. I marched straight to her door and hit it with my fist.
“Ivy.” Nothing. I hit it again, louder. “Sunshine, open the door.”
Silence.
I leaned in, lowered my voice, and let my steely determination come through my tone. “Open the damn door, or I will do it for you.”
For a second, there was no response, and I wondered if she was even there.
Then there was a tiny click, followed by the rattle of the chain as it slid free.
The door cracked open, and she stood there in leggings and one of her oversized soft sweaters, the sleeves covering her fists. Her hair was messy, and her lashes were damp with tears.
Pain twisted in my heart at the sight of her blotchy red cheeks and lips swollen from crying. The second my eyes landed on hers—just the raw hurt in them—it damn near ripped something in half inside me.
She sniffed and wiped away the wetness on one cheek with her sleeve.
That was all it took.
I scooped her into my arms and nudged the door shut with my foot. She sucked in a shuddering breath and buried her face against my neck as her body melted into mine.
I carried her to the couch and sank with her cradled in my lap, her cheek pressed to my shoulder, while her body shook with quiet sobs.
I wrapped both arms around her and cupped the back of her head, my fingers sliding into her hair. Holding her, anchoring her. She clutched the front of my hoodie in both fists, as if she thought I might vanish if she let go. I pressed my mouth to the top of her head and felt my chest pull tight.
“I thought—” she whispered, her voice wet and broken.
“No.” I shut it down immediately. “Don’t finish that thought.”
Her shoulders trembled once more and then slowly settled, her breath warm through my shirt. I didn’t speak again, just held her until the tears slowed and her breathing evened out.
I finally slid my hand beneath her jaw and tipped her face up with my thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look me in the eye. Her lashes were clumped. Her makeup smeared. She looked heartbreakingly vulnerable.
“I thought I’d made myself clear, Sunshine.” My voice came out low and rough, threaded with something deeper than a promise. “I can’t even look at other women, Ivy. You’re all I see.”
Her breath hitched, and recognition, shame, and relief collided in her expression. Then she launched forward, throwing her arms around my neck and clinging with everything she had as if I was the only thing holding her back from the brink.
“I’m so sorry,” she choked against my throat. “I saw that and I panicked. I should’ve trusted you. You’ve been steady and open, and I just—you’ve proved who you are over and over, and I—”
I held her with one hand at her spine and the other on the back of her head, my chest expanding slowly.
“Hey,” I murmured into her hair. “Breathe.”
She took a shaky inhale, then pulled back just far enough to look at me again. Her eyes were huge and filled with guilt.
“The woman in the picture is our new PR rep.” I kept my tone flat because emotion wasn’t needed for truth. “Not only do I barely know her but what you don’t see in that photo—because of the angle—is that she’s wearing a massive rock on her finger. She’s also very pregnant with twins.”
Ivy blinked, then her mouth fell open a little.
“You’re kidding,” she whispered.
“No. That picture is bullshit piled on bullshit.” I shook my head once. “Those vultures will twist anything into a payday.”
She groaned and dropped her forehead to my shoulder. “I feel like an idiot.”
I slid my palm up to cup her jaw again—gently this time—and made her lift her head. Her brown eyes were glassy but swimming with hope.