More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

Pulling my phone free, I type out a quick text to her: Look behind you.

On her desk, her cell lights up. Absently, she glances at it. Then she stiffens and whirls. When she catches sight of me, her face tightens. Her lips purse. She opens the window between us with a glower. “Leave. Or I’ll call the police. You’re trespassing.”

On my way here, I thought of a thousand things to say to Sloan, ways to massage the situation. But the sight of her is a gut punch. She’s furious. That, I expected. But she looks tired. And it’s obvious she’s been crying.

Suddenly, I can’t remember what I planned to say.

Something thick and terrible gluts my stomach, turning over and over until I feel close to puking. I think it’s guilt.

First, I failed Evan, which I’ll fix. But it’s clear I hurt Sloan. She’s trying to save her father’s company so she can win his love. The old bastard doesn’t deserve her. Sloan has so much drive, my boss and bestie would hire her in a heartbeat. But she sees Evan as the devil and me as his minion. We’re the enemy. And I’ve done more than stand in her way.

I hurt her.

That nearly activates my gag reflex again.

Guilt is a bitch.

“I’m sorry. I sincerely mean that.”

“I don’t care. Go.”

“Not until we’ve talked.”

She cocks her head. “What exactly are you sorry for? Lying to me? Trying to undermine me?”

No, all that was part of my job, and my motto has always been that if you don’t want to lose, you need to play the game better. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Wait.” She frowns, puzzling out my words. “You’re not sorry for anything you did, just that you got caught. You didn’t mean to make me feel bad, but…oh well.”

When she puts it like that… I wince. “Sloan, I—”

“Stop. There’s nothing you can say. I don’t even know why you’re trying. We’re not allies. We’re not friends. We’ll definitely never be lovers. I have a mountain of work to finish before I leave for London tomorrow, so I’m not giving you a minute more of my time.”

“Listen, not everything between us was a lie.” Why am I making myself vulnerable to her instead of going for the jugular?

“Only the important parts. I hope you enjoyed fucking me over last night, Sebastian. Because I’m not even close to done fucking you.”

With that, she shuts the window, flips me a middle finger before donning the headphones dangling around her neck, and lowers the shade.

I knock. I text.

Nothing.

Clearly, she needs more time to cool off.

But she’s out of her mind if she thinks I’m giving up on her. Maybe it’s the competitor in me. Or maybe it’s the man. Even though I’m returning to Maui tonight, Sloan will soon find out we’re nowhere near over.

The flight back to Maui seems to take forever. Despite taking off around dusk, we fly toward the sun and I arrive back home to another sunny day in paradise. But I’m exhausted—mostly because I can’t think of a way out of this clusterfuck yet.

When I walk in the door, my condo feels empty. My one houseplant is near death’s door, and I don’t have any mail that isn’t junk. Even the messages I received in-flight are all business related.

I spend a rare evening alone, pacing in front of my TV while clips from the Masters tournament flash in the background before I catch the tail end of the A’s playing the Angels. But I’m so knotted up over my fucking debacle, I have no idea who won.

The following morning is worse because now I have to face the music. Evan isn’t the sort to bite my head off or issue threats when I screw up. Nia is—and she won’t hold back.

An early-morning text from my boss’s outspoken wife telling me to meet her at Maxon and Keeley’s place ASAP lets me know she’s not in the forgiving mood.

I buckle up for a day of hell.