The Hustle (Irreparable 4)

Her features relax, but her body still trembles. I get up and pour her a glass of scotch, which she accepts and drains immediately. She spins the empty glass in her hand absently staring at the floor. “I was terrified.”

Although I want to reach across the couch and

comfort her, my heart resists, wanting nothing more than to protect itself. I stay grounded and stare at her, doing my best to look right through her, so I don’t have to really see her. So I don’t have to think about how I almost caved and invited her into my life. Imagine if Eduardo found out I in fact like Peyton. She’s a weakness I can’t afford. “I’m sorry this happened. I never thought he’d come after one of my employees or I would have hired security.”

We make eye contact and a hint of a smile touches her lips. “I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore.” She releases an awkward laugh, pulling on the hem of her skirt. “I’ve been in San Diego for over a year, and despite some drunk bum trying to steal my purse, I like it here.” I turn my head when she frowns. “But he was easy compared to this. I thought those men were going to kill me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say again, which sounds distant and cold and cowardly. Because I’m all of those things.

My insides melt when she smiles brightly. “I beat the bum over the head with my purse until he begged me to stop.”

I release a quiet laugh, realizing she’s going to be okay, and that like I would do; she’s using humor to ease stress. “Where are you from?” I ask.

“Up north, a tiny town called Shingle Springs . . . a cartel-free kind of town.”

“A boring town?” I joke.

“Yes, although at this point, boring sounds heavenly.”

“I’m sorry, Peyton, but I swear nothing is going to happen to you.”

She gives me the softest of smiles before standing up. “Come on, I want to show you what I’ve done with the loft.”

There hadn’t been an opportunity to tell her how much I love the front room with steal-blues and browns and coordinating abstract paintings . . . not pink.

I take her offered hand and let her lead me down the hall. My wood bedroom floors have been stained with a black finish and the wall behind my bed is black. A leather padded headboard stretches halfway up the wall. It’s a bit dark, but edgy and rough and far from the baby blues Maria had decorated with. It’s a new room for a new me and free from any reminders of my past.

“I love it,” I tell Peyton.

“Good.” She smiles. My hand still rest in hers as we cross the hall to Javier’s old room. The warmth of her skin soothes me and terrifies me. This is a woman I could fall for, another woman who could ruin me. I release her hand as she opens the door. Javier’s old room is decorated as drab as I’d hoped with sage-greens and tans, a plain guest room as I’d requested.

“Acceptable,” I say with a stiff nod.

“Follow me,” she requests, spinning and leaving the room.

I spot something peeking out from under the queen bed. As I bend down to pick it up, I recoil and fall onto my knees. The small wooden train engineer makes my blood boil. I pick it up and throw it against the wall. It ricochets and lands an inch away from me, taunting me with moments I’ll never again have with my son. I swear to god that little fucker does a dance while laughing at me.

“Are you coming?” I faintly hear Peyton through the rage clouding my thoughts.

With a long inhale, I rise to my feet and pick up the toy before slipping it into my pocket.

The glow of pink filters through the crack of my office and I hear Peyton giggling from inside. Her laughter eases my anger as I enter the room. “You think you’re quite funny, don’t you?”

“Little bit.” She nods with a smile so gorgeous I have to fight the urge to bend her over my desk and fuck her until I’m numb.

“I thought I told you this had better be painted over?”

She shrugs. “You did.”

“Yet, it’s still pink.”

“You also said to surprise you . . . Surprise!” She claps her hands in front of her chest with the jubilancy of a teenage girl.

My lip twitches and I can’t hold down the laughter bubbling up in my throat. Peyton’s lack of intimidation when it comes to me is comical and sexy and other emotions I don’t want to feel, but they’re there, tempting me to move beyond my anger and hurt.

“It’s perfect,” I say, putting on a serious face.

“You’re so full of crap.” She laughs, hopping up on my desk. “The painters will be back next week to paint it ecru.”