This Cruel Love

“So, tell me, why have you come here today?”

I sighed and looked down at my hands. I suddenly felt self-conscious, nervous about how to start this off. Trading insults was easy. Begging was not.

“I was hoping we could reach some sort of agreement. I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day.”

“Which part?” he cut in. “Was it when I told you your boyfriend was a gutter rat, or the part where I told you I don’t do negotiations?”

He wasn’t going to make this easy for me.

“But you did offer a negotiation, didn’t you? There was a deal on the table, as you put it.”

He placed his glass down slowly and looked up at me. I noticed that the dull, grey eyes I’d looked into twenty-four hours ago were now sparkling and alive.

“So, you want to take me up on my offer? One month? You and me?”

“No.” I clamped my mouth shut, willing myself not to insult him again, but to form my words carefully and engage my brain before I spoke.

“No?” He frowned.

“Well, what I meant to say is not quite. I have some of my own terms to add.”

“Go on.” He leaned forward, steepling his fingers together and looking intrigued.

I twisted my hands in my lap as nerves overtook me. He made me feel like an insecure teenager again. Like I was sat in the headmaster’s office, waiting to be punished.

“I’ll do your one month. I’ll act like I like you, and do what I can to get you those contracts you want.”

“That’s big of you.” He cocked his eyebrow as if he was making fun of me and it set me on edge.

“Isn’t it? I mean it’s going to be a stretch acting like I like you, when insulting you just comes so naturally.”

He huffed in annoyance, and I slapped my hand on my forehead.

“See, it spills out when I don’t even mean it to. Damn, what am I even doing here?” I whined.

“Insulting me? Oh, and trying to save your junkie boyfriend’s ass.”

“Fiancé,” I spat, and he glowered menacingly back at me. “Look, I’ll do it. I will. But I have something you need to do for me too. Well, two things, actually.”

“Not asking for much then?”

“You haven’t heard my terms yet!”

He waved his hand in the air for me to go on, as he appeared to look disinterested, but he was a rubbish liar. The hunger in his eyes gave him away.

“I’d need this to stay secret from Justin. I wouldn’t want him to know I was doing this.”

“And how do you propose to stay in my apartment for four weeks without your fiancé finding out?”

“That’s where the second term comes in.” I bit my lip nervously then took the proverbial jump. “I want you to pay for Justin to go into a good rehab facility for those four weeks. You’re gonna help me to get him clean.”

I waited for the impending rebuff, or snigger at my audacity, but it never came. Instead, Jackson Caine sat still in thought, rubbing over his five o’clock-shadowed square jaw and looking me dead in the eyes. When he finally replied, I almost fell off my chair.

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll do it?” My heart gave a little skip at the prospect of saving my Justin.

“Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll meet your terms, but I have one last term of my own.”