“I’m in love with you!”
The announcement is like a hammer falling from the sky. If he had told me that any other time, I would’ve been ecstatic, but this… I can’t even process what’s happening.
Red suffuses his face, and he’s breathing hard. “And all you can think about is our damn divorce to come in a year. After all this”—he digs his fingers into his hair—“I’m not even sure why you’re still with me, except maybe it’s that you need money a lot more than I thought you did.”
The words hit me one after another like bullets. I never knew until now how they can leave a person bleeding. “Ryder!”
He’s shaking his head. “No. I just… I can’t look at you right now.”
Something inside me crumbles but I know I have to stop him. I have to make him see that he’s mistaken. That I love him too.
But he’s already moving, his hands palms out. “I have to go…before I say something I’m really going to regret.”
Before I can stop him, he’s gone. The door closes with a bang, leaving me alone and shaken.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ryder
By the time I park my Ferrari, my head has cleared a little. I look around and realize I’m in Elliot’s underground garage. How did I get here? It’s as though instinct has brought me to the one person who can maybe understand what I’m going through.
Then I reconsider. Elliot won’t understand anything. He’s never been in love.
But at least he’ll be good company. He’ll let me drink and won’t pester me with questions. And he certainly won’t look at me with that expression of horror and shock that came over Paige’s face when I told her I loved her.
It would’ve been a lot less painful if she’d just stabbed me with a knife. An electric, double-bladed carving knife. Serrated, like they use on turkeys at Thanksgiving.
Set on high.
Thankfully, Elliot is home when I buzz his unit on the top floor. He looks like shit though. His hair is sticking up everywhere, and he has a least two days’ growth of beard. He’s in a white undershirt and pale gray shorts.
“What are you doing here?” He rubs sleep from bleary eyes. “What time is it?”
He stands aside so I can walk in. At least the penthouse is clean. Stacks of magazines lie neatly in a rustic basket, one he brought back from Tuscany a couple years ago. The glass tabletop is dust-free, the white couches are spotless, and the hardwood floor has a fresh coat of wax. There’s even a vase full of fresh daisies on the dining table.
Not that any of it is due to him, of course. Elliot is a complete pig who couldn’t figure out how to turn on a vacuum cleaner if you taped the switch to a stripper’s nipple. His housekeeper comes by four times a week to keep the place neat. Otherwise the government would seize it for health code violations.
“It’s late morning.” I check my watch. “Actually, it’s noon.”
He yawns, his jaw cracking. “Yeah. Early. I didn’t come home until six.”
“You still hitting the strip clubs?” I sit down on a couch and try to stretch out. My neck and lower back are tight, and it’s not from working out.
“Yup.” Elliot sprawls in an armchair.
“So what’s taking so long? Is there a bimbo embargo or something? Just pick one and marry her.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not? It’s only for a year.”
“I can’t just marry any stripper, even if it’s only for a year. Gotta make sure she’s super hot.”
I roll my eyes. “The clubs you frequent, they’re all pretty damn hot. And again, it’s only for a year. So why bother?”
He squints at me. “You’re making me worried. Did something happen with you and Paige?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”