Stealing Her (Covet 1)

Julian Tennyson, so freaking nice.

I dumped my remaining coffee in the trash can outside my building and waved at Harold on my way in.

“It’s a good afternoon, Miss Cunningham.”

I smiled back. It wasn’t his fault he was just as delusional about my relationship with Julian as the rest of the world. “Yes, it will be, at least. Hopefully.”

He gave me a sympathetic look before shaking his head and offering a polite smile. “You enjoy your day off.”

Right. He knew my schedule well. The pity in his eyes made my stomach sink. Like he knew that I was trapped in a life I would do anything to escape, a life I’d finally tried to escape only to have the universe pull a trump card in the end. Enjoy my day off? Doing what? Sitting alone and waiting to find out about my fate?

“Right.” I nodded slowly and hit the penthouse floor. With each floor the elevator shot up, anxiety doubled, tripled, quadrupled, until my body felt heavy with it.

I exited the elevator and stared at our gorgeous marble entryway, with its modern lines and edgy pops of orange.

I’d fallen in love with it based on the entryway alone.

He’d surprised me with it that night.

A year later I discovered he’d already scoped out the building. He knew I’d like it because one of the women who worked at the company had invited him over for a drink.

We got in a huge fight about him having a private drink with a coworker, alone. He was drunk, apologized profusely, and bought me a new Maserati.

Idiot. Fool.

I was so stupid.

I’d just wanted to believe in him, in us.

He was all I had.

With a deep breath, I opened the door and dropped my phone and keys on the counter. I needed another shower and made a pact with myself to go down to the hospital. Let them escort me out if they needed to, I just had to know.

I needed to know.

Decision made, I quickly showered, pulled my hair into a sleek ponytail. I slipped into white linen pants and a loose white blouse, pairing them with a new pair of gold Louis Vuittons and gold hoop earrings.

I wasn’t allowed to be caught in anything but heels when I was with Julian, and if he was . . . alive, I—God, listen to me! What? I didn’t want to offend the lying, cheating bastard I’d broken up with?

I kicked off the heels, put on blue flats I knew would piss him off, and grabbed my purse just as a key turned in the lock.

My lock.

To my door.

To our apartment.

I waited, expecting to see the maid, ready to tear into her for even coming back. Anxiety spiked. What if it was another mistress? God, how sick was he?

The door opened.

And Julian locked eyes with me.

One eye to be exact, the left one was swollen shut. His jaw had a purple-and-yellow bruise marring his perfect chin, but beneath the bruises and cuts, his face was still sculpted, still perfect.

“J-Julian.” I hated that I didn’t feel relief. I hated that I wanted to shove him out the window. I hated the person he made me, damn him. “Thank God you’re okay.”

A toddler could hear the lack of sympathy in my words, but I needed to say them, because I refused to let him take away something so simple as my manners too.

He didn’t speak for a full minute.

I hated this game.

I hated that he was still playing it even when he’d almost died, should have, could have.

I moved from one foot to the other. “I was just going to visit you in the hospital. They, um, wouldn’t let me in yesterday.”

He kept staring and then looked down at my shoes. “A bit overdressed for the hospital, don’t you think?”

His voice wasn’t right.

He swayed a bit on his feet.

And then collapsed against the bar top, letting out a loud curse.

Stunned, I watched for a few brief seconds before rushing over and helping him. Instinct kicked in. I used my nursing training.

His injuries were extensive.

The doctor had looked so grim!

But he was alive!

And currently holding his weight against me, his forehead touching mine. “Sorry.”

Did the man just apologize for not having the strength to stand? He really must have hit his head hard. I felt the tears then, tears brought on by one word.

Sorry.

He said sorry.

It wasn’t often that he apologized. It was stupid that I wanted to cry because he did.

“How did they let you leave the hospital like this?” I asked, getting more concerned by the minute. He looked disoriented and miserable.

“Easy.” He bit down on his full bottom lip. “I wanted to be home with my fiancée and my dad”—he spat dad like he hated the word—“threw money at them. Besides, it’s better to heal at home with those you love, right?”