Cherry Lover (Cherry 2)

I stepped back, afraid of his proximity rather than aroused by it. I dropped my chin because I didn’t want to look at him when he was like this. I also didn’t want to see his reaction when I told him the truth. “When I went home this morning…my place had been robbed.”

He stilled in place, his breathing absent.

I kept looking at the floor because I was too scared to meet his gaze.

He said nothing, but his rage filled the air around us.

I couldn’t stand the mystery, wondering what his features looked like, so I lifted my gaze to meet his.

He was terrifying.

“They took everything, even my fridge. The only thing they left behind was my makeup—”

“And you went inside?” he hissed.

“There was clearly no one there—”

“That was for the police to decide—not you. Did you call them?”

“Of course. They’re working on it…”

“Do you have renters insurance?”

My answer was obvious, so I didn’t bother saying it.

His nostrils flared once more. With a fury that couldn’t be contained, he looked at me like he’d never been so disappointed. His limbs started to shake slightly so he stepped away, as if he needed space before he did something stupid. “I told you to move.”

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I told you to fucking move.” He faced me again, his chest more muscular than usual because his skin was pumped full of blood and adrenaline.

“I’m not a millionaire who can just do whatever the hell I want.”

“But you have no loans.”

“But I haven’t even been paid since you paid back my loans. Money doesn’t grow on trees for me, Slate. My problems don’t disappear, because I can’t throw money at them. I do the best I can with the hand I was dealt. You wouldn’t understand…”

“First of all, I’m a billionaire—”

“Wow…fuck you.” I’d just had all my shit robbed, and he had the nerve to throw his wealth at me. I didn’t even fantasize about being rich the way he was. I fantasized about having some security, like having a safe place to live and food on the table. I didn’t dream of having a driver to take me everywhere.

His eyes flashed with hostility. “I’m a billionaire, which means I can help you.”

“You’ve already helped me enough.” He’d given me over six hundred thousand dollars to wipe my name clear of debt. I was the biggest donation he’d probably given all year.

“I never helped you. I paid for you—not the same thing at all.”

“However you want to spin it, you’ve done enough.” I wouldn’t take a dime from him.

His anger was still at the forefront of his behavior, and it seemed like he wanted to strangle me with his large hands. “Then what will you do? What’s your next plan?”

I shrugged. “Get a sleeping bag and wait until I get paid.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say, because he lost his shit. “Those motherfuckers could have broken in during the night and raped you. Do you understand that? They could have raped you then took all your stuff. Thank god you were at my place.”

“I’m sure they waited until I was at your place before they made their move.”

He took a sudden step backward, like he needed to restrain himself before he slapped me in the face. “And what if they didn’t? What if they saw a beautiful woman all alone in her apartment and decided to take more than just your shit?” His arms stayed by his sides, the muscles twitching because there was so much fury in his blood.

“We can debate about that all night long, but it didn’t happen.”

“But it could have happened.” He pointed his finger in my face. “And the fact that’s even a possibility is unacceptable. You should have moved when I told you to move, and since you didn’t, you’re doing it now.”

“I agree. I probably shouldn’t stay there anymore—”

“Probably?” he snapped. “You can’t stay there anymore. You’d better have a new place to live this week—and not in another shitty neighborhood. You need to get closer to the center of Manhattan.”

“No such thing in my price range, unless I get some roommates. And even then, we’ll have two girls per room. I’d rather live in a dump alone than share my space. I’m twenty-three years old. I shouldn’t be living with someone.”

“Then you’ll have to make it work.”

“Even with my loans gone, that’s nearly impossible.”

“You better figure something out. If you think I’m gonna let this go, I’m not.”

No, I knew better than that.

As if he couldn’t stand to look at me anymore, he walked back to the table and sat down. He picked up his fork and stared at his food without taking a bite.

Once it seemed like his hostility had dimmed, I joined him at the table.

He didn’t move, staring at his food like an immobile statue.