He wets his lips, and looks at me, lost, pained. ‘Is that why you’ve come? To have it out? To give me what I deserve?’
I straighten my spine. ‘That—and I want to know what Ash told you about me.’
He gives a gentle scoff. ‘As if you don’t already know.’
‘I want to hear it from you.’
He shakes his head again, one corner of his lip lifting. ‘Fuck all, if you must know...’ He leans back in his chair. ‘I should’ve known the guy was smitten. He’s supposed to be the best in the industry—it never occurred to me that he would fall under your perfect spell too.’
‘Don’t say that.’ The way he drawls out the word perfect makes my skin crawl. ‘I’m not perfect.’
‘On that we must agree to disagree.’
‘Is that why you hate me so much? Is that why you felt I deserved it?’
He stares at me, the silence long and strained.
‘The truth is I never hated you. I envied you. Ash told me nothing because there was nothing to tell—because you didn’t deserve it.’ His voice cracks and he clears his throat, visibly trying to recover. ‘But me, on the other hand...’
He leans back in his seat to open a drawer in the desk and pulls out a manila envelope. He tosses it onto the desk before me.
‘What’s this?’ I pick it up, my eyes still trained on him.
‘You might as well take a look...’ He rubs his jaw, the movement awkward, shaky. ‘He’s probably told you it all already.’
I go to open it, but stop. It just doesn’t feel right. ‘What’s inside?’
‘You really don’t know?’
‘I’m assuming it’s information relating to you?’
He smiles at me but his eyes are dead, wet at the corners. ‘It’s all my dirty laundry. Seems he was making sure I wouldn’t take any steps against you. Judging by your expression, you had nothing to do with this bonus investigative work?’
My stomach twists. ‘I’d never do that to you.’
He sits forward in his chair, knocking back his drink with a wince. ‘No, you wouldn’t, would you?’
His eyes meet mine, red-rimmed and swimming. I want to reach for him, tell him it doesn’t mean he can’t change, be a better person, free of the women who have tormented him for years. But I’m rooted. Unsure.
‘I don’t blame him, you know.’ He’s reflective as he says it. ‘He was right to fall for you, to protect you... Christ, I’m glad he did.’
My eyes narrow. ‘You are?’
He rakes his hand over his face. ‘I don’t think I could’ve come back from that.’
‘From what?’
I want him to spell it out, to acknowledge his intent. I need to hear it from his lips, to have it out in the open and believe that he regrets it, that there’s hope for us.
His eyes and his hunched-up body tremble.
‘From ruining me?’ I press, so softly it’s a wonder he hears. But his shuddery breath, the awkward nod of his head, tell me that he has.
‘I am sorry, Coco. I know it’s not enough, and I don’t even know if I can ever make it up to you, but...’ Another breath and his eyes lock with mine. ‘But I’m going to try.’
A lump forms high in my throat and I lift my chin and nod. ‘I believe you, Philip. I don’t need to read this.’ I close the envelope without looking inside and place it back on the desk. ‘We can talk when you’re ready. I’m still your sister—your blood—and I don’t want to lose you.’
He eyes me, disbelieving. ‘How can you mean that? After all I’ve done?’