Rebel (Renegades 2)

Wes nodded slowly. “That’s…ominous. ”

Rubi lifted one shoulder. “More…inevitable. ”

She closed her eyes, pulled in a breath, and blew it out slowly through her lips. Her anger had ebbed into annoyed resignation, and she knew that had a lot to do with Wes.

“What can I do to help this go smoother?” he asked, voice soft, serious.

She opened her eyes, and the sincerity in his gaze, the pure affection, slammed Rubi’s chest like a rocket. She twisted her mouth into a smirk. “Probably by staying out of it. ”

He matched her lopsided grin. “I’ll do my best. ”

The doors opened, and Rubi stepped toward him. She patted his chest once. “Your best is outstanding, Lawson. ”

She turned and walked directly into a seating area. Drawing herself up with a confidence she didn’t feel, Rubi straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and pushed assurance into her step, telling herself she owned the room.

“Ms. Russo…” The secretary’s dark eyes were wide as she set the phone down-from Frank’s call, Rubi knew. Then her gaze cut to Wes, where he stayed several feet behind her. “I… I…”

Rubi stopped in front of the desk and held out her hand. The young woman’s gaze darted between Rubi’s hand and her face before she reached out and curved her fingers around Rubi’s.

“Good to meet you,” Rubi said.

She pivoted on her flip-flop and went straight to the floor-to-ceiling door in her father’s office, flung it open, and walked in, with the shocked and panicked secretary stuttering behind her.

“Ms. Russo… Ms. Russo, please don’t…”

From the corner of Rubi’s eye, she saw Wes cut into the woman’s path. The secretary stopped short, her eyes wide as they climbed his chest to his face. Wes was a full foot taller. “You’ll be safer if you don’t get between those two. ”

“B-but-”

Wes stepped into the office and closed the door-quietly-in the woman’s face.

He turned, keeping his body tall and taut, hands clasped, stance shoulder width. He met her gaze with a silent message of unwavering support and unquestioning belief. An irrational surge of emotion shot through Rubi-gratitude and affection and a sense of humility for his friendship. And she couldn’t deny the decrease in anger toward Dolph when she had someone as good as Wes in her life.

“I’m sorry to cut this short, Larry. ” Dolph’s deep, commanding voice seemed to fill every crevice of the office. “A problem’s just come up. ”

Rubi met her father’s annoyed glance. This was old, old history. Straight out of his worst-father-of-the-year playbook. The warmth Wes had infused now drained. Quickly. Leaving her cold. And empty.

“And that problem would be me?” she asked.

“I’m trying to run a business here. ” Dolph stood in profile, looking out at the city lights from one of his many picture windows. He pulled a Bluetooth from his ear and tossed the headset on a stack of papers. His dark skin, at least three shades darker than Rubi’s, pulled taut over his face in what looked like both fatigue and aggravation. “You still listen as well as you did when you used to stuff Q-tips in your ears at four. ”

She shouldn’t have come. She knew that now. The moment she’d gotten the call from the Realtor, discovered Dolph had undercut her again, she should have walked out of that house and into a hotel. Stayed there until she’d found another place to live. That would have cut her last tie to Dolph. This spontaneous visit had been an irrational codependent effort to keep the turmoil between them alive. A reflex. Because turmoil had always been better than nothing.

Only…it wasn’t anymore.

“You wouldn’t really know,” she said. “You never talked to me when I was four. Or six. Or eight. Or eighteen. ”

With a condescending smirk, Dolph rounded his desk and sat on the edge. He cast a careless survey over Wes, then turned back to Rubi. “Are you just here to add more aggravation to my day?”

The simple act of looking at him, speaking to him, stirred years and years, layers upon layers of hurt and anger and soul-deep disappointment. She did her best to put it into perspective. This could be the last time she ever spoke with him if she chose. That helped her hold an even tone.

“Why did you put the house on the market without telling me?”

He made a careless gesture with his hand as if dismissing her. “The Realtor was supposed to take care of it. ”

“Is it too much to ask of my father to touch a button and dial his daughter to give her the information himself?”

“I’m busy. ” He used his don’t-push-it tone. Only, he couldn’t send her to her room anymore. Couldn’t punish her. Couldn’t take anything away-he’d already put the only thing she wanted from him on the market.