Debt

"It was what it was," I said, shrugging. "And now it's over. This is silly."

"Alright," he said, standing with a clap, "Aaron and I will just leave you two here for a minute to talk things over. If, after that, you still don't want to pursue this, fine. I will back off. But," he said, putting a hand to my cheek, "I do think that would be a giant mistake, Dear Prudence."

With that, he and Aaron shuffled out of the room. I watched until the door clicked quietly, blanketing the room in a heaviness that made the air feel hard to breathe.

"Prue..." Byron's voice called, making me squeeze my eyes shut for a second before taking a breath to face him. "Why did you leave all the clothes?"

"They weren't mine," I rushed to say.

"I gave them to you," he countered and any idiot knew that when someone gave you a dress, that they intended for you to keep it. "You left the dresses, but you took the chip and the notes and the sign from the hotel."

"You told me to go," I snapped suddenly, the thing inside that had cracked the day before breaking completely open and spilling everywhere inside. "Like you were dismissing some freaking unimportant secretary."

"Babe..." his voice trailed off, heavy with something that I was pretty sure he meant to be consolation, but I missed it.

"Don't babe me. That was shitty. That was shitty even if I wasn't in love with you. That would be shitty to do to a one-night stand, Byron. I was with you for a month. Day and night. I went on a trip with you. I opened up to you. And, like it or not, you opened up to me too. Then you just throw it in my face that my dad needs me? Because you knew that was the perfect way to manipulate the outcome you wanted, to play me. And that, Byron, that was even shittier..." I trailed off, hand slapping down over my mouth at everything I had just admitted. I had never been the type to just... spill all my thoughts and feelings. That wasn't what I did.

"You're in love with me?" he asked, his voice deep in a way I hadn't heard it before.

"I know. Stupid, right?" I asked, snorting at myself.

"Yeah, pretty stupid," he agreed, and I felt my lips tip up at that. "But also rather convenient."

"Convenient?" I asked, watching as he slowly stood, buttoning his suit jacket, then rounding the desk toward me.

He stalked up toward me, making me retreat a couple steps until my back hit the door. His hands planted on either side of my shoulders, caging me in. "Yeah, convenient. Because as fucked up as it might have happened, as much as it doesn't make any God damn sense for either of us, and as hard as this is to admit for someone like me... I think I love you too, Prue." Then he leaned in closer, his smile stretching almost boyishly. "It's some straight out of Disney shit."

I swallowed hard against the hope that soared through my system, knowing how fleeting it usually tended to be. "Not to sound insecure or self-deprecating here... but... why me?"

"Fuck if I know, babe. It's... everything."

"When did you know?"

At that, he huffed out his breath in a way that it was a laugh, but not quite, as he looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "Know? I dunno... five minutes ago maybe. I'm not exactly the kind of man who is into all that gushy shit."

"No flowers or prince charmings," I agreed, remembering what he told me in his kitchen.

"Right. And admitting I love you, that doesn't change any of that."

"I don't need flowers. I get handwritten recipes," I said, giving him a smile that he returned briefly. "And my favorite prince charming was a Beast, remember?"

"Until he wasn't anymore. Just making shit clear here, babe. Love isn't going to change me suddenly. I'm still going to have my dick moments."

"I've been fine with that..."

"For a month. Babe, we're talking about more than that here. It could get old."

"So it gets old," I shrugged. "You can't make me any guarantees. And I wouldn't believe them if you tried. That's not how this works. I know exactly what I am getting into here, Byron. For once in my life, I want to take a chance."

"On me."

"Yeah. And what we might be able to have together. I know you're a workaholic. And I know you aren't a great communicator sometimes and a lot of time, when you do communicate, you say all the wrong things in the wrong tone and it pisses me off or drives me up a wall. But you make up for it by paying attention to me, by listening to me... even when you cut me off... you hear me. You... I dunno... you...