In fact, half of her wanted him to keep talking, to break into a full-out tirade, even. Because both of those were likely to further validate her choice to leave him. “One genuine apology would be nice. But there’s a difference between apologies and forgiveness and forgetting or overlooking. I have no intention of doing the latter. So I won’t be coming home. Or getting back together with you. Or marrying you. Which is why I returned your ring and packed my stuff.” She clasped her hands on the desktop to hide how much they were shaking. “Perhaps we should talk about who is calling to cancel what. I could take care of the venue, the photographer, and the band if you’ll cancel the honeymoon reservations, the florist, and the cake maker. And I assume you’d prefer to send out the email notifying the guests.” At least they didn’t have a slew of in-laws coming into town that they had to worry about disappointing. For once, neither of them having much in the way of family was an advantage.
His expression transformed, like he was confused and angry in equal measure. “Cancel the wedding? We’ll do no such thing.”
She blinked, because she’d been very clear on this already, yet he was acting almost surprised to hear it. “Grant, you’re not listening to me. We’re over.”
The rolling changes to his expression were almost comical. She couldn’t decide if he was trying to figure out how to play this or was actually this . . . emotionally out of control. It was so unlike him that all she could do was stare and wait for his reaction. Like watching to see which number the ball landed on in roulette.
“We are adults, Alexa. We will talk this out like adults,” he finally said.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said, trying very hard to keep her frustration in check. But talking to him right now was a lot like talking to a brick wall.
“There’s everything to talk about. There’s forever to talk about.”
“Grant—”
“What do you think is going to happen here, Alexa? That I’m just going to let you go? That I’m going to allow you to walk away from the life we’ve started building, the one that we’ve invited three hundred people to come celebrate and witness the start of in ten days? That you’re going to shack up with a criminal biker gang and I’m just going to stand for it?” His volume escalated on those last few words, his anger finally coming through, and he leaned over the desk, invading her space until it was hard to breathe.
Needing distance, she pushed back in her chair, her scalp prickling and her hair standing up on end. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard rage in his voice as scary or as lethal as what he’d just spoken. Whatever sass had been on the tip of her tongue melted away. Where had these mood swings come from? Or had she just never noticed because she’d always gone along to keep the peace?
“Surely, you realized that I would find out where you were.”
She had. Of course she had. It had only been a matter of time, and Frederick wasn’t that big—especially for Grant Slater. “If I was trying to hide where I was staying, I wouldn’t have Maverick giving me rides to and from work,” she said, hating the quivering in her voice. Maverick, who she’d had sex with. Maverick, who she wanted to have sex with again. Though she thought better than to share any of that with Grant. He probably wouldn’t want her back if he knew, which could be good. Except she feared his reaction would be a whole lot worse—and more damaging—than that. And, anyway, she hadn’t been with Maverick to get back at Grant, so she wasn’t sharing that with him for anything.
He made a sound full of disgust. “You’ve made your point with this little stunt. I only have so much patience. And I’m not letting you go without a fight,” he said, his tone seemingly calm but, to her, obviously razor sharp and ice cold.
“There’s nothing left to fight about, Grant,” she said, exasperated. How the heck was she going to get this through his head? “You said you wanted me to do this job for the model home, so would you please leave so I can do it? This conversation isn’t getting us anywhere.”
He jabbed his finger into the desk. “Agree to see me after work.”
“No.”
“Agree—”
“Grant, no.”
“Agree, Alexa.” His stare was like sitting under the lights in an interrogation room. Hot and uncomfortable.
“I can’t see you tonight. My mother has an appointment,” she lied, terribly, but she was desperate.
“Fine. Tomorrow night.” He arched a brow.
“Grant—”
“I’m hardly being unreasonable. You owe me an hour of your time.”
“No, I don’t—”
“I swear to God.” Anger washed off of him and over her. Despite the air-conditioning in the office, a trickle of sweat ran down the center of her back. He leaned closer and it seemed like his body vibrated with tension, like he might come right up over the desk at her. “Al—”