Текст книги "The Billionaire Takes a Bride"

Автор книги: Jessica Clare

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

She freed his cock from his clothing and took him in her hand. Definitely hard. Definitely big and delicious. She trailed her fingers over his length, teasing him, before leaning in and licking the head.

His hand knotted in her hair and he gave another wild groan. “Fuck, you’re amazing, Chelsea.”

She felt pretty amazing, too. She felt sexy and carefree.

Chelsea took him in her mouth and used her tongue to lavish attention on his cock. She paid attention to his signals, like when a particular slide of her tongue made him suck in a breath, or when dragging her lips across the fat head of his cock made him groan aloud. She wrapped her fingers around the base of him and began to pump him in time with her deep, suctioning motions. His hand grew tighter in her hair, and he started to guide her head, dragging her up and down on his cock. And oh, that turned her on, too. That he was using her to pleasure himself. If she had a free hand, she’d be touching between her legs right now.

“God, your mouth. You’re so fucking good at that, baby.” When she dragged her tongue from the base of his cock to the head, he brushed his fingers over her jaw. “Gonna come soon. You want me inside you?”

She licked the head again and gave him a naughty look. “I want you in my mouth.”

His head went back and he groaned again. “Yeah?”

“Deep in my throat.”

“Ah, fuck, I’m going to come just from you talking about it.” His hand steered her head down toward his cock again. “Let me see you rub your lips on my cock again.”

She did, dragging her tongue over the head over and over again. Then she took him deep into her mouth and sucked, pulling him deeper and deeper with every pump of him into her mouth. His cock butted at the back of her throat, and she released him, coughed, and then took him deep again.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “I’m going to come if you keep doing that, Chelsea—”

So naturally, she kept doing exactly that, and felt pretty smug about it, too. And when he came with a hoarse shout of her name, his come filling her mouth, she felt pretty smug about that, too.

Screw having second thoughts. What they had right now was real, and it was fun. She didn’t need to look any further than that.

Chapter Twenty-two

Their relationship fell into a happy routine, and for the next while? Chelsea was happier than she’d ever been. Being married? Freaking awesome. Being married to someone who supported her love for derby? Even better than awesome. Sebastian went with her to practices to keep her company, and sketched people from the sidelines while she ran drills and hung out with her friends. His presence wasn’t intrusive, and she never felt smothered. In fact, she appreciated that he cared enough to come with her.

They’d started skating together in Central Park, and while it had taken a few days for Sebastian to get up to speed on roller skates, he was now almost able to keep up. Of course, the moment she did a jump or started skating backward, he called foul and they ended up in a tickle fight in the grass.

Once he caught her, of course.

It was nice to have a workout partner again, though. And she’d even gone to a rock-climbing excursion with him once when Hunter had to cancel on him due to a business call. She’d watched Sebastian scale the wall, then wait his turn to go again. She had no desire to try it herself, because heights weren’t her friend. But watching Sebastian flex and move as he scaled the wall? She was down for that.

The climbing gym was always busy, he told her with a bit of frustration.

So she’d suggested he use some of his money and start a chain of them. And she might have suggested derby gyms, too. After all, what was the point of having loads of money if you did nothing with it?

Sebastian liked the idea, though. Fun, different avenues for people to work out that didn’t involve sitting at a weight bench or endlessly running on a treadmill? He loved the idea and immediately called Hunter, asking about possible real estate locations. And Chelsea was flattered when he started showing her potential sites and asking her opinion. It wasn’t that she knew a lot about rock climbing or gyms. He just valued her thoughts, and that made her feel warm inside.

And the sex?

The sex was amazing.

She still needed her gear to feel sexy, of course. What was broken wasn’t going to be fixed overnight. She knew that, and she didn’t even feel guilty about the fact that all the lights were on in the house all the time, and that Sebastian sometimes had to sleep with a baseball cap over his face to block out the lights. He wanted her to be comfortable, he said, and that was that.

And so she wore her derby gear when they had sex. And they had sex a lot. In the kitchen, with Chelsea sprawled on top of a counter. In bed, with Sebastian pounding into her from behind as she clung to the blankets. In his study. In the living room, on the sofa. In his study again. Actually, she really liked surprising him in his study, when he was intensely lost in concentration. She’d show up in skates and then they’d make love for hours.

It was pretty darn awesome.

She was slowly removing pieces of her uniform, too. Last night, she’d worn only the skirt, the knee-high socks, and her skates. No top. Her breasts had jiggled free, and Sebastian had lavished so much attention on them that she hadn’t felt weird about it. She hadn’t had the mental energy for it. Eventually, she’d be able to go on to stripped-down sex, but until then, they were having fun with her in her uniform. And Sebastian never made her feel like less, or that there was something wrong with her.

He made her feel beautiful. Perfect. Happy.

Which was why she wanted to kick herself when she had doubts.

They never talked about their relationship. Never discussed if it was a real marriage, or if it was still pretend-with-bonus-sex-now-included. They were friends, of course. She’d stopped texting Pisa her every thought as they hit her and instead found herself spending more time with Sebastian, asking him about new soap orders or sharing a derby anecdote with him. It was Sebastian who went skating with her at the park. It was Sebastian who held her when she woke up at night from a nightmare flashback. It was Sebastian who assured her that things would be all right. Her world was full of Sebastian, and it was wonderful.

But was she just clinging to him because Pisa had left her? Was she a sad sack who had to cling to someone and he was just her most recent someone?

More than that, she worried she was attaching way too much to the relationship. That she was the one with the feelings. Sebastian was a private sort of person, and he tended to keep things bottled up. She still hadn’t approached him about doing Gretchen’s portrait. The last time she’d mentioned his art, he’d grown so uncomfortable that he’d shut down and she’d switched subjects. He had trouble opening up, and she got it. She knew that Pisa had a hard time talking derby with people, especially after being dumped over it.

And Chelsea had her own skeletons in her closet. She’d never judge him.

But every time he called her “love,” she wondered. What of their relationship was real and what was in her imagination?

*   *   *

Sebastian was at one of his rock-climbing meet-ups with Hunter when Chelsea got a mysterious text from Sebastian’s mother. She’d opted to go shopping for more soap supplies, looking for different strains of rose scents to make some test soaps for Gretchen as requested. They were still a long way off from the wedding, of course, but Chelsea liked to plan ahead. Plus, okay, she liked experimenting with her soaps, and this was going to be an especially fun experiment.

They hadn’t heard from Sebastian’s mother since the big “confrontation” on camera. How she’d gotten Chelsea’s personal phone number, Chelsea wasn’t sure. But there was no mistaking that the unknown-number text was from her.

Unknown: We need to have a private conversation, away from Nugget. I need you to meet me at this cafe. Come in disguise. This is urgent. Don’t tell my son we’re meeting, either. That will only be worse for you.

Well, gee. That was all kinds of ominous. The cafe was just around the corner, though. Chelsea quickly texted her back, saying she was on her way. It might be a mistake, but since she was already out, she might as well see what the woman wanted.

Then she could tell Sebastian all about it, and he could step in, if needed. But Chelsea wasn’t afraid of a little confrontation. If she had to personally tell “Mama Precious” Cabral that she needed to step off, she would.

Chelsea entered the restaurant and looked for a familiar head of gray hair streaked with bold colors, and a cluster of cameras. She didn’t see anything, so headed for the bar to wait. Rufus was her ever-present shadow. He never talked to her, just kept a few paces behind. She watched as he sat at the other end of the bar and nodded at her. She must have gotten there ahead of Mrs. Cabral. Chelsea set her bags down on the stool next to her and smiled at the bartender, but before she could order a water, someone approached from the other side.

“Psst.”

Chelsea turned, and stared.

Mrs. Cabral was there, after all. She wore an enormous white wide-brimmed hat, the kind you’d see at the Kentucky Derby. Enormous dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she tipped them down to look at Chelsea. “I’m going to sit at a booth in the back, and then you should wait two minutes and join me.”

Okay, this was officially weird. Chelsea nodded and watched as Mrs. Cabral walked away. She wasn’t wearing one of her garish, loud-colored suits today. Instead, she wore black trousers and a black jacket. Huh. Why the need to go incognito? Were they not filming this? Didn’t this woman have everything in her life filmed, including the personal and embarrassing?

So why be anonymous now? It didn’t make sense.

Chelsea drummed her fingers on the counter, and then when it felt like two minutes, headed to Mrs. Cabral’s table. She slid in and the woman held a menu to her face, obscuring it. “Where’s my son today?”

“He’s working out with a friend,” Chelsea said. “Then he’s going to look at real estate.”

“Real estate? For what?” Mrs. Cabral wrinkled her nose. “The man has a perfectly fine town house.”

Actually, the town house was nice and spacious by Manhattan standards, but it had a lot of tiny, unused rooms. Sebastian’s art room was a cluttered, dark pit no bigger than some shoe closets. Chelsea wanted him to have an open, bright studio to work in, and when he’d been looking for real estate for rock-climbing gyms, she’d been shopping for a new condominium for him. Maybe a penthouse in one of the new buildings that boasted spacious, open rooms and lots of windows. She’d shown him a brochure and had casually mentioned that the place was a lot closer to derby practice, and had room for his art, and he had been intrigued.

So she was spending his money for him. So what? She’d asked him how much was in his trust fund from his father once, and had choked at the amount. Billions. Just sitting there. So yeah, he could spring for a new place, even if it cost him thirty million or more.

“He wants a new art studio,” Chelsea said. “He’s trying to move ahead with his art.”

“Those silly doodles? Is he still into that?” She shook her head. “Childish foolery. He needs to grow up.”

“He’s talented. Have you seen his work? He’s very good.”

“So is a monkey if you give him a crayon.” Her mouth pursed as if she’d tasted something unpleasant. “You’d be better off encouraging him to play the stock market instead of playing with paints.”

No wonder Sebastian was so private about his art. Chelsea was immediately sorry she’d brought it up. Mrs. Cabral could be downright vicious at times. “Why don’t we just talk about why we’re here?”

“I’m here because you need to leave my son.” She set the menu down and folded her hands. “I’m afraid it’s not going to work out.”

Chelsea gave her a curious look. “Uh, what exactly is not going to work out?”

“Your marriage. It’s gone on long enough but now it needs to end.”

“That’s not your call to make.”

“It is if you love him and respect him.” Mrs. Cabral adjusted her sunglasses. Her mouth was still pulled into that angry frown. “If you do, you’ll pack up and leave at once.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Then perhaps this will.” She opened her purse and pulled out a USB stick, then slid it across the table toward Chelsea.

She was really confused now. “What’s on that?”

“That is blackmail information.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

The woman’s lips curled. “Don’t be stupid. Someone is blackmailing me. They’re going to release this video unless I pay them.”

“Video? Of what?”

“It’s you.”

Chelsea’s stomach plummeted. “Me what?” Her voice was a frightened whisper.

“You on tape, you stupid girl. You with some man, to be precise. It’s disgusting.” She flicked the USB toward Chelsea. “Take it home and see for yourself.”

How could it be a video of her? She’d never allowed a lover to have a camera in the bedroom, wasn’t one of those girls that took dirty selfies. There was no way she’d have—

Oh, god.

This wasn’t happening.

It wasn’t.

She felt encased in ice. Like the world had suddenly flash-frozen and she was caught up in the destruction.

Someone had video of her rape. This guy was out there, and he knew who she was, and he was going to use that information and ruin her fragile happiness.

She wanted to vomit.

She wanted to die.

Mrs. Cabral’s mouth kept moving, and Chelsea realized dumbly that she was still talking. She forced herself to listen to the woman, the USB stick sitting in the middle of the table between them like a cockroach. ”. . . I’ve spent too long building up our family name and making us famous. I’m not going to let who we are be ruined because you can’t keep your legs together and have the grace not to film it. If the network finds out about this, we’re going to be the laughingstock of everyone in Hollywood. I won’t have that, and I won’t pay blackmailers. The best way to correct this situation is simply for you to get out of Sebastian’s life. If you’re not around, there’s no one to blackmail over.”

“Okay,” Chelsea breathed.

Mrs. Cabral sat back, clearly surprised at Chelsea’s quick concession. “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”

What could she say? What could she do that would make this better? Absolutely nothing. And the last thing she’d ever wanted to do was hurt Sebastian. The thought of him seeing the video was like a knife in her gut.

He’d see that, and he’d realize how ruined she was. How unworthy of him she was. Hot tears started to spill from her eyes, and to her surprise, Mrs. Cabral offered her a napkin.

“It’s not personal, my dear,” Mrs. Cabral said. “It’s business. This family is my business. You understand, don’t you?”

Chelsea nodded.

“So you’ll leave him? Today?” she pressed.

What choice did Chelsea have? “I’ll tell him tonight that it’s over.”

“Leave now,” Mrs. Cabral emphasized. “Send him a note. I can get a private jet for you. Don’t give him the opportunity to convince you to stay. Just get out of New York and go into hiding.”

No. She’d leave him, but on her own terms. Sebastian deserved better than her fleeing like a rat in the night. She swallowed hard and pushed the USB stick back toward Mrs. Cabral. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing he can say that would make me change my mind. This will be the last time you see me.”

Mrs. Cabral nodded. “Good.”

*   *   *

Chelsea was in a daze as she took the subway home. She didn’t know if she’d lost Rufus, and she didn’t care. If someone had tried to hold a conversation with her, she’d have failed miserably. Horror rolled in her mind, over and over again.

She’d ruined Sebastian.

Destroyed him. He’d wanted the marriage for convenience’s sake, and no matter what it had morphed into now, he’d ultimately wanted to get married because he’d wanted to avoid attention. There’d be no avoiding it if that tape got out. He’d lose any respectability or credibility once his name was attached to hers.

Because it wasn’t just a sex tape—it was a crime. The media would have a field day. Some people would be disgusted that it would be out, and others would be titillated. The more lurid it was, the more people would check it out.

She’d be infamous overnight.

And here she’d been encouraging Sebastian to go a little more public with his art. To look at someday trying to set up an exhibition. To move forward and show the world that Sebastian Cabral was more than just a man with money and an annoying family. To show that he had genuine talent and to share it with the world.

His name would be garbage if hers was attached to it. She’d ruin everything she touched.

Which was why she had to leave.

She walked home and entered the town house, noting it was utterly quiet. No Sebastian, not yet. That was good. That’d give her time to pack and settle her mind before he came home.

She picked up her favorite derby bag, the one big enough to hold all her important stuff, and began to cram clothing and gear into it.

Then she sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the implications of leaving hitting her. Shit. Gretchen’s wedding. She couldn’t be in it. Not now. And her derby team? She was going to have to bail out on them, too. Hot tears flooded down her face. She was disappointing everyone.

But at least Gretchen was easy to bail out on. As much as she wanted to run away and hide, Sebastian deserved a face-to-face good-bye. She picked up her phone and wiped away her tears, then texted Gretchen the bad news.

Next up, her derby sisters.

Chapter Twenty-three

Sebastian and Hunter had spent the morning rock climbing, and then Sebastian had gone to visit his father, since his mother had claimed to be out visiting friends. He’d spent a nice, quiet lunch with Dad, feeling a little guilty that he wasn’t spending more time with him. Dad’s health was getting more fragile by the year, and he wouldn’t be around forever. Sebastian vowed not to let his mother continue to chase him off from family visits.

As he’d left the Cabral home, he’d gotten a text from Hunter. Can you come by this afternoon? Need to have an impromptu groomsmen meeting. 2 P.M.

Sebastian sent back an affirmative, and then instructed his driver that he needed to go to Buchanan Manor instead of straight home. He sent Chelsea a text letting her know he’d be late for their afternoon skating workout through Central Park, but didn’t get a response.

Maybe she was still out buying soap supplies.

When his car pulled up, he instructed the driver to wait. “No idea how long this will take, so stick around.” He got out of the car and noticed a few others were parked. Those must have been the other men. Not for the first time, Sebastian wondered why they were having a groomsmen meeting in person when it could have been just as easily solved by a few phone calls or text messages. Or emails. Was the wedding called off? He’d seen Hunter earlier today and he hadn’t indicated any trouble.

Odd.

He said a quick hello to Hunter’s elderly butler and headed up the stairs to Hunter’s office. The door was open, and he knocked quickly, then entered. A few other men were there already. Asher, Cooper, Levi, and Hunter.

Hunter gestured at one of the chairs across from his desk. “Sit. We’re just waiting on Magnus.”

The other three men gave him wary looks as he sat down. “What’s this about?”

“I’ll explain soon enough.” Hunter’s expression was grave. Then again, he was usually somber.

Sebastian shrugged and checked his phone, looking for a missed text from Chelsea. She normally answered fast. Nothing again. Huh.

The men waited in tense, uncomfortable silence as Hunter continued to work on his computer. A few minutes later, though, Magnus entered, a big, strapping man with an equally perplexed expression on his face. “Hello, boys. Surprised to see you all here.”

Sebastian shot him a curious look, but glanced back down at his phone again. So did no one know what was going on? And why wasn’t Chelsea answering him?

“Good. You’re here.” Hunter’s gravelly voice distracted Sebastian away from his too-silent phone. “I asked you all to come here today because you are all good friends and business associates of mine. I’ve asked you to be in my wedding. I trust all of you. And you know that Gretchen is the woman I love and intend to marry, and she has her heart set on a big wedding with lots of pomp and circumstance. And because I can’t refuse her anything, I’m going to give her the big wedding she wants. Which is what brings me to today’s meeting.” For a moment, he looked pissed. “Quit sticking your dicks in the bridesmaids.”

Sebastian couldn’t help it. He snorted. That was one rule he wasn’t going to listen to, because he was married to Chelsea.

He could finally touch his girl all he wanted, and it was fucking heaven. A proud smile curved his mouth, and he pictured her, in bed, waiting for him, roller skates on her feet. God, she was sexy.

“One of the women is dropping from the bridal party, and my wife-to-be is extremely upset. Gretchen has been frantic all day, and I told her I’d take care of it.”

“Guilty as charged,” Asher said. “I’m fucking Greer, and I’m not going to stop. And no, it’s none of your business.” He adjusted his cufflinks, and then added, “I’ll talk to her. I didn’t know she was threatening to drop out of the wedding.”

“Greer’s not the one threatening to drop,” Hunter said drily. “Though now I see we have another problem. Chelsea is the one wanting to leave the wedding.”

“What?” Sebastian stiffened, his body becoming alert. His cold expression flicked with surprise. “Chelsea?”

“Et tu, Brute?” Hunter said, voice gruff. “Both of you, either make those women happy or break it off cleanly so Gretchen’s plans aren’t spoiled. Understand?”

That had to be wrong. Had to be. Why would Chelsea ditch the wedding? She was already making plans for rose-scented soaps. It didn’t make sense. And why wouldn’t she answer her damn phone? “If you’ll excuse me, I have to make a phone call,” Sebastian said, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. He gave Hunter a stiff nod and disappeared out of the room.

In the hallway, he called Chelsea.

It went straight to voice mail, which meant she was screening his calls, and she specifically did not want to talk to him. What the hell? It wasn’t like Chelsea—happy, brave Chelsea—to be passive aggressive and pick a fight. Something else had to be wrong, and worry made his heart pound. When it came to Chelsea, he felt incredibly protective. Was Rufus with her?

He immediately called the bodyguard. “Where is my wife?”

“She is at home, sir.”

“Is something wrong? She’s not answering her phone.”

“I didn’t ask. Should I ask?”

“No. I’ll be home shortly. It’s fine.” Sebastian hung up and didn’t care if it was rude or not. He just needed to get to Chelsea as soon as possible.

He all but sprinted out to his waiting car.

*   *   *

When Sebastian got home, the house was silent. “Chelsea?” he bellowed, then raced up the stairs to the bedroom.

She was there, packing, her movements wooden as she folded a T-shirt and then stuffed it into her bag.

“What’s going on? What are you doing?” Sebastian wanted to grab her and shake her—or pull her against him—but he didn’t want to trigger bad memories for her. “Chelsea? What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him, her eyes curiously dead. The sparkle of fun and vivacity was completely gone. “I think it’s time we called things off, Sebastian.”

His chest felt tight. “Called what off?” Just this morning, she’d slipped into her uniform and woken him up with a blow job and giggled the entire time. He’d thought about that all day. What had gone so wrong between now and then? “Us?”

She nodded. “Our marriage. It’s not working. It was supposed to end up being beneficial for both of us, and when it stopped, we said we’d stop it, right? So I’m bailing out.”

“Why?” He moved forward, touched her cheek. It was wet and flushed, as if she’d been crying. His heart felt as if it was being ripped out of his chest. “Fuck, Chelsea, talk to me. Whatever it is, we can work through it.”

Her lip quivered, but her expression remained strangely dead. She shook her head and pulled away from him. “No, we really can’t.”

“This doesn’t make any sense—”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and hauled it against her, then touched his cheek. Her eyes were wounded and full of pain for a brief moment, and then flickered back to that carefully dead state again. “I wish I could be the wife you need.”

Fuck it. He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. “Chelsea, I love you. Fuck what I said about this relationship being a fake. I love you. I fell in love with you the first time we kissed. I want to be your husband. I want you to be my wife. Don’t do this. Don’t leave. Let’s talk. Please.”

She bit her lip, and her entire body trembled. For a moment, hope rekindled. If she was hesitating . . .

But no, she shook her head. “I can’t, Sebastian.”

“At least tell me why.” His voice was anguished. His entire world felt like it was ending. It was clear she was miserable and suffering. Something had happened to her, and she wasn’t letting him in. “Tell me why you’re doing this.”

She held her bag closer and pulled out of his arms. “I don’t want to.”

“You can’t?”

“I won’t,” she corrected, and gave him a faint smile that seemed ironic compared to the tears that shimmered in her eyes. “Good-bye, Sebastian.”

Stung, he let go of her. She was choosing not to share with him? Whatever it was that bothered her, she didn’t want to share it with him? She was clear about that. It wasn’t that she couldn’t share it. It was that she didn’t want to.

She didn’t want him in her life.

And god, that fucking hurt. “I love you, Chelsea,” he said again, voice hoarse. “Please. Don’t do this to me. To us. To what we have.”

She shook her head again and moved past him. “I have to go.”

“Where are you going?” Was she going to deny him that, too?

She continued down the stairs. “To Austin. To stay with Pisa for a while, until I figure things out.”

“Can I come see you? So we can talk? So—”

“No,” she said quickly. “Sebastian, no. Please. Let’s just end it right here, okay?” Chelsea glanced up at him from the bottom of the stairs, and she looked so fragile and sad that he wanted to hug her against him and make it better for her.

But she didn’t want that. She didn’t want him.

And that was like a knife in the heart.

He raised a hand to tell her good-bye, but she was already gone. He thumped down on the top of the stairs, stunned, and wondered how a perfect life had gone so wrong so fast.

*   *   *

She didn’t love him.

Sebastian was shocked at how much the realization hurt. He’d thought that Chelsea was happy in their relationship. That what had started out as friendship and a fake wedding had turned into a helluva lot more. She was proud of him, he’d thought. She loved his art. Loved hearing him talk about sketches. Loved playing with his hair when they watched a movie, or tugging him along after her when they skated in the park.

He thought she’d enjoyed his company, his body. His life. His love.

After all, wasn’t it obvious that he loved her? It was in everything he’d done, everything he was. Chelsea was the inspiration of all his sketches. She was in his dreams at night, in his daydreams during idle times, and he lived for the sound of her laughter. He’d have done anything for her.

And she’d left him. With no explanation, and a simple refusal to talk.

That refusal wounded him more than anything else. That no matter what they had, there was no trust. No friendship. No love.

It had all been on his side, and it apparently didn’t matter to her. Agonized, he buried his head in his hands and remained at the top of the stairs for what felt like hours. Every bone in his body wanted to go after Chelsea. The only thing stopping him was that she’d made it quite clear that she was done, and she didn’t want any more. She didn’t want anything to do with him.

And he loved her so much it hurt.

Staggering to his feet, he realized that at some point, it had become night. He’d been sitting on the stairs for hours, gazing off at nothing. Thinking of Chelsea and how he’d lost her . . . without even knowing what he did wrong. Was there someone else? God, the thought was like a knife in the gut. Was it that she was better now? Had Sebastian “fixed” her so she could go back to someone else?

Fuck, he needed a drink.

He slammed down the stairs, heading for the bar in his formal dining room. Neither one saw much use, because Chelsea didn’t drink, so he abstained as well. Now? Fuck it. He was going to get rip-roaring drunk and wash the pain away with some Maker’s Mark. He opened the bottle and skipped the glass and drank straight from the neck. Two swigs of burning whisky later, he turned and glared at the room. Address labels were neatly stacked on one end of the table for Chelsea’s business. With another angry swig, he shoved the papers to the floor.

And then he felt like a petulant little boy. With a sigh, he set the bottle down and carefully picked up the papers. Fuck. Just . . . fuck.

He drank and moped for most of the evening. He left the dining room and went to the living room instead. The Notebook was still sitting on top of the Blu-ray player, and he turned it on. His jaw clenched and he drank more whisky and watched the shittiest, least manly movie ever, because it made him think of Chelsea.

And he wanted to be with her in spirit, if not in person.