“But it’s better this way. We can focus on what matters most, which is getting a good deal for you. An actual good deal, not whatever Northwood intends to give you. You deserve it, Nate. You deserve to sell your bourbon all over the country. What we have here … that’s not as important.”
Not as important. The words hit me like a harpoon, tearing through any remaining resolve I might have. So that’s it, then? We just end it? Just like that?
Jude gets out of bed, scooping my shirt up from the floor to cover herself. She’s just so cold about it. Her movements are precise, unhurried. Was this really as meaningless for her as we’ve pretended it was all along? Have I duped myself into believing she thought this mattered more to her than it ever did? Maybe she really has only wanted me for the pleasure I give her.
I stare at her back as a wave of pain cascades over me, shocking in its intensity. And in that moment, as my chest aches and my fingers shake and my body quakes, I’m forced to admit what I’ve been feeling for days now.
I actually care for Jude Shaw.
More than for just a hookup. More than because she can take me into her body and make me forget my own name. I like her for all of that, but also for more. We fit together. Our personalities are mirrors. I will always be the fire to melt her ice, and her cold will always temper my passion. It works. The tragedies in our pasts and our love for the same industry only underscore that.
But all of that doesn’t matter, I guess. Not to her, at least. What did I expect, really? That this would end differently somehow? I must have. Some part of me I’ve ignored all this time has hoped this wouldn’t be the temporary thing it was always destined to be.
Jude heads into the bathroom and then comes out a few minutes later fully dressed. She begins picking up her various belongings from around my bedroom, placing them in her suitcase.
“You’re leaving then?”
She pauses at the sound of my embarrassingly hoarse voice. I clear my throat, mortified she might realize how much this affects me.
“It’s probably best that I return to the hotel for the last couple of days.”
“That’s a long drive. You can still stay. I have a guest bedroom. Or you can stay at the farm. Axel has plenty of room. There’s no reason for you to come all the way from Savannah every day.”
“That’s kind of you to offer, but I’d prefer not.”
She throws the last of her stuff into her suitcase and starts wheeling it toward the door. I fly out of bed and jerk on my discarded pair of jeans, still unable to believe she’s really going.
What I want to do is demand—beg even—for her not to leave. But I’m not going to force her. Or put her in the position of having to turn me down. She clearly wants to leave.
This is why I don’t do this shit, damn it. This is why I’ve never been involved with someone. Because this pain blows. It actually hurts to breathe. I always thought that was exaggerated bullshit, but every painful breath is proof that it’s very real.
And this wasn’t even a real relationship. How much would it have hurt if we’d been engaged? Or even married? I actually might not have survived it.
For the first time in my life, I understand why my father gave up living after my mother died.
That’s terrifying. I must be susceptible to whatever weakness made my father that way. I must have inherited it. Even now, that flaw is going to work, tearing up my insides and making me sick with remorse.
None of my brothers are like this. They would have said something. I would have witnessed it myself. Clearly, it’s just me. There’s something about me that’s just like my father.
And also just like my father, a woman can completely wreck me.
No. No fucking way. I won’t let that happen. This is a hard lesson, but apparently one I needed to learn. We’ll be professional for the next few days and then go our separate ways. The end.
But I have to know one thing.
Just as she reaches my apartment door, I stalk up behind her and growl, “Was any of this real? Did any of it matter to you?”
Jude slowly turns around. She waits while I drag my gaze to hers, fighting the urge to throw her over my shoulder and keep her in bed until she changes her mind. Then she says, “I will always treasure my time here with you, Nate. I could never fake something like that. If you believe anything in all this, please believe that.”
And I believe her. I don’t want to. I want to pretend it never mattered to her so that I can pretend I don’t care now that she’s leaving. But I do.
So I let her go without another word.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Jude
Nausea clogs my throat as I shove my suitcase into the trunk and trudge around to the driver’s side. Two steps outside of the bar, and I already feel sick. Jerking the door open, I slide inside and immediately start up the car. If there’s any possibility that Nathan’s watching me leave, I don’t want him to think I’m second-guessing my decision.
I hated every second of that.
Breaking up with Nathan—not that that’s exactly what happened—had to be done. Northwood essentially told me in that phone call last night that he knows we’ve been sleeping together. If Nate flirts with me like he did that first day Northwood was here, we’re both goners. Nate doesn’t get his deal, and I get fired.
But now it will be strained enough that when Northwood returns, he’ll either conclude we were never involved after all or that I followed his orders and ended it. And as much as it pisses me off to let him dictate my sex life, what other choice did I really have? I don’t want to lose my job. Not for a fling that’s ending in a few days, anyway.
And nor do I want to jeopardize Nate’s deal, even if I suspect he would be better off running for the hills. Hopefully he’ll take my advice and talk to Noah about what to do. Then Noah will tell him what Northwood did to those other companies, and he’ll know how serious the situation could become.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t give him all those details. As an employee of NBI, I’ve signed a bunch of non-disclosure agreements prohibiting me from sharing details about any of our products or clients. If I’d told Nate, not only would Northwood have fired me but also prosecuted me as well.
But I could warn Nate about his own deal. That’s technically not covered by any of the NDAs—most likely because Northwood figured none of his employees would ever be stupid enough to tell their own clients about anything shady he had planned.
And that will also serve to get Noah off my back as well. All he’s ever cared about is his brother getting a good deal. This should ensure that.
If Nathan decides to back out of the deal on his own, well, then maybe my job will be spared. I won’t get the promotion, of course, but Northwood can’t exactly fire me if the prospective client ends it, right? It’s my only sliver of hope.
Either way, Nathan will get to make his own choice. Northwood has ensured that I’m without any choices myself, but at least Nate still gets to choose.
Still, it hurts knowing I hurt him when I ended it. I’d have to be stupid not to notice the pain in his eyes, although he tried to hide it.
From the moment I met him, Nathan has been the first fount of joy in my life. To think that I might have dimmed that light sickens me. This whole situation, frankly, sickens me.
And to think just a month ago I thought it would make my career.
I pull out of the bar’s parking lot, driving blindly with no real destination. Technically, I should be here all day, working through one of the few remaining days before Northwood returns. I’ve already made a reservation back at the hotel in Savannah. Check-in is late in the afternoon. Even if I left now, I’d be hours early.
Feeling aimless, I let my foot off the gas, something in me balking at the finality of driving out of the town limits. But what else can I do? Just before I leave, inspiration strikes and I jerk the wheel hard, nearly fishtailing into the parking lot of the cafe.
I’ll get something to eat,
and hopefully by the end of the meal, I will have calmed down enough to have some sort of plan. Maybe I’ll even work there the rest of the day. At the very least, I’m in dire need of caffeine, since I fled Nathan’s before I could make any coffee.
The place is packed, no surprise for a Sunday morning. Maybe my plan to work here won’t be feasible. There are no available stools at the bar, and I’d feel bad taking up an entire booth by myself—not that there are any of those, either.
Maybe I’ll have to get on the road first and find caffeine somewhere along the way. Worse comes to worst, I can get coffee from the lone gas station in town before leaving. Gross.
Someone calls my name as I turn to leave.
“Jude! In the corner!”
Rory Larson beckons me from the far corner. I groan; sitting across from her are Cassie and another woman. The very last people I want to see right now. Rory waves me over. There’s no way I can decline without being horribly rude. And three guesses what they’re going to want to talk about.
Resigning myself to this situation growing even more complicated, I weave around the tables to get to their booth. Rory pats the seat next to her and I slide in.
“Hey, guys,” I say.
“We thought that was you,” says Cassie.
Rory peers over my shoulder. “Where’s Nate?”
Nausea swirls through me again. Hopefully I’m able to hide my reaction to just his name as I glance down at the menus on the table. “Oh, he’s back at the bar.”
“Really? Finally unchained you from bed, then?”
“W-what?” I say, shocked.
Rory snorts, but Cassie winces in empathy. The third woman glances between the two of them in confusion. “Uh, what have I missed, exactly? Axel hasn’t told me Nate has a girlfriend.”
“Oh, you’re Andrea,” I say, finally putting it together. “And no, I’m not Nate’s girlfriend.”
Especially not now.
“No, she’s not, but Nate hasn’t let her out of his sex dungeon for weeks now, so it’s not exactly like they’re unattached.”
“He doesn’t have a sex dungeon!” I say, laughing despite my dark mood.
“This is true,” Cassie says reaching across the table and squeezing my hand. “He lives in an attic, after all. It would have to be a sex attic.”
Andrea snickers. Rory’s mouth drops open. “Cassie Taylor, are you finally becoming a dirty girl?”
Cassie’s face turns beet red. “N-no. I’m sorry. It was just—”
“Good God, woman, we know you were joking. I was joking back,” sighs Rory, glancing heavenward as if praying for strength.
“Oh, Rory, cut her some slack,” says Andrea, throwing an arm around Cassie’s shoulders, who still looks like she wants to die of mortification. “After all, you and I both know she and Griffin are slow movers.”
“The slowest,” Rory agrees.
“Anyway,” says Cassie, “how are things with you and Nathan?”
I blink, still thinking about Nate and me in the sex dungeon. Or attic. Whatever. “Um. You mean the deal? My boss returns in a few days for the final presentation.”
They look at me. “What?” I say defensively.
Rory shares a look with Andrea, who rubs her chin in thought as she stares at me. Cassie just lifts her hand and hails the waitress near the kitchen.
“Hold that thought,” she says. “I think we’re going to need some carbs, stat.”
“And bacon,” adds Andrea.
“I just came in here for some coffee, damn it,” mutters Rory. “Jackson’s going to kill me.”
Andrea rolls her eyes. “Yeah, we all know what Jackson’s about. The sex can wait another hour. Let him play with himself for a bit.”
Wow. Wow. Is this what normal female friends are like? I’ve had so little time off in the last couple years I haven’t had the opportunity to cultivate friendships.
But this seems a little much.
“Gosh, guys. Give her a chance, y’all,” says Cassie, nodding toward me. The other two look at me and sigh.
“I thought you could keep up, Jude,” says Rory. “The King brothers will walk all over us if we can’t band together to put them in their place from time to time.”
“Well, I won’t disagree with you there,” I say.
“Hey, y’all. What can I get for you? The usual?”
We turn to the waitress. I don’t have a usual, but the others do and make their orders, adding extra orders of bacon and chocolate chip pancakes. I’m too sick to eat anything, but I order a coffee, which I desperately need, and a cup of oatmeal, for pure pretense.
“Thanks, Margaux,” says Rory to the waitress, who smiles and then heads off.
“Okay, now spill it,” says Andrea.
“Does this mean you and Axel worked out your … uh, you know,” I say instead in a desperate attempt to distract them.
Andrea chuckles. “Ah, an avoider, I see. Okay, fine, I’ll tell you so that you have no more excuses not to talk about yourself. Axel groveled, and I came back. That’s the work part. As to the sex—” Cassie chokes on a piece of pancake, and Rory howls with laughter—“I told him he had one chance to make it right with me. And, well …”
“He totally did,” Rory snickers.
Andrea shrugs. “The King boys really have a way with words, don’t they?”
“More like their dicks, but never, ever tell any of them that, or we’ll never hear the end of it,” Rory mutters.
They all look at me for confirmation. I don’t need a mirror to know my face is beet red. “Um … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cassie squeezes my hand. “Jude, dear. You forget the family grapevine. All of us know you’ve been staying over at Nathan’s for weeks now. But something clearly happened between you two. It’s written all over your face.”
“Yeah, out with it,” says Rory.
My head drops, and I dig a nail into the table while struggling to blink back the tears pricking at the corner of my eyes. “What makes you think anything happened?”
Rory shrugs. “Because Nate never would have let you in here alone if everything was fine. He would have handcuffed himself to you until you agreed to let him come.”
Cassie leans across the table toward me like she’s imparting state secrets. “He’s obsessed with the Belgian waffles. Has to have peach marmalade on them, or else he throws a fit. Margaux has a special Nate jar and everything.”
I roll my eyes. “That sounds like a Nathan King thing to do.”
“He doesn’t mean anything by it,” says Cassie quickly. “It’s really funny, actually. Like he’s making an ass of himself to amuse everyone else. I swear, it’s sweet more than—”
I throw up a hand to stop her. “I get it, Cass.”
“So did he end it or did you?” asks Rory bluntly.
I choke on the sip of water Margaux delivered when she came to take our orders. Rory whacks me on the back while Andrea scolds her for startling me, and Cassie slides some napkins across the table.
Once I’ve regained the ability to breathe, I glance up at them. For a fleeting second, I debate just feeding them a line but judging by their intense expressions, they’re not going to just let it go.
Sighing, I say, “It was me.”
They all lean back slightly, studying me. I wince. Yeah, ladies. You shouldn’t have been so nice to me. I hurt him, not the other way around. No need for female solidarity.
“Why did you do it?” asks Cassie softly.
I fiddle with my used straw wrapper, then shrug. “I’m going to be leaving in a few days. It seemed better to do it now.”
“And that’s it?” says Rory. “You just, what, told him you didn’t want to screw anymore?”
“Jesus, Rory,” groans Andrea. “Can’t you see she’s upset? Obviously there’s more to it.”
“Yeah, there is,” I say quietly. “I can’t get into it, really. I feel awful knowing I’ve hurt him, but it would be worse if we stayed tog
ether. Way worse. Don’t say anything to him about it, okay? We still have to work together the rest of this week and I want it to be as drama-free as possible. It’ll only hurt him more.”
They say nothing, still looking at me with those wary expressions. Dear God, do I hope they don’t mention this to their boyfriends—or heaven forbid, Nate himself. He doesn’t need to know that Northwood threatened to fire me and tear up his deal if he found out we were sleeping together. He’d feel an obligation to do something about it and that’s not his responsibility.
I’m the one in the first place who told him it would be fine if we slept together again. This is my problem to solve.
Neither do I want him to find out that Noah threatened me and my company with a lawsuit. I may have only been here a few weeks, but any idiot can tell the King brothers are close and I don’t want to be the one who gets between them. I’d give anything to have a brother again; I definitely don’t want to be the reason two siblings have a falling-out.
Rory opens her mouth to say something, but unable to stay a moment longer under their scrutiny, I mumble one last apology and then throw a few bills on the table before climbing to my feet. Their gazes drill into my back as I make my way to the door.
Chapter Thirty
Nathan
Jude and I coexist more than work together for the rest of the week. With her now commuting back and forth to Savannah again, there’s no time for me to see her outside of business hours, anyway. We’re cordial to each other, but the air lingers with all the things we do not say.
And as the days pass, the cordiality turns to reserve, and reserve to virtual coldness. I should be happy that it’s over with relatively no drama, but then I’ll catch the scent of her hair or feel the heat of her skin as I pass her, and I’m consumed by such desire that awful frustration and genuine unhappiness quickly follow suit.
When I’m not pathetically pining over Jude, I’m locked away in the back room with Noah, who insisted on helping me prepare for the presentation when I told him Northwood wants exclusivity from me. Noah told me that I should listen to Jude and not sign the deal—and boy did he look like he’d swallowed something sour when he said it—but I figure this close to the meeting, I might as well hear what Northwood has to say.
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