Miah (Lane Brothers #2) (43 page)

“This is ridiculous. Just come, Hannah.”

“No. You said you wouldn’t force me to do this again. You may not feel guilty about a damned thing, but I have a conscience, and I’m not eating dinner with your family and fiancée! And most especially not with Nana in tow.”

Is he being deliberately obtuse? My nana thinks we’re dating, like boyfriend and girlfriend dating, and now he wants me to go to some dinner with him and reveal my completely immoral lifestyle choices? Not in this goddamned century.

As far as I’m concerned, what Nana doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Or me.

“Of course she won’t come with. Josey will remain here with her until we get back.”

“You want me to leave my nana alone on my birthday?” I ask incredulously, shooting him a look of total indignation.

Today is my twenty-ninth year of life on this not so great planet, and I’ve been walking on clouds since I woke up. Nana made me a truly scary-looking omelette and served me breakfast in bed before presenting me with a pair of shoes that look eerily similar to a pair I already own.

It’s been wonderful and happy, and I breezed into work with a smile on my face and enough cheer to light up New York. Until now.

“It’s a business dinner. I want you there in case I have to leave early,” he says stonily, giving me his usual look of command.

“Greg, be reasonable.”

Why is it always like this? One minute I am convinced he’s a good guy, and the next he’s showing me how truly awful he can be. I’ve given in recently and admitted to myself that I feel a lot more for him than plain, old-fashioned lust or like.

Obviously I’ve been sleep-smoking crack cocaine, because I seem to have done the dumbest thing I could and fallen for him. Like, love and babies — yikes — kind of fallen.

It’s been hard and is getting harder to hide the soft feelings I have, feelings I know he does not share. If anyone ever tells you that love is all you need, kick them in the balls and get running, because it’s bullshit.

I love a man who not only is getting married to the world’s sweetest socialite, but is so heartless he’s willing to make me go wedding shopping with her.

And then today he’s decided to add insult to injury and wants to introduce me to his family. Now I know why I’d been so against getting together with him in the first place. I am and will always be nothing more than his mistress, a piece of ass he’s currently interested in but will eventually tire of.

If miracles happen and he does want me for, say, a year or more, something he’s been hinting at, I will be worse off than I am now. At least now he’s still not married. Very soon though he’ll have a wife, a good woman who deserves more than this, and I will be that woman, the one nobody likes, the one who’s left a broken wreck, waiting for a man she can never own.

But see, as much as I know this is true, giving him up is not possible. Not as long as I have this useless hope clawing at me. It’s idiotic, but I keep imagining that soon he’ll realize he loves me and he’ll break off his engagement to be with me.

This is how far I have fallen from the self-respecting woman I was. I am now wishing misery on another woman so that I can have what I want.

“Hannah?” he barks impatiently, and I focus on him, shaking my miserable doubts back to the back of my mind, where they’ve been for days.

“No. You can go to that dinner with your fiancée like a decent man,” I snarl, throwing his messages at him. “I may be a goddamned whore, but I’m not a total glutton.”

I storm out and grab my bag, hightailing it out of the office before Mr Bossy Boots can get hold of me again.

I need a break, and as far as I’m concerned he can get through lunch without his sycophant mistress hanging on his every word.

“Oh, hey! You finally coming out of that cave? Good, let’s go grab lunch and talk. I can’t wait to hear what the life of a corporate PA is like. Oh, and happy birthday!”

Lucy, just what I need right now, I think angrily, forcing a smile to my pinched lips.

“Hey, Luce, sorry, I can’t make lunch today. I’m going to see Amber.”

It’s a split second decision, and the moment I make it I know it’s something I need to do. Besides getting my money back, I want to know just what’s going on with the bakery and Gregory’s stake in it. A little late, but at least I’m getting there.

When I reach her shop, I am shocked at the changes. It’s no longer a dark little hole in the wall, but a bright, swanky place that seems to be doing well, from the number of people I have to squeeze through to get to Amber.

“Amber!” I yell, getting her attention.

She looks up and grimaces, waving me to the back as she rings up an order. I enter her office and flop into a seat.

“So, you here for your money?” she asks, slamming the door forcefully.

“Yup. I have things to pay, Am. I told you that when you took the loan.”

Her lip curls and she sneers at me, shocking me with a fury I’ve never seen from her. Amber is spoiled and rude at the best of times, but she’s usually easier to be around than this.

“You’re such a liar. Your rich boyfriend can take care of anything you need, and you’re trying to suck me dry?”

What?

“Am—”

“No! You’re my sister, the one person I should be able to count on, and instead of helping me you sic your bulldog on me and let him steal my business from me!”

My own anger explodes and I leap up to confront her, feeling so hurt and mad I can hardly see straight.

“You mean I’m your bank! The only time I see you is when you need money, and even then you only hang around long enough to insult me and take my money. I ask you one time to help me out with Nana, and you can’t even do that!” I yell, enjoying her shock when I get so up in her face she’s forced to stumble back.

“I told you what she did.”

“Excuses. You’re a spoiled goddamned brat who can’t even have enough self-respect not to steal from her own business! Yeah, I know how you’ve been skimming off the top. No wonder you’re always looking for cash to pay your staff,” I sneer, grabbing my bag and heading for the door.

“Han—”

“I am so done with you. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself, and I refuse to be treated like a convenience a moment longer. Keep the money, shove it where the sun don’t shine, but never ever again knock on my door when you need something, because this ATM is closed. Oh, and thanks for saying happy birthday!”

By the time I’ve walked a block back to work I’ve cooled down enough to realize what I’ve done. Sure, Amber deserved some of what I said, but I know that I have taken my heartbroken frustration out on her instead of where it belongs.

Gregory Lucas.

As I walk it dawns on me that I can no longer do this. I’ve painted myself into a corner where he’s concerned, and there’s no way to get out without fucking up the paint job and getting myself plenty messy.

What I have been avoiding for weeks since our doomed sex night is now staring me in the face, and there’s nothing to do but get messy and then clean myself up afterward.

By the time I reach the office I am determined and resolute. This thing is over, done, and before this day is out I will be free of this constant ache I’ve been carrying around.

He’s not in his office when I peep inside, so I sit down and type out my resignation, effective immediately, and drop it onto his desk before grabbing my bag and walking out.

I know how cowardly this is, believe me, and I cringe to know what his reaction will be, but as I sit on the train home with nothing but a single dried up rose to show for my recent adventures, I know it’s the only option I have.

He’d never let me go any other way, and I need this. For myself and my life and whatever future I can have, I need to let go and move on before there’s nothing left but a shell.

He’ll hate me though, of this I am confident, because my threats in that letter are clear and leave him no room to move. I will tell Selena Jeffries and anyone I need to what we’ve been doing if he doesn’t let me go peacefully.

As far as I’m concerned, this is a good thing. I just wish my aching chest would get with the program.

“You can’t do this.”

Of course I can. I can do just about anything I want to right now, considering how crappy I’ve felt the last month.

“Chris, you know I love you, and that being my best friend gives you a lot more liberty into my life than anyone else, but give it a goddamned rest already.”

I’m scanning the classifieds and plotting the best detergent to scrub the toilet with as she hovers at my elbow, her red hair swirling when she twists in a circle before throwing her hands up with a growl.

“You can’t keep hiding out in here when you’re not going to that crappy job or getting Nana to her doctor’s appointment. Geez, Han, the last time I saw you go this mental…wait, scratch that, I’ve always known you were a little weird, but this…”

I know what she’s looking at, and I refrain from replying, not wanting the monumental argument that always ensues. She’s pissed at me for becoming a hermit in the month since I’d broken off the affair and left my job.

Okay, so I have to admit that despite being functional enough to find a receptionist job in a dentist’s office and looking after Nana, I’ve become slightly worse about my OCD control issues than I had previously been.

I know it’s weird and wrong and unhealthy, but at the moment, with my heart still feeling like bloody ground beef, all I want is to establish a bit of the control I’d lost with Greg.

To that end, I’ve deep cleaned the apartment — seven times — and rearranged the sofa — only four times — and, okay, maybe I’d gone
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
on the bathroom. In my defense, it wasn’t as white as I’d wanted it, and the bleach was doing me a disservice.

“Chris, I’ve been single for like two point five seconds here. Just give me a little breathing room, and when I feel up to it, I swear, I will start going out a little more,” I beg.

It’s hard getting over a man when he drives past your apartment every night and has some beefy, wrestler-looking type follow you everywhere.

It’s especially hard when he calls at bedtime to say goodnight and asks me to come back to work with every call.

I don’t answer the phone — home or cell — at night anymore because I’m still on that shaky ground where I know that if he coaxes just a little harder, I’ll give in and go running back for whatever scraps he’ll give me. Pathetic, but true.

Now I let the machine get it and jump in the shower so I don’t hear the messages he leaves. Nana, however, plays them back for me at the oddest times and glowers at me.

She, of course, doesn’t know why I left ‘dearest Gregory’ to begin with, so I forgive her the traitorous attitude and just try not to bleed too much when I hear his husky voice telling me I still have options.

A knock at the door brings me out of my thoughts, and I realize Chris has been standing there the whole time, waiting…a sly and altogether frightening smile curving her lips.

“You better get dressed, unless you want your date to see you in toilet-scrubbing gear. Oh, and I put your dress on the bed.”

“What! Chris—”

“Look, Han, I am not letting you off the hook here,” she says stonily, pointing at my bedroom as she waits at the door, her hand pausing on the knob. “Taylor is a really nice guy, and I’ve set up a date for you. He’ll take you to dinner and…just try to look like you’re still a live human.”

My heart is beating a mile a minute at the thought of going out with another man and talking to him, maybe laughing, when all I want is for Gregory to show up at my door with an apology and an assurance that he’s not getting married and maybe…possibly the engagement ring I’ve been dreaming of lately.

Yeah, I’ve officially lost my mind and am now weaving dreams of happily ever after in my soupy skull.

“Chris—”

“I’m calling in my favor, Hannah. Remember? I gave you the dress, you promised me an IOU? This is me calling it. Go get your ass dressed.”

Shit.

As I bolt into the room and frantically throw my sweaty, bleach-scented clothes off, I freeze in my tracks, dumbfounded. That bitch has laid out my dress, the special one I’d worn on my first date with Greg…

Not wanting anything we shared involved in tonight, I walk over to my closet and groan when I open the door. Empty but for a lacy thong and a pair of heels.

Fifteen minutes later I’m dressed, made up, and have my hair in a messy bun that makes me look sex tousled and more sexy than I’d intended, but with my hair a little less than perfectly clean I don’t have another choice.

Taylor Barret is a very nice-looking man in his early thirties with chocolate brown hair just a shade darker than mine and eyes the color of sapphires. He’s easy on the eyes and polite, and despite the nervous dread coursing through me, I like him on sight.

“Well, hey there, beautiful,” he says, taking my hand to lay a quick peck on the back.

When his lips touch me I feel my skin shrink back, and it’s all I can do not to shudder and bolt back to the bedroom. This, this obsession, this ache that I’ve been holding inside for a month, is not healthy, and I make up my mind to put my all into this date, if only to push myself that extra step further away from the hopeless longing I’m nursing.

Greg is gone, out of my life by my own choice, and sitting at home moping or crying myself to sleep every night isn’t going to change that. God, I can’t even masturbate without crying, which makes me weirder than ever because I end up sobbing, unfulfilled, and disgusted. With myself.

“Hi, you must be Taylor,” I say brightly, forcing my lips to curve. “So what have you got planned?” I ask as I grab my clutch and a light wrap, following him out the door.

Chris slaps my ass on the way out and wiggles her brows, giving me the green light to do more if the urge strikes. As if.

“I thought we could go to this Greek place for dinner. The octopus is amazing, and then I got tickets to the theater.
The Man Jackal
got great reviews.”

I listen to him drone on and on about some play I’ve never heard of and nod and hmm my way through, wondering why going on a date, with a normal guy, doing normal things that don’t include sex or anything leading to sex, is so hard for me.

Taylor is great and good-looking, and I know that if I gave him half a chance he’d be great relationship material. Much better than the pseudo-relationship I’d had with a taken man.

When we get to a little restaurant that is lit up brighter than a stadium and sit down to order, I feel slightly steadier, and I give myself over, determined to enjoy this night for the easy company and zero expectation that it is.

Taylor orders his hallowed octopus, laughing at my scrunched nose when he urges me to do the same. I choose fish instead and smile at his hangdog look.

See, easy, I tell myself, sipping gingerly at my gin and tonic.

“So, Hannah Newman, tell me about yourself. Every sordid detail,” he says mischievously, leaning his elbows on the table and giving me his undivided attention.

I giggle and lean back, tapping my chin, considering as I get into the spirit. This is simple and relaxed and free of the tension and angst I’m used to. I like it.

“Hmm, let’s see. When I was three I pulled off a two-man heist with my dog Rufus. We went in guns blazing and cleaned the place out.”

He gasps and folds a hand over his heart.

“All that gold and you’re not living in Manhattan?”

“Gold?” I snort, chuckling at his expression. “We raided the cookie jar and were caught with the crumbs on our chins to prove it. I got five to life for that stunt and spent five minutes in time out while Rufus licked his balls.”

It’s the ice breaker we need, and by the time our meals arrive we’re chatting like best friends.

“So, Chris says you just came out of a bad relationship. I’m damned sorry to hear that, Hannah. You’re a treasure, and I just can’t see why any guy would let you go so easily.”

I snort at that, doing my level best not to think of Greg — too much — and nod slightly.

“Yup. It was brief, and…we just didn’t have the same goals,” I aver, not wanting to give too much away.

That would really make him like me. Oh, yeah, I was with this guy, but he’s engaged and I decided to cut my losses before he went through with the wedding. No one likes a mistress, and I like Taylor enough not to want him to not like me. Does that make any sense?

“Ah, he cheated on you,” he murmurs, and I wince.

Nope, we cheated on his fiancée. Both of us. Repeatedly.

“Um, no, nothing that drastic,” I say, defending him. “We just wanted different things, I guess.”

“Like what? As far as I can tell, you’re smart, sexy, funny, and you’re polite enough not to gag when a guy eats octopus, even though I can tell it grosses you out.”

I change the subject, shining the spotlight on him, and by the time we leave for the theater I feel as light as a feather and strangely grateful. This could work. I could throw myself into, if not a relationship, a friendship with a man as easy-going and attentive as Taylor Barret, and if I do it right I could be over Gregory by this time next year.

I hope so, I really do, because according to this morning’s paper, Gregory and Selena Jeffries have set their weeding date.