“Yes. No,” he stumbles.
“Which one is it, Brody? Yes, you’re sorry and something came up? Or no, you’re not sorry and nothing came up?”
“Of course, I’m sorry. And nothing came up. . . I had some thinking to do.”
“Thinking, huh?” I sound like a bitch, but he deserves it. “What kind of thinking?”
“I don’t want to do this over the phone with you. We need to talk.”
A moment of silence passes as I press my lips together, before I reply, “Talk about how you lied, about everything.”
“Yes . . . I did lie to you.”
“Lied that you forgot or lied about your dad?”
“Both.”
My heart goes hollow as nothing gets me so enraged than someone who lies. “Why, Brody? I don’t get it. You delivered flowers and lunch to my office and gave me a panty-dropping kiss only to leave me hanging.”
His seductive chuckle rings through the line. “Did you say panty-dropping?”
Damn this third glass of wine.
My face plants firmly in my palm. I can’t believe I said that. “That’s beside the point, Reinhardt. Why are you calling after almost two days of being MIA? Is this your way of breaking up with me? Because I’d like to know if—”
“Delilah, slow down. Can I please get a word in?” He cuts me off with a bit of a chuckle.
“You think this is funny?” I drink the rest of my wine and I get a slight head rush.
“I’m not laughing.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Dorothy, give me a chance to explain.”
“Don’t Dorothy me,” I snap, tossing my napkin on the table as I rise from my chair. The image of Sophia kissing Brody flashes in my head, the picture with his mom and sister, and the other article with all the allegations.
I quickly exit the restaurant, so I don’t embarrass myself when my voice escalates. My wedged heels scrape the gravel as I make a left at the fork, the string of lights hanging from the trees illuminates my path.
I stifle a laugh. “You had me going for a while. So, who is she?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re answering questions with questions I’m sure you already have an answer to,” I grunt. “Lie by omission. Real smooth, Reinhardt.”
“I need to know what I’m omitting first.” His statement comes with another chuckle.
“Do you find me amusing?”
“Yes. I also find you sexy when you’re angry. I like this side of you.”
I enter my gated area, take out my key card. “Where have you been the last couple of days, Brody?”
He lets out a breath and I picture him cupping the back of his neck trying to form words. “Like I said, I had some thinking to do.”
“So, did you finish thinking?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“You scare me, Delilah.”
“Scare you?” I insert the key card to unlock my suite.
“Yes. Shitless.”
“What the . . . ?” My voice is but a whisper when I open the door.
Sunflowers and scattered petals all over the wooden floor fill my room. My eyes dart to the few candles, each flickering against the walls of the tent. Then I spot someone standing in the middle of the space.
The protest dies on my lips after recovering from the shock. I’m still angry and yet, I welcome the sight of Brody. I either want to punch him or wrap my arms around him, I’m not sure which.
The dark blue Henley and blue jeans makes him even more handsome. He gives me that shy smile that curls up at the corner of his mouth and does something to my insides. I don’t have time to process his presence as he steps closer.
“I-I don’t understand,” I say, staring at the man filling the space of my room.
“I’m scared shitless . . . of losing you, Delilah,” he continues speaking into the cell phone as our eyes lock. “You deserve to be put on a pedestal. You deserve to be spoiled, flowers and all that stuff women love. You deserve someone that will always put a smile on your beautiful face. And you deserve a better man than me.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask. My breath hitches as emotion overwhelms my logic. Tears pool in my eyes and I’m doing everything in my power to not break down and cry.
“I’m here to grovel and tell you I will give it my best shot. If you’ll still have me.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brody
I take the cell phone still pressed against her ear from her hand, push the red button, and set it on the table. “God, I missed you.”
“And what about all those women?”
“What women? What in the world are you talking about?” I ask, now I’m confused.
She skirts past me, grabs the tablet on the nightstand, and presses the button. The screen lights up and it’s a photo of Sophia, other women, and me. My head hangs forward and I shake it. When I bring my head back up, our eyes meet. “Those are old photos pulled from some paparazzi’s archives.”
“And the assault charges?” Her words cut through the air. How the hell did she find out? The one thing I tried to keep from her was dug up from the grave of my past.
“False allegations,” I correct. “She lied about the whole thing because I dumped her and—”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better, Brody?” Her voice breaks as she takes in a breath. “This is a real shitty way to find out the real you.”
“The old me,” I correct her again. “That’s all in the past. Please believe me.” I step closer, knowing damn well she has every right to feel this way.
Did I fuck up? Without a shadow of a doubt, I sure as hell fucked up.
I should have told her. So now I’m here in the middle of a candlelit room and sunflowers spread all over the floor, thanks to Catherine helping me out by giving me the information on where to find Dee to make tonight special.
This is not at all how I wanted the night to go. I drag my fingers through my hair. “I was going to tell you, eventually.”
“Eventually?” She tosses the tablet on the nightstand. “When? After you seduced me with candles, flowers, and wine,” she says, pointing to the bottle and glasses on the table.
I need to convince her I’m not that guy anymore. My heart is beating so hard, I can feel it in my chest.
“Delilah, give me three minutes to explain it all.”
She crosses her arms across her chest, raises a brow, and nods. “I’m listening.”
My eyes veer to the tablet and read the caption. Naval hero and most eligible bachelor, Brody Saint Clair-Reinhardt, is back in town with Delilah Marshall, a marketing manager at CJJ Public Relations. Is this the new woman in his life? Or is he back on the market and she’s his next conquest?
“Saint Clair is my mother’s maiden name and she was my grandfather, Herbert Saint Clair’s only child. When he died, he left her everything. The money, the business, everything. I took advantage of that name, the money it came with getting what I wanted, including women. Then Gina Campbell’s allegation was the wake-up call. The Saint Clair name, it may be part of me, but it’s not who I am anymore.” I take a breath and another step toward her. “And the moment I met you, something clicked in here”—I point to my heart—“I realized how lonely my life has been.”