I feel like I’m on the verge of a breakdown by the time I make it up to the penthouse. I’m not physically shaking anymore, thank God, but I’m still so angry that I can hardly see straight.
I need to start planning for Kinsley’s inevitable media blitz. I need to beat her to the punch and get out ahead of whatever lies—or truths—she tries to tell about me. But all of that will require a solid team behind me and I don’t even have a fucking assistant right now.
The apartment is quiet as I step off the elevator into the foyer. Too quiet. And the shitty thing about using an elevator to get home is that I can’t even slam the door behind me.
Instead, I sling my briefcase down onto the sofa and stomp off toward my bedroom so I can change clothes. Maybe I’ll take a run. Maybe a swim. Hell, maybe Ella will be up for a fuck. Anything that will be a productive, constructive outlet for my stress and anger.
Otherwise I might just go insane.
“Keir?” Ella’s voice stops me just as I make it to my bedroom door. “Do you have a second to talk?”
Dammit.
Even before I turn around to usher her into my room, I can tell by the sound of her voice that sex is off the table. Her worried, hesitant expression is all the confirmation I need.
“Sure,” I wave her inside, then close the door behind her. “What’s up?”
“What’s wrong?” she asks instead. “You look like you’ve had a rough day.”
I have to laugh. If I don’t, my head will explode. “That’s putting it mildly. I don’t want to talk about that right now, though. What do you need?”
Too direct?
Probably.
Do I care right now?
Not even a little.
“Okay, well,” she pauses to clear her throat and I notice right away that she’s looking around the room instead of making eye contact with me. “The thing is… do you remember that money you promised me? For my sister? It’s just that—”
“Jesus Christ, Ella. This is what you want to talk about right now? This is the urgent thing that can’t wait until I’ve even walked through the door to take my fucking shoes off? Money?”
She blinks and takes a step back. The look on her face is a little shocked and I feel a tiny pang of guilt for my overreaction. Not enough that I feel like I should apologize, but I could have probably handled my reply a little better.
“Will there be a better time?” Her voice is rising with each word, not that I can totally blame her. “Do I need to make an appointment so I can beg for the money that you promised me? Or do you want to go ahead and hassle me for it some more right now? Maybe make me feel even worse than I already do?”
Fuck.
Fuck my whole life.
“No,” I shake my head, speaking through clenched teeth as I walk past her and open my bedroom door again. “Not going to hassle you at all.” I step out into the hallway and retrace my steps from a few minutes ago until I’m back in the living room where I can pull my checkbook out of my briefcase. “I’ll give you all the money you want. That’s what everyone wants, isn’t it? All my fucking money?”
She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. “Keir, what’s wrong with you right now? Why are you acting like this? I’m sorry if it’s a bad time, but—”
I huff out a short breath as I fill out the check and shove it into her hand. “You have what you want now, so just go. Go cash it before I change my mind.”
I’ve said too much. I can see the hurt in her eyes before she turns away. I reach out again but she isn’t looking anymore, and her name dies in my throat before I can call out an apology.
Instead, I watch her walk out of the room and I slump down onto the couch, completely numb.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ELLA
It hasn’t been a full twenty-four hours since Keir handed me that check, but it feels like it’s been an eternity. He didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night, but he looked miserable—at least as miserable as I felt.
The sun is just coming up and I’ve hardly slept at all. I keep replaying that mostly one-sided conversation over and over again in my head, but I still can’t figure out why he was so upset in the first place. Something set him off, something deeper than simply asking for the check he’d already promised me.
I don’t know what happened while he was at work yesterday, but there’s only one way to find out. I just hope he’s cooled off enough by now that he’ll be willing to have a reasonable, rational conversation.
Reasonable and rational aren’t exactly his finest qualities, though, if I’m being honest.
Rolling out of bed and hating how stiff my joints are from a restless night of no sleep, I pull on the stretchy running pants he likes, a sports bra, and tennis shoes, then throw my hair up into a ponytail.
I take a look at myself in the mirror and shake my head. I’m a hot mess, but this is as good as it’s going to get for now.
I leave my room and walk down the hallway to Keir’s door, then softly knock. “Keir? Are you awake?”
He opens the door and peers down at me with tired eyes. “Just getting ready to go for a run. What are you doing up so early?”
That’s exactly what I was hoping to hear. I smile in spite of the lingering tension that’s palpable in the air between us. “Do you mind if I join you? I’ll try not to slow you down too much.”
He hesitates for a full five seconds, then takes a deep breath and finally nods. “Let’s go. We can talk when we get downstairs.”
It’s obvious he’s still upset, but this is a promising start. To be honest, I would have taken anything short of a door slamming in my face as a promising start, so this is really a few notches above that.
We ride the elevator down to the lobby in silence, and it isn’t until we’re out on the sidewalk and starting to jog that he looks over and speaks again. “I should probably apologize for yesterday.”
Not the best apology I’ve ever heard, but not bad by Keir’s standards.
“Thanks.” I nod, unsure whether that was the actual apology or if he was just acknowledging that he should apologize. “I’m guessing something happened at work?”
“Yeah, it was a shitty day. Especially the end.”
We’re picking up speed, and I’m already out of breath and wishing that I’d stayed in bed a little longer. Still, it’s not often that he’s willing to talk like this—to apologize, even—and to give me his undivided attention at the same time, so I’m going to take full advantage of this run. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“No.”
Okay, so much for that willingness to talk.
“Do you want to talk about why you’re so hot and cold with me, then?”
It’s a question I probably shouldn’t be asking right now, given his dark mood. But dammit, it’s also a question that’s been on my mind for a while, and I think I deserve an answer.
Judging by the way he’s pressing his lips together into a thin line, I’m guessing he thinks differently.