Managed (VIP #2)(98)

Jules nods. “And Jennifer?”

“She’s out. Give her two weeks severance and a ticket home.”

“I’m guessing not in first class?” Jules’s joke falls flat. And her smile dies. “Too soon?”

Not bothering to answer, I stand and squeeze the back of my stiff neck. “And go over the NDA she signed. Make certain she understands the repercussions if she talks.”

We both turn at a noise from the living area. Sophie stands at the threshold to the dining room. Her hair hangs damp and limp around her shoulders. She appears smaller somehow, diminished. The light has gone out of her pretty eyes.

I did that to her. My heart thumps in my chest, pushing against my ribs, which squeeze tight at the sight of her.

“Sophie. We were finishing up here.”

“Yeah, I see that.” She sounds like a ghost of herself.

Dimly, I’m aware of Jules leaving. I only have eyes for Sophie, however.

Silence ticks by. I take a step in her direction, but her voice stops me.

“You were right. I don’t belong on this tour. It’s no longer fun for me.”

“Fun?” The word is like a slap to the face.

“Yeah, fun. You know that concept you have a hard time embracing?”

I wince.

And she winces too. “I’m sorry. That was shitty. I didn’t mean it.”

“You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it,” I say quietly.

Her eyes narrow. “So you meant every word you said to me then?”

There’s a trap here. I can see it laid out, waiting for me to fall into. Only I have no idea how to circumvent the damn thing.

“I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” I say. “I regret being so…” Vicious. “Aggressive.”

“But you don’t regret what you said.” A flat statement.

Irritation flares. “What do you want me to say, Sophie? We had words. All couples fight.” And then they make up. Why can’t we get to the make up part of the program?

Apparently, we aren’t anywhere near that segment.

Her expression goes colder. “Couples trust each other.”

“This again? You lied to me,” I bite out. And that hurt me. Somehow that is harder to admit.

“And I apologized,” she snaps.

I should let it go. I know this. “You lied to me about someone who…f*ck all, Sophie. He’s been inside you.”

I don’t even know what I’m saying, only that the thought of him being with Sophie turns my stomach and makes me want to pummel something.

Her mouth falls open. “You’re jealous? Of Martin?”

Her voice saying his name sets me off. “More like disgusted by your life choices.”

Shit.

She gasps. I can’t take the words back.

“Sophie…I didn’t—”

“First I’m immature, now I’m disgusting?”

“You are not disgusting.” I take another step toward her. “I spoke out of turn. I am a jealous prat. I didn’t expect to be, but I am.”

I move closer. If I can just get to her, simply hold her, things will be all right. They have to be.

But she holds up a hand, warning me off. “Look, I’m going to stay with Brenna tonight.”

This is wrong. She shouldn’t go. “You should stay.”

A bitter smile pulls at her lips. “But I don’t want to.”

I swallow so hard it hurts. “Oh.”

Brilliant rejoinder. Bloody brilliant.

She makes a noise in her throat as if she’s thinking the same thing. “Like I said, I don’t want to stay on the tour either.”

My body strains toward hers. “Why?” It sounds more like a plea than a question.

She huffs out a toneless laugh. “Jesus, you can’t be this thick. You gave me an ultimatum. Either grow up or get off the tour. And by what I’ve heard from you tonight, all this is moot anyway. And you know what? I don’t want to grow up. Not if it means being coldly clinical like you, so I guess I’m out.”

She grabs the bag I’m only now seeing and heads for the door. My feet are rooted to the ground. I have to force them to move, to follow her. I feel hollowed out and numb. My head pounds with her angry words.

“Wait,” I say.

She doesn’t turn. “You know,” she says. “I like you just as you are, faults and all. But you clearly don’t accept me for who I am.”

“That’s not true!” I’m walking faster now. But she’s already at the door, opening it. “Sophie.”

She pauses, but still doesn’t look my way. “Leave me alone, Gabriel. I’ve reached my limit tonight. I can’t talk to you any more.”

Give her space. That’s what men are supposed to do when a woman requests it, aren’t they? I don’t know. I’ve never had a woman I wanted to call my own before. It feels wrong, but I’ve done everything wrong at this point. So I shove my protests aside.

“All right. Good night, Sophie.”

“Goodbye.”

The door shuts with a soft click, and I am alone.



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Sophie



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