The Billionaire Next Door (Billionaire Bad Boys #2)(89)

She might not be angry, but he sure as hell was. Pissed, he stepped forward and looked down at her. “And who are you, Dimples?”

She met his gaze and said, “A woman who is capable of doing things without your help.”

She didn’t want his help any longer? After he’d closed the bar for her when she was ready to drop? After he gave her a place to stay, had offered his home and car and plane to give her whatever she needed? After taking the time to crack open the woman underneath the scared one she presented to the world?

“You mean now that you’ve taken everything you needed from me, you’re good to go?” His nostrils flared, anger surging through him. Voice raised, he continued. “You found your sexual self and your ability to take no shit from your ex, and you secured the job of your dreams in a building with my goddamn name on it, and now you’re capable?” he all but shouted.

Rachel blanched, her cheeks dulling. He’d surprised her, but what had she expected? For him to say “no problem” when she dumped him on his ass? She’d gutted him. He could barely process the pain lying in wait to flay him later.

“Glad I could foot the bill and help you through your life transition, Dimples,” he said. Because right now, he was feeling pretty f*cking used.

“That’s not fair.”

“No shit.” He pulled the door open for her, his heart lurching and his nose stinging. “Have a nice life.”

She looked like she might cry the tears he was viciously staving off, but then her phone chimed. One look at the screen and her face was once again placid. “That’s my cab.”

“Better catch it.” That last word came out quiet. He didn’t move toward her an inch. She didn’t come to him either, simply lifted her chin and collected her bags.

“Bye, Tag.”

Then she was out the door.

And out of his life.

*



“She dumped you?” Lucas dodged a plastic toy, avoiding suffering a concussion by a very narrow margin. “Not now, sweets,” he said to his daughter. “Daddy needs his brains right now.”

Tag had driven to Lucas’s after Rachel left. Tag had let her go, closing his front door and staring at it, his heart aching, his entire body buzzing and dull from lack of sleep. In his compromised state, he was afraid if he chased after her, he might drop to his knees and beg her not to leave.

He wasn’t about to do that. He had some pride.

After pacing his penthouse like a caged tiger for the next twenty minutes, he’d conceded there was no way he could sleep, so he’d grabbed his keys and called Lucas on the way.

“She used me,” Tag said now. He blinked, his vision grainy, brain set on stupid.

Lucas chuckled.

“What’s funny?”

“You look more confused than angry. Like someone put Shakespeare in front of you and asked you to point out examples of iambic pentameter.”

Tag felt his mouth screw to the side.

“Proving my point.”

“I’m past angry. I was angry an hour ago when I opened the door for her to leave my house.” But angry wasn’t necessarily the right word. Hurt. Pissed. Confused. Yeah, confusion was his reigning emotion at the present.

Lucas handed the baby off to Gena, whose laser-like eyes fried into Tag like he was a rotisserie chicken. “Once the baby is down for her nap, I’ll deal with you.”

Tag watched her go, then refocused on his friend. “What’d I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do.” Lucas held up a finger to make his point.

Spreading his hands, Tag said, “Which was?”

“You could’ve gone to the wedding with Rachel.”

“I have to work. She knows I have to work.” That made sense, right? He couldn’t be sure, since each thought sloshed in his brain like a tossing ship.

“Uh-huh. Also, you’re allergic to weddings.”

“I’ve been to plenty of weddings.” Tag pushed his hair off his face and twisted it into a bun at the back of his neck. Why the hell was everyone’s focus on weddings all of a sudden?

“Never with a date,” Lucas said, crossing one leg at the ankle and resting a hand on his jeans. “We didn’t take dates to weddings, because they’d get diamond-eyed when they stepped up to catch the bouquet toss.”

“Diamond-eyed,” Tag repeated. Another stupid term for another stupid thing he and Luc used to do together. “What the f*ck is wrong with us?” Or, more aptly, since Lucas was happily married, what was wrong with Tag?

“The world may never know.” Luc pushed off the couch. “You want some coffee?”

“Yeah.” Tag wasn’t any closer to arriving at an epiphany, but maybe coffee would help.

They bellied up to the bar—which was actually the kitchen counter. Lucas pressed a button on his fancy coffeemaker that ground the beans and started the pot brewing. By the time he had poured them each a cup, Gena swept into the kitchen, her daughter no longer in her arms.

“They’re both down,” she said, keeping her voice low. Then she pointed at Tag and handed him his own ass.

“You’re a f*cking moron.” She smiled sweetly at Lucas. “Babe, pour me one?”

Lucas angled a glance at Tag, handed Gena a mug, and filled one for himself.