The First Taste(112)

“Ignore him,” Andrew says. “He doesn’t have shit.”

I frown at Andrew. “I think he does.”

“Then we’ll fight it, like I said.” He watches me closely, his dark eyebrows gathered, his forehead creased with concern. He truly believes he and I have a chance against Reggie, and he cares enough about me to try. Even if it means putting himself in the middle of it. He’s wrong to think we can take Reggie on, but knowing he’s behind me gives me renewed confidence—in us and in myself.

I turn to Reggie. “You win. Although I guess it really depends how you look at it.” My throat is dry as a desert. I wish I knew in my gut if this was the right decision, but I don’t. All I know is that no business is worth this disillusioned, washed-up *’s manipulation. And it’s certainly not worth putting Andrew and Bell in the center of it. “You can have avec.”

Andrew steps closer to me. “Amelia.”

I shake my head, still staring at Reggie. “It’s okay. I’ll start again. I’ll do something bigger and better. Or maybe I won’t. But it’s my choice. I don’t know what you want with a fashion and beauty business—maybe you just need to run it into the ground to feel like a man, or to spite me, and that’s very sad. Take the alimony and the apartment too. I’ll give you everything; I’ll let you keep every cent. You’ll need it when you end up alone, having to live with the person you’ve become.”

Both men’s eyes are on me, and for the first time in a long time, at least where work and Reggie are concerned, a sense of calm settles over me. I loosen my grip, physically, uncurling my fists, and figuratively. I accept defeat. Though I love my business, there are more important things in the world, and part of me sees, like a pinprick of light on a dark horizon, that letting go of something leaves me constantly drained, could be a good thing.

“You’re going to choose a man you’ve known for weeks over your husband. Your business?” Reggie asks. “Things you’ve invested years of your life in?”

“I’m choosing myself. You may have every material thing that means anything to me, but I’m richer than you’ll ever be.” Andrew’s presence is strong beside me, and I take his hand. “And yes. I choose him too.”

Reggie raises a red, meaty hand. I don’t know what he intends to do with it, but I don’t find out. Andrew shoves him backward toward the door. “Do what you have to do,” he says. “But get the f*ck out. Now.”

“You’re just a bunch of . . . of . . .” Reggie turns and slams his fist into a wall, then curses in pain. “Remember—when you’re jobless and living with a bum—you could’ve had it all, Amelia. If you’d chosen me.”

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. He’s half out of his mind anyway. Andrew and I wait, still and silent, until he’s out the door. We don’t even move until we hear the ding of the elevator.

I exhale a sigh of relief. Andrew comes around to face me. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“No, you’re not.” He gently pinches my chin to lift it, inspecting my jaw. “He put his hands on you?”

“I’m okay,” I say and look up at him from under my lashes. As the threat of danger recedes, understanding takes it’s place. Andrew’s here. “You came. You came for the bath, for the whisky—”

“I came for you.” Just when I think he’s going to kiss me, he stops himself. “And I’m not going anywhere from now on.”

My heart swells. But there are bigger things on my mind than romance. “How’d you know I was in trouble?”

“I would never believe you’d go back to him unless he was forcing you to. And on my ride into the city just now, I came to some realizations.”

“About us?” I ask hopefully.

“No. I’d already decided about us.”

I open my mouth to ask what he decided, but he cuts me off.

“I started putting things together—like how he found us at the flea market and then knew where I worked. When he came to the garage, he made a strange comment about what you do behind closed doors, but I didn’t catch it because I was worried about Bell. It just kind of clicked that he was probably keeping tabs on us. Makes sense considering his fascination with control.”

I shake my head. “You were right. Except it was more than keeping tabs.”

“I had no idea it was this bad, but now that I do—I think he’s the one who stole your underwear.”

My gut pangs. As soon as Andrew says it, I know it’s true. Reggie was in my home when I wasn’t. He went through my things. He filmed me in my most intimate moments. I cover my mouth. “What are we going to do?”

He takes me in his arms, and once I’m pressed against his chest, I realize I’ve been waiting for him to do that since he walked in the door. Finally, some of my tension eases. “We’ll be getting a restraining order first thing Monday,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “I can’t have some disgruntled ex-husband taking my girlfriend’s most intimate things.”

My anger drains as I look up. Andrew’s eyes say it all—he believes in us. He came for me. He thinks we can do this. “Girlfriend?”