Between Commitment and Betrayal (Hardy Billionaire Brothers, #1)(52)

But Everly was faster. She was backing out of the room already. “Of course he isn’t. I’d never want him to be, either. Just making sure I’m continuing to be that great employee he sees me as.” With that, she spun around and jogged off.

I waited until I heard the front door slam before I said what I knew would cause problems.

“You’re both aware that Carl had every intention to take care of Everly while he was alive, correct?”

Maybe my voice carried too much frustration, too much anger, too much of the hate I usually held back. I was used to charming the masses, putting on a smile for bullshit pictures, and shaking hands with fucking devils for a living.

It’s why I looked for outlets in crazy places. I got my adrenaline rush, exorcized my emotions in the best way I knew how, and then came back to the public eye.

My love had been the game of football. I’d endured Carl’s crap to establish a worldwide brand that athletes could feel at home in while also creating an empire for my brothers and myself. Everything else, I didn’t give a shit about.

Sometimes I wondered if they forgot where I came from. That I hadn’t been born filthy rich, that I still enjoyed the small things.

“Oh, of course we need to take care of her in some way.” Melinda flippantly waved her hand but then she nudged her daughter, their eyes darting from me to each other like they weren’t sure what had shifted in the room.

It was me.

It was my moral compass, the one I held straight ahead toward money and fame because Carl had been good to me, because I wanted to make him proud, because I felt like mingling with his cruel family was an obligation.

“No. I don’t expect you to do that. I’m not even sure you’re capable of that, Mrs. Milton,” I pointed out. I walked around the island counter and took my time taking their glasses from them and putting them in the sink. It was a blatant end to our visit. “I do expect you to respect the guest I have in my home, though. What’s mine is hers. It’s her home now for as long as she would like. And if you disrespect her in it again, you won’t be asked back here or any place she may frequent—including my fucking gyms, you get me? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to chase after her to make sure we didn’t offend the hell out of her.”

“Declan!” Anastasia squeaked. “Are you serious? Carl would not have wanted this. He always said he dreamed that one of his daughters would actually spend more time with you. He was talking about us, you know?” She smiled, sliding her hand up my arm.

I stepped back. “Anastasia, you’re good friends with Piper. She’d never be happy with us spending more time together after—”

“She said you all weren’t serious. Right, Mother? You were there!”

Melinda read between the lines. She had pulled her purse on, but her eyes were narrowed, the catlike points of her eye makeup looked more and more predatory. “Yes, Anastasia. I was there. It seems, though, that Declan has other plans. Let’s give him his space now. You can talk with him and Piper at dinner when you meet.”

I walked right out to my garage as they left, ready to use my car for its main purpose. I sped down my drive and out of the gated community as quickly as I could. It only took me a minute to catch up to her.

Her curly hair threaded through the wind as she jogged, the duffel bag almost as big as her on her back.

I slowed down and pulled toward the curb, hoping no paps were around. She’d been smart enough to wear a baseball cap, but my car wouldn’t do me any favors. “Get in, Drop.”

She breathed in and out, her running form perfection like rest of her damn body. Why did she look good at everything she did? Even while she ignored me.

“Everly, get in the fucking car.”

“I told you I wanted to jog to work, Mr. Hardy.”

“Fuck me. Not ‘Mr. Hardy’ again, woman. I only want you saying that if I’m teaching you a lesson on your knees.”

Her gaze whipped to mine as I inched by her in the car. “You think your jokes are funny right now?”

If I told her it wasn’t a joke I probably wouldn’t win the argument. So I kept it to myself. “Can we start over?”

“Start over with what?”

“The day?” I tried.

“I’d rather not. I don’t enjoy mornings.”

I sighed and continued to crawl along next to her for two whole minutes. “I’m going to follow you all the way to work at”—I glanced at the speedometer—“eight miles an hour if you don’t get in.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged.

“Do you plan on jogging home too?”

“I do.” She nodded.

She continued to jog, and I continued to follow, not sure what to say but knowing I had to say something. We weren’t really husband and wife, but we’d both committed to one another, and damn if I didn’t want to protect her in some type of way from the people who looked down on her now.

“Melinda and Anastasia shouldn’t have been over at our house this morning.”

“It’s your house,” she corrected.

“For the next year it’s ours. You should be coming and going there as you please. Fuck,” I grumbled, getting pissed just thinking about it. “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable and that’s what happened.”