Terms and Conditions (Dreamland Billionaires, #2)(87)

She laughs. “I appreciate the thought, but I know what I signed up for.”

“So, what, us having sex is just a way for you to fulfill your end of a contract?” My tone carries more bite than intended.

“I never said that.”

“Then what?” I snap.

“I mean, I know we agreed to having a child via in vitro, but if we are attracted to each other, then maybe…” Her voice drops off.

Is she fucking kidding me? If we are attracted to each other? The way she minimizes our connection makes me want to throw her back on the bed and show her how attracted she is to me. It’s bullshit is what it is.

You’re angry at yourself because you’re developing feelings and she isn’t.

Fuck yeah, I’m angry. I hate this discomfort growing in my chest with each ragged breath as much as I hate the way she is the one person I can’t control.

I slam the drawer shut, which makes her wince. Her reaction only adds to my already deteriorating mood.

Rein your temper in before you do something you regret.

I’m quick to throw on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before grabbing my wallet.

“Let me explain.” She grabs onto my arm, but I shrug her off.

“I don’t want your explanation.”

What I want is silence and some time to think by myself because something I’m doing isn’t working. I chased. I conquered. Yet she still won’t acknowledge the obvious feelings growing between us.

“Where are you going?” She follows me down the hall.

“Out.” I don’t look back at her as I barrel down the stairs.

“It’s late.” Her voice edges on the side of panic as she follows behind me.

I almost turn around, but I can’t. Not when I feel like this. I don’t even know what this even is, but I want to claw at my chest until I have the ability to rip my useless heart out.

“Don’t go. Not like this.” She grasps my chin in her hand and forces me to look at her.

“Tell me why you don’t want me to go.”

“It doesn’t feel right.” Her reply is instant.

“Why?” I press.

She bites down on her lip and glances away. “Because you’re upset.”

“Try again.”

One more chance and then you’re walking away.

“Because I don’t want you to go.”

“Better, but not good enough.” I lean forward and kiss the top of her head before walking out of the house.

She doesn’t stop me again, although I wish she had.

I drive around Chicago without any destination. The empty feeling in my chest only intensifies with each mile I put between Iris and myself, much to my frustration. I don’t want to be away from her, but I don’t want to be around her either. Not when I feel out of control and one sentence away from destroying all the progress I’ve made up until this point.

I refuse to give her another reason to question our relationship, even if she doesn’t know we are in one in the first place. But how do I convince my wife by contract that we are meant to be together by choice?

The question plagues me for a whole hour. Nothing I come up with seems to be good enough, and I always circle back to the same issue.

I’m hopeless and desperate by the time I knock on Cal’s door.

He opens it not a minute later. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“She called you.”

His lack of a smile is the only confirmation I need. “Whatever you did, go back and fix it.”

“Why do you assume it’s me that did something wrong?”

“Are you seriously asking me that question?”

“Fair enough.”

He sighs. “Come on in. You look like you could use a person to talk to.”

I walk past him and enter his apartment. He keeps the place pristine, a complete opposite of what anyone would expect given his wreck of a personal life.

“Do you want a drink?”

“Water’s fine.”

Cal acts like a good host, bringing me a glass of water and a tumbler of my favorite whiskey. “Thought you could use both.”

“You don’t even like whiskey.”

“No, but I like my brother. Sometimes.” He grabs the bottle and places it down next to the tumbler just in case.

I pick up the water and leave the whiskey on the coffee table. Alcohol will only make matters worse, and I need a clear head.

“While I’m flattered you came here to seek out my advice, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help much.”

“Because?”

“Iris is my best friend. I’m not going to help you if it means hurting her.”

“I’m not trying to hurt her, dumbass. I’m trying to show her that I care about her,” I snap.

Cal’s eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

These are the moments I wish life had a rewind button.

“You care about her? Really?” The mystified look on his face reminds me of the day I told him Santa wasn’t real.

I press my lips together to avoid saying anything else.

He grabs my glass of whiskey, takes a sip, and unceremoniously spits it out, straight back into the same cup.

To think we are related.