Make Me (Broke and Beautiful #3)(40)

She stared off toward the beach for a minute, sixty seconds that stretched into the longest of his life, as if debating whether or not he deserved to know the truth. And he’d earned every second of agony that came before her answer. They weren’t together. Their relationship was murky and undefined. He’d made sure of it. Finally, she answered. “He’s only a coworker, Russell. I don’t even like him.” She tugged at the hem of the Yankees T-shirt he’d covered her in. “He’s just a mouthpiece for my stepmother, delivering bad news so she doesn’t have to feel guilty.”

“Okay.” He breathed the word, relief showering down on him like an epic rainstorm. He was selfish for being relieved when her problems still existed, but seeing her with another man would have broken him, rendering him useless to help her. At least now he could breathe. “Tell me the rest.”

She dropped onto one of the deck chairs, wrapping two arms around her raised legs. “My father is undergoing psychiatric treatment. The stress caught up with him about a month ago, and he’s unable to run the company right now.” She lifted her shoulders in a weary shrug. “I’m just stepping in until he gets back on his feet.”

It took a moment for Russell to process the implications of that. “You’re running a multimillion-dollar hedge fund?”

“No, I’m running a billion-dollar hedge fund.”

“You’re making light of this?”

“No.” Her brows drew together. “No, I’m not making light of it. My father isn’t well. I don’t really know to what extent because he won’t even see me. I’m one computer keystroke away from losing millions of dollars every second of the day. So, no. Not making light.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was hoarse from holding back a shout. Not at Abby but into the ether. A general shout of what the f*ck that would echo for a year. He wanted to level self-disgust at himself for underestimating her, for thinking she’d been working some cushy office job that catered lunch and overpaid their employees for sitting on their asses in air-conditioning all day. He’d always known Abby had a brilliant mind, but he assumed working was optional for her. It appeared to be anything but. “You tell me everything. What was different this time? I would have found a way to help.”

Abby pushed to her feet with a soft laugh. “You just answered your own question. You can’t help this time around. And it would have driven you crazy.”

“Don’t worry, I’m making up for lost time in the crazy department.”

She glanced toward the house. “Look what happened when I told Roxy and Honey. Now my problem is theirs. Now none of us can enjoy the weekend. I was fine with its just being me.”

“Of course, they’re worried, Abby.” He closed the gap between them and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her a little. “You’re worthy of everyone’s worry. If the same thing that happened to your father happened to you, I’d . . .”

“You’d what? Get mad at me? Stomp around and shout at everyone? Do you think that would help?” She jerked away from his grip, temper making her eyes glow in the partial darkness. “And I’m worthy? Worthy of what? Getting on my knees for you . . . but not actually being your girlfriend. Right?” Her words dug into his chest like a round of bullets. “Manache! Your words mean nothing to me right now.”

Russell had no idea how long he stood there, staring at the spot where Abby had been standing, her outline still visible. A chain saw had been swiped across his midsection, sending his vital organs falling to the ground. His legs didn’t want to hold him up, but collapsing would require movement, and he hurt too much to attempt that.

Abby thought he’d been using her. That was the sick truth his dishonesty had bred. This girl he dreamed of making his wife thought he wanted a temporary hookup—and why not? I’m not in the market for a girlfriend. Hadn’t he said those words, possibly even more than once? She’d stuck around anyway, and the only reason he could come up with was . . . she’d trusted him to do the right thing by her. And in f*cktastic fashion, he’d fulfilled the prophecy originated by his father and done the opposite.

Could he tell her the truth? That he’d only wanted to be sure, positive that he could provide for her before taking that major step he was dying to take. Asking her, begging her, to be his forever. Right now, forever with Abby sounded like even more of a long shot than it had this morning. Now he was working against more than his couch-surfing status. He had to overcome the wound he’d inflicted by letting her feel used.

Russell cursed, the jackhammer in his head revving once again, ready to finish the job. Right now, he could only follow his instincts. They were telling him to get inside and do something to help her. And yeah, maybe it made him a bastard, but Abby around another man didn’t sit right. Never would. But when he walked inside, he found Mitchell sitting alone at the kitchen table, stuffing documents back into a briefcase.

“Where’s Abby?”

When the guy eyeballed him, Russell remembered his lack of a shirt. Deal with it, man. “She headed out the front door. Said she wanted some fresh air.” The lawyer’s smile was tight. “Maybe you should let her get it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk to me about Abby. Ever. How’s that sound?”

Mitchell laughed, and it sounded phony as hell. “Mrs. Sullivan will be interested to know whom Abby decided to bring into their home.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “Of course, the others seem perfectly fine.”