Naked Love(4)

“Jesus, Avery …”

“No. Don’t say that. I know a lot about Jesus and you should too, Saint Anthony. I’m certain he wants nothing to do with this conversation.”

I lean back in the chair, cradling my hand. Anthony bends forward, resting his fists on the opposite side of the desk. “My parents like you. I like you. We could be such a great team.”

“A team?”

“You like the lifestyle, Avery. Don’t pretend you don’t. You’ll get everything you could ever possibly want—kids, mansions, cars, yachts, jets, a closet bigger than your entire apartment filled with the most expensive clothes …”

“And what do you get?”

“My angel.” A satisfied grin slides across his face.

“Which one?” I cock my head to the side.

His lips twist, eyes narrowed. “All of them.”

Them. Them! THEM!?!

My jaw plummets to my lap.

“But you will always be my favorite—the chosen one. My wife. Mother of my children. Queen of my empire.”

This is the part where I should break something like his computer or his toddler-sculpted nose.

I don’t.

As livid as I am with this stranger before me, this man who fooled me for two years, I’m more upset with myself because for a few brief, totally insane seconds I think about his offer. When did I surrender my pride, my sense of self-worth? Who broke me to the point that I don’t feel worthy of the one thing he’s not offering me?

If I walk out that door, who will I be? What if something better never comes along? I’m knocking on thirty’s door while mastering the art of failed relationships. If in ten years I have nothing more than a two-bedroom apartment, arthritic hands, and a measly disability check, will I regret saying no to a family and everything money can buy?

“I just want the spa. We go our separate ways, but you sign over the spa to me.”

“Avery.” He shakes his head while clucking his tongue. “I haven’t acquired this level of wealth and success by handing out million-dollar businesses to every woman who rolls through my bed.”

“It’s my spa.”

The smirk on his face stings. I already know what he’s going to say. I let myself become dependent on a man—again. My whole damn life at the moment is a lease.

My job.

My car.

My apartment.

The clothes.

The credit cards he lent me.

Anthony pushes off the desk and slips his hands into the front pockets of his tailored pants. “I can’t give you the spa. I’ll shut it down. It’s not that profitable. I’ll need both credit cards back. Your rent is paid through the end of the month, but then you’re on your own. I’ll need the car back. Better hope your old one starts. The rest of the stuff is yours. I’d suggest selling it to make ends meet.”

I peel myself from the chair. When we’re face to face, I let my emotions break freely. “You said you loved me.” I sniffle as tears race down my cheeks.

“I do. I love you for you. I love you in spite of your selfish needs. Why can’t you love me in spite of mine?”

Unbelievable.

I’m out of here.

I’m done with men.

Done.

Done.

DONE!





CHAPTER TWO





I miss my mom. She died when I was eight. I’m sure a shrink would say I’ve been trying to fill that void for years. Some voids cannot be filled. Some wounds won’t stop bleeding on their own either, but you don’t stop applying pressure to them.

Maybe there will come a day when I realize this void is an integral part of who I am, but right now, it just feels like an empty stomach craving something—anything.

My yearning for something leads me home. I call my sister to let her know I’m taking Swarley with me to Illinois to see Dad. There’s a little relief when she doesn’t answer her phone. I’d rather leave a message so she can’t talk me out of making the trip. It also helps that I wait until I’m fourteen hours into my twenty-seven-hour drive before I leave her that message.

And my dad? He has no idea I’m coming for a surprise visit. He’s had too many heart issues. I can’t stress him out with my impulsive venture halfway across the country in an old Honda Pilot, with an old dog and a gimpy hand.

“Surprise!” I put on my brave face and hope he ignores the bags under my eyes. I turned a three-day trip into two days with the help of coffee, energy drinks, and adrenaline-fueled rage.

“Avery …” Dad shakes his head. “W-what are you doing here?”

Swarley sniffs his way around the yard, pissing on everything.

I jab my thumb over my shoulder. “Why is there a moving truck in your driveway?”

He gives me an awkward smile then shakes it off. “Did you drive by yourself? From L.A.?”

“Yes. Are you going to let me in the house?”

He steps out of my way.

“But, I’m here now. I’m safe. So there’s no need to lecture me about—” I stop three feet inside the front door. There are boxes everywhere. “Are you moving?” I whip back around to face him.

He deflates. “Yes.”

“When? Why? Where? Were you going to tell me? Does Sydney know?”