Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(89)

“A friend from New York.” How much did he hear? I lick my lips, dreading explaining about Marvin. Jack’s trust is like lace, filled with sharp edges and holes. Barely there. Delicate.

“How good of a friend?” he grinds out, his chest rising as he crosses his arms.

I flinch. There’s a sharpness to his tone that makes my skin crawl. Not that he would hurt me, but it’s as if he’s already judged me. I study his granite face, the careful way he’s holding himself, so still and frozen. He’s . . . angry.

I glance around. Everyone from the play has gone. Laura and Timmy must have left while I finished up my call.

“Jack . . .” I stand, my dress swishing around my legs. “Let’s go back to my house—”

“No,” he says coldly. “Let’s do this here. Explain that conversation to me.” He widens his stance. “Especially the part where you said, ‘Would you get a cut if Jack signed with Blue Stone through me?’ You were talking about me, and I know exactly who Blue Stone is.”

I could have handled the anger he’s feeling from hearing a one-sided conversation, but it’s the icy look in his eyes that tells me he’s not going to listen.

My heart dips. “Not here.” I want to be home, around my things. I need to sit down with him and explain about how I used to work at Blue Stone.

His chest rises. “I am not going back to your house after hearing what I just heard. Who is Marvin? Lay it out for me,” he barks.

I inhale a breath, my stomach in knots. I study his face, not recognizing him. “You’re reading into part of a one-sided conversation, one you didn’t hear all of. And don’t use that tone with me.”

“God damn it, Elena,” he says, stepping back from me as I jump down to the floor. “Don’t you dare do this to me. I trusted you.”

“You never trusted me.” I stop in front of him, adrenaline rushing, anger and fear of his insecurities riding me hard.

How can he judge me so fast?

Based on one comment?

And why did he sneak up behind me?

He shakes his head. “I did.”

“No, you didn’t! You’ve been waiting for a shoe to drop since you came back from seeing Sophia!”

“With good reason if you’re talking to Blue Stone.” His breathing increases as he seems to break and let go of himself. He scrubs at his face and pales, the enormity of something hitting him hard. “Shit, you . . . you played me so good. Sophia told me there was something, but I never dreamed—”

“You let her talk about me?” I suck in a breath. “That’s why you came back so strange. All it takes is a real conversation, Jack, something we don’t really have, and maybe we could have solved this. And as soon as this play is over, do you think we’ll ever see each other again? Have you even thought about it? We don’t talk about the future. We don’t make plans. Besides, since you had me investigated by Lawrence, surely you knew that I used to work at Blue Stone. I told you the night we met that I edited romance books!” I’m yelling, and I hate it.

He rakes a hand through his hair, his voice low, calm, and steely. “Stop stalling. Just tell me who he is, Elena.”

Dread fills me. I suspect it’s not going to matter what I say. “My old boss. He calls me all the time and offers me a job.”

His face flattens more. “And a book deal to sweeten it? How much money will you get?”

I close my eyes, emotion clawing at my throat.

He’s putting me in a category in his head, right up there with Sophia. Liar. User. Manipulator.

It slices right through me. He’ll never trust anyone. Ever.

He’ll never—

My hands tighten around my purse as I drape it over my dress.

“I want the whole truth. What do you plan to do with what you know about me? You know it all, don’t you? Stories about Harvey I never told anyone. How . . . unsure I get. My shoulder. Are you even on the pill?”

That slices into me deep like a knife, and I bite my lip, tears threatening, and I didn’t think he could hurt me any more, but he’s crushing me. Anger battles back, fighting as my throat tightens.

“I don’t owe you an answer to those questions,” I whisper. He already has my heart. And my pride holds me in her tight grasp, because why should I respond to such things when he should know how I am with him, he should know I . . .

He falls back on a chair, his head bent, shoulders hunched.

Tears come roaring back, and I can’t stop them this time when they fall down my face.

“Don’t cry, Elena, please. I can’t handle . . .” His voice is ragged, tired. Done.

I hang on to my purse, needing an anchor to hold me upright and away from him, because everything inside is battling to take him in my arms and beg him to see me.

“I love you,” I say, the words broken. “I knew you’d sweep me away—and in the end, you’d crush me. I stayed right with you all the way because I couldn’t bear to not be part of your world!”

He doesn’t move a muscle. “Sophia said she loved me too.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “Right. Silly me. All girls say that. But I’m not just any girl, Jack. I’m the girl. The one. The one we joked about at Milano’s that night we met. Deep down, I think you know—”