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What else was there to do at this point, when I never did anything any of the other times.
The private times.
How was this any different?
Any worse?
It wasn’t.
This writing was already carved into the damn wall.
So why did I feel like my heart was trying to claw out of my chest?
Ignoring the activity behind me—the hostess asking if I was okay, security stepping in to keep Monty from following me, the reflexive prying eyes of the other diners. I just kept walking until I got on the elevator, but then halfway down I opted for the stairs, needing the motion to…
I don’t know.
I don’t know what I expected.
But Rendezvous was on the roof, and by the time I made it back down all those damn steps…
I’d gained nothing.
I wasn’t any more in control of the rage, the hurt, the sadness I was feeling. In fact, the tears I’d been holding in all day were dangerously close to the surface now. I shoved my way through the door into the lobby, looking undoubtedly like a madwoman based on the looks I got as I headed for the valet.
I didn’t care.
My focus was singular.
So much that I didn’t even care when I registered the blur of someone else already heading for the valet stand. I cut him off.
“If you wanna fight, just say that,” I heard him drawl behind me as I dug around to get my valet ticket out of my bag.
“What?” I asked, not even looking up.
“I mean, I don’t put my hands on women, not in that way, but I could probably get my sister Tam up here. She likes to fight. You could probably give her a run for her money though.”
Frowning, I turned around, mouth already moving. “What the fuck are you… talking about. Oh hell.”
That same riveting grin from earlier was spread over Tatum Wilder’s face when I turned around, but it quickly melted off. Whatever was on my face shifted his expression to concern. “Hey, you good?”
“Does it seem like it?” I asked, tossing my hands up as I realized the valet ticket was not in my purse.
Because I wasn’t parked here.
I was parked a block away, and hadn’t used the valet at all.
“Not at all,” he answered, honestly. “You want to talk about it?”
I looked up, narrowing my eyes. “You’re a stranger who has people talking shit about me on the internet, even more than they already were. Why would I want to talk to you?”
He shrugged. “Because I’m a stranger. I’ll only have heard your side, so you’ll automatically be right.”
Hm.
“Come on,” he said, already hooking an arm through mine. “You need a fruity drink or something. That’s the type of shit y’all be liking, right?”
“Who is y’all?”