Page 69 of Between Love and Loathing

I didn’t check for notifications from them again. I didn’t check the news or the magazines from the reports that were flowing in either. I wore a HEAT watch and knew the technology was sending me updates regarding my own name. The articles had gone from comparing Natya and Clara to “Another Hardy-Milton Merger” because Evie and Declan were the first to have been caught in the tangled mess of Carl’s will.

I knew none of the articles had pictures of the fight at the bar, although some of them claimed an eyewitness saw one or two things. Every article was swooning though. The spin was good. Our PR teams were doing their jobs like I told them to. Yet, I’d somehow fucked up mine as a boyfriend.

A fake one.

I sat in my study for what seemed like days. The minute hand on the clock ticked slower and slower by the second. What was she doing in her damn room? If she was angry, she should have been out here fighting with me about it.

She had to talk to me. She may have been frustrated with me now, but we were bound together for the next few months. Apologizing to her for taking care of her health wasn’t an option, but I made the first effort by texting:

Me: You want to have dinner?

Clara: Not with you.

I growled up at the ceiling, pulling at the back of my neck and then pounding a fist on my oak desk.

Me: Should I deliver food then?

Clara: I’ll take french fries and crab rangoon.

Me: No place serves both of those things.

Clara: Well then. Guess I’ll stay mad.

Clara: And just so we’re clear, food delivery won’t make this better.

Me: What will?

Me: The moving team will have all the furniture and decor that was yours here tomorrow. I’ll try my best to make you feel at home here, babe.

Clara: As you should since you upended my home.

I had to smile at her boldness, at her not being at all accommodating, trying to put me in my place. She was right to do so.

Me: I took control of my girlfriend’s life a little too fast, huh? I’ll apologize for that. I should have moved slower.

There were dots for a minute. On and off, and on, and then off. My move since she wasn’t sending.

Me: I know how I can apologize further if you let me, little fighter.

Clara: How?

I was definitely going to hell for sexting her in hopes of forgiveness. I’d either get her in that big white bed in the guest room with the down comforter fluffed up around her or she’d storm out of that room mad as hell.

Me: I’ll get you the food and make you feel good.

Clara: You don’t know how to make me feel good.

Me: Now we both know you’re lying. Bet your pussy is wet already from the idea.

Clara: Not after you ripped apart my bakery and said you hated everything in it.

Me: Shit, cupcake. I never finished what I had to say. It’s not my taste, but your bakery shouldn’t be. It’s got the flair you do.

Clara: Is that a compliment?

Me: As close as you’re going to get to one.

Clara: How close will I get to an apology for what you did today?