Page 91 of Free to Judge

I can’t let him be that close to me.

Not ever again.

Clenching my jaw, I make my way to my laundry room and drop in my contaminated sheets. After punching every button enough to strip the color off them when combined with the amount of bleach I pour in, I spin around to the linen closet and remake my bed.

Once that’s done, I pull out all the cleaning supplies and scrub down every inch of my home. Anything and everything Declancould have touched, I scrub it within an inch of its life. From the top of the end table to the bottom of the stairwell, there isn’t a surface left untouched.

I’m not just cleaning, I’m scrubbing his presence from my home.

Next, I do something I haven’t felt the need to do since our new alarm system was installed after our home was invaded. I drop the bar into the sliding glass door.

Short of breaking a window or a door—which will have both the police and Hudson agents inside my home in under ten minutes—there’s no way Declan’s getting in if he comes over.

Hours later, I’m taking small sips of water. I’m exhausted, but I’m finally ready to confront him. I sit down on the bench in our hallway with nothing but the painted wall as my background. My hair is swept away from my face. He doesn’t get to come back into my home. Not in any way.

Not again.

Kalie:

Fine. FaceTime if you’re available.

Declan:

Whenever you’re ready.

I press the video icon. Itbleep-bleepsonce. Twice. Then his gorgeous smiling face greets mine. That smile fades when concern takes over. “Firebrand—” he starts, but before he can finish, I jump in.

My voice is dead when I ask, “How was your meeting?”

“Good. We got a lot accomplished.”

“So I saw.”

His brow furrows. I’d prepared my text to him before I started this call. I send him the link to Sexy & Social. His face pales.

“You bastard,” I say in the same monotone. I refuse to give this man a single moment of my heartache when he’s already stolen a piece of my heart.

Declan exhales raggedly, words failing him until, with a hollow tremor, he finally manages, “It isn’t what it looks like.”

My chest tightens. I crave confrontation—a fight, a justification, even a sham denial. “All I get is a pathetic excuse? Wow. I guess you skipped the thinking on your feet class at law school too.” His own words being flung back at him cause him to recoil. “I’m surprised you haven’t been killed yet with your inability to think on your feet better than that.”

His mouth opens and closes, but I shift into lawyer mode. I get my raging emotions under control so I eviscerate him for the right reasons. “You claimed this morning you wanted to wait on us until this was done. Fact.”

“Firebrand—”

I keep going. “You claimed you had a business meeting. Fact.”

Despite my initial reticence about Declan, I’d never thought him anything but honorable. Wasn’t I the stupid one. I tick off another box. “The ‘meeting’ occurred at a strip club. Fact.”

“Kalie. You know my cover?—”

I cut him off. “You were caught by the paparazzi. Fact.” Before he can even attempt to wedge in some half-assed response, I continue, “You know, if just her hands were on you, I might believe this bullshit you’re trying to shovel in my direction. But the fact your hands were on her? The fact—” I swallow hard soI can maintain the same icy courtroom armor I’ve worn for our entire call. “You gave her the same damn look you gave me last night? That’s what we call slam dunk evidence.”

“Slam dunk evidence of what?” His voice is raw and that ignites my fury.

“Of the fact last night meant nothing to you. Which is fine. That’s on me to deal with.”

His eyes widen, panic etching every line on his face. “No. Kalie. The pictures aren’t?—”