The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,89
headboard. “So, why were you standing there staring at me when I woke up? Contemplating the most efficient way to arrange my body parts in the freezer?”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be weird. I was actually thinking,” I glance around the room, “how much it bothers me, you living here.”
“Because she was here?”
“Her, him. You’ve felt unsafe here. You’ve had your heart broken here.” I point at the ground I’m standing on. “We need to get you the hell out of this apartment.”
She pulls back a little, raising her shoulders around her neck. “What?”
“I know you’ve been fighting for it, but why? Why would you want to live here, where they’ve been? Where he made you feel like nothing?”
She looks away, her brows furrowed. “Honestly, I don’t. I thought maybe I’d sell it once I won it—that would really piss him off. But I can’t just let him walk away from this unscathed.”
“Believe me, he’s scathed. He lost you.”
She looks back at me, her expression softer. “It’s not enough. Don’t you understand—it’s about principle. I want to put him through the wringer.”
“But you’re putting yourself through the wringer. Don’t you understand? The best way to hurt him is to move on with your life. You’ll never be able to do that while you’re here.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “What makes you so sure? Reggie hurts from his wallet, not his heart.”
I shake my head. All the money in the world can’t buy back a man’s pride. Seeing Amelia with me, knowing she’s strong enough to leave him behind—that’ll do more damage than an apartment. And it’s what’s best for Amelia. “I’m a man. I tend to know how they think.”
She sighs. “My therapist doesn’t think it’s healthy either, but I can’t just up and leave. This is my home.”
“Amelia, you’re one of the strongest women I know. You can up and do anything.” I check her bedside clock. “I have a few hours before I need to go get Bell for her gymnastics class. Let’s get breakfast and go look at some places. Just to get you moving in the right direction.”
“But—” She stammers. “I can’t just move. We’re in the middle of planning a huge fashion show at work while simultaneously building out an influencer marketing division. Do you have any idea how grueling it is to try to keep up with the teen market? I’m creating a whole team just for that. Not to mention the fact that before I can even think of moving, I have to worry about selling this place—”
“You told me he owns it.”
“He does.”
“So fuck it. Leave it behind. You don’t owe him anything.”
She sits forward to set the mug on her nightstand, clutching the sheet to her chest. “You can’t be serious.”
I can’t be, but I am. Amelia was right that first night—sleepovers are dangerous. It was just great sex until she opened up to me, let me in, showed me her fear. And then slept in my arms. Now it’s real. And I’m more than a little uncomfortable with her living in her ex’s apartment, especially now that I know the extent of his scumbag ways. As long as she’s here, she’s still under his thumb. “Does he have a key?”
“Yes, but the doormen know—”
“Amelia, listen to me. The more I think about it, the more my skin crawls. You shouldn’t be accessible to him at all.”
“I’m not, really,” she says. “We’re only supposed to communicate through our lawyers.”
“But he showed up here recently. How’d he get past the doorman?”
She opens her mouth to respond but pauses. “I’m not sure, actually. I didn’t think about it, but Frank’s not really a fan of mine. He’d probably hand Reggie the keys.”
“Great. So your disgruntled doorman is in cahoots with your crooked ex.” I half-roll my eyes. “Look, I get it. You want to repay him for the pain he’s caused. I’m telling you—the quickest way to do that is to sever all ties, give him what he wants, and find happiness somewhere else. If he feels an ounce of love for you still, it’ll kill him. If he doesn’t, you’re better off getting out before he does even more damage.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Call your lawyer,” I say. “Tell him you’ll give up the apartment and anything else Reggie wants in exchange for regaining complete control of avec.”
“Everything?”
I kick the foot of the bed like I’m testing the air in a tire. “They’re just things, and they’re weighing you down.”