Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,176

her eyes. Grip isn’t an easy man to lose.

“He didn’t cheat, Qwest,” I say softly. “We need to clear the air.”

“So he sends you to do his dirty work,” Will scoffs. “This is highly unprofessional, Bristol.”

“What’s unprofessional is you not responding to my calls or emails for the last two days while your client went on a Twitter tour denigrating my client’s character.” I tilt my chin and remind him with a glance that he does not want to mess with me. “And Grip doesn’t know I’m here.”

He does know I’m in New York, but he thinks it’s just to see Kilimanjaro on tour.

“Oh, so you go behind his back, too, not just mine,” Qwest says sarcastically. “Good to know.”

“I’m here to apologize,” I say softly. “Not for cheating, because we didn’t. We wouldn’t, but for how you found out about our . . . relationship. For how things happened. Please give me a chance to explain.”

For a moment, it looks like she won’t yield. Her lips pull into a tight line, and her long nails dig into her palms.

“Five minutes,” she finally says. “That’s all you get.”

I look to Ezra, who takes my cue and walks to the door. “Will, let’s give the ladies a few moments alone,” he says.

Irritation and indignation gather on Will’s face, and he’s torn between following his boss’ orders, and protecting his client.

“Go on, Will. I’ll be fine.” Qwest looks me up and down.

Once we’re alone, Qwest settles onto a couch across from the Ezra’s desk and leans back, stretching her arms behind her.

“Clock is ticking,” Qwest says.

“I know Grip told you from the beginning that there was someone he had feelings for,” I say, sitting on the couch, crossing my legs. “He had reservations about getting involved feeling that way for someone else. He was honest about that.”

“Yeah, but he also told me he didn’t cheat on me.”

“He didn’t. He ended things with you at Pirouette Friday night, right?”

Pain breaks through the ice of Qwest’s eyes for a moment before she tucks it back under and nods.

“You trying to tell me what I saw on that footage happened between Friday and Sunday?” she scoffs. “I wasn’t born yesterday at ten o’clock, honey.”

“We talked Saturday, the next day,” I say. “About things we should have discussed years ago and decided we would try.”

I look down at my hands folded in my lap and then force myself to meet her eyes again.

“I’ve loved Grip a long time and let stupid things keep us apart. We never meant to hurt you, and were trying to work out the best way to handle the public finding out about you and Grip since your relationship became such a huge part of everything.”

“He should have told me it was you.” Something beyond anger rises in the heated glance Qwest flicks my way. Resentment. “He’s just like all the rest of them. He couldn’t choose someone who really understands him.”

“What makes you think I don’t understand him?”

“He needs a sister who knows how to fight at his side and fight for him.”

“So it would make it better if I was Black?”

“You have no idea what it’s like seeing the best of our men always choosing you. As soon as they get a little something, make something of themselves, they need to go get a white woman to feel validated.”

“That isn’t Grip. That isn’t what this is.”

“Oh, please tell me what it is, Bristol,” she says, her words soaked in sarcasm.

“I have experienced rejection,” I say, my voice quiet.

“Rejection?” A harsh laugh erupts from her and she crosses her arms over her chest, tips her head to the side and cocks one disdainful brow. “Is this where you tell me about your struggle, Bristol? About all you’ve endured in your privileged life?”

Even the feigned amusement fades from her expression, leaving only cynicism, hurt.

“Let me tell you what rejection is. It’s being told by an entire culture outright and in a million subtle ways that you’re not good enough, not beautiful enough. These athletes and musicians, actors—most of ’em raised by single Black women, and when they find success, do they choose someone from their own community? No, they want someone who’s nothing like the very women who sacrificed to make their success possible.”

As she articulates it, I see not just her pain, but the pain behind what Jade and Ms. James said. What Shondra didn’t voice to me, but felt, too. I see the truth of it and for a moment,