Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,62
her feelings for him. Granted, I hadn’t exactly given her a safe place to talk about it. I’d been haunted by the Ghosts of Boyfriends Past, a string of men who’d wanted her money and left her heartbroken. Wickham being the worst offender.
Ruined. He’d ruined her, and for the last year, she’d been trying to put herself back together. Not one man she’d ever chosen had been honorable in the end, only excellent liars. Given that statistic, I couldn’t imagine Jett Bennet breaking the pattern. But that wasn’t the biggest, most undeniable problem in front of her. Never mind his lack of ambition and empty bank account. Forget our class difference.
Because Catherine would inflict pain on us all if Georgie dated a Bennet.
Catherine told us she wanted to protect us, and her brand of protection was control. When it came to opposing her beliefs and passions, she was ruthless on a good day and vengeful on the rest. If she had a vendetta against the Bennets, I could all but guarantee she would make everyone’s lives hell until she got what she wanted.
Everything about Georgie seeing Jett sounded an alarm. Everything about that choice spoke danger. And I couldn’t stand by and watch her get hurt.
I wouldn’t.
That ticking clock—my companion through the long night—marked just past nine when she finally walked through the door, scanning the entryway with wide eyes, stilling when she found me, rumpled and fuming with a scotch dangling from my fingers.
She straightened. Hardened to steel. Prepared herself for battle.
And said, “I’m not sorry.”
The door slammed.
“If you were thinking, you would be.”
“I see. If I saw things the way you did, I’d apologize and praise your rightness.”
“Jesus, George. This isn’t about my ego. These are plain, simple facts. You were with Jett at a company party. You know who told me? Caroline. And if you think for one second that she’s not going to run straight into Catherine’s lap with this, you’re out of your mind.”
The knowledge sank in. “Goddamn Caroline.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about what I want.” She leveled me with her gaze. “We’re not allowed to date clients? Fine, but he’s not even a client—he’s an employee—”
“It’s the same thing—”
“And what are they going to do, fire me?” She let out a humorless laugh. “We’re all Catherine has, but still you think she’d punish me for who I date?”
“I know she would,” I said as I stood, disliking being beneath her.
“Then I’ll get another job. If she doesn’t want to see me, that’s her choice. But this isn’t the only option. Running away isn’t the only option.”
“She’s convinced the Bennets put her best friend in jail and asked me to get Laney fired. And that was just because Laney was in the building. You want to quit? You want to walk away from everything Dad left us? Fine. But what about Jett? Do you really believe she’ll show Jett more mercy than she did Laney? You’re smarter than this, George.”
“Wouldn’t know you thought so. Are you sure I can make any decisions for myself? I’m going out later—do you want to pick out my clothes so I’m not too cold? Or make a menu for me so I don’t live on potato chips and ice cream? Should I bring my friends by so you can vet them like a fucking crazy person? Because that’s what this is, Liam. This is crazy. You sitting in that chair all night, waiting for me to come home so you could fight with me is capital C crazy.”
“I didn’t want to fight with you,” I argued. “I’m not trying to control you—I’m trying to save you.”
“What’s the difference?” she fired. “You call it protection, but your method is control. I love you, Liam. But when it comes to who I choose to give my heart to, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to be the angry parent, busting their kid when they sneak out. You don’t get to punish me or choose for me. You don’t get to treat me like a child or make my rules, because you aren’t Dad.”
Her words hung in the air for a long, silent moment but for that fucking clock. My heart split open and spilled into my rib cage. Her face broke with regret. She reached for me. I stepped back.
“You’re right,” I said, my voice rough. “You’re right. I’m not Dad. But do you … do you see that …” The words jammed in