Scratch The Surface - Mary Calmes Page 0,71

chest. “You don’t think…I’m weak or whatever, because I said I don’t want to be alone and––”

“Why would it be weak to not want to be alone?”

“Lots of people are alone, and they deal with it.”

“Agreed. Do you think, given a choice, they would choose to remain alone?”

He glanced away. When he returned his gaze to me, he was glaring. “Bottom line.”

“Please,” I insisted, the order there in my voice.

“I don’t want you doing things for me, or with me, ’cause you feel sorry for me.”

“Why on earth would I feel sorry for you?”

“Because I’m fuckin’ poor.”

I nodded.

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he spat, and I heard the simmering anger there. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”

The wall of pride was high and thick and covered in barbed wire. He’d been building it around his heart for years, and it was made of disappointment and frustration and pain.

“I have no doubt you can,” I assured him.

“Then what the hell is all this? You and the apartment and––”

“I thought that perhaps since I’m in Sacramento often, instead of staying at a hotel, it might be nice to stay with you. It’s not about saving the company money on hotel rooms but about us having a place we could share.”

His gaze was locked on me, and as far as I could tell, he was holding his breath.

“I also have a lead on a job I think you might enjoy. I planned to take Monday off and go with you to The Mission, because, for one, I’d like to see more of this place you love, and two, I’d like to be with you when you meet with Mrs. Chow to speak to her about your schedule.”

“Yeah, okay. That’d be…nice.”

“Listen”—I crossed the room to stand at the foot of his bed—“I’m not trying to force you to spend time with me. And as I’ve told you before, I have a tendency to be pushy and overbearing, so tell me if—”

“Fuck,” he rasped. “That’s not—you have no idea how bad I wanna spend time with you. The lead on the job is amazing, and yeah, I dunno, the wanting to be in my meeting with Mrs. Chow is a little weird, but I’m not gonna say no.”

“If our roles were reversed, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to assist me?”

“Yeah, of course, but c’mon,” he muttered, gesturing at me. “I’m not exactly in a place to do anything for you.”

“So this is about money.”

“Of course it’s about money.”

“And you think money is the only way for you to help me?”

“It’s how you’re going to help me.”

I tipped my head. “Will you have money when you get your master’s?”

“Some, yeah. More than what I’m getting now, with just my bachelor’s.”

“And would you, Jeremiah Wolfe, turn down the opportunity to help kids in need if the money wasn’t there?”

“That’s not—”

“Because I suspect you would choose to live without many material conveniences if it meant you could make a difference in a child’s life.”

“You’re not hearing me.”

“What do you think I require from you monetarily that I can’t do for myself?”

“That’s what I mean, though. I want to be a real partner.”

“So to you, a ‘real partner’ is based solely on the amount of capital you’d bring to our relationship? Do I have that right?”

“Fuck,” he groaned, falling back against the pillows, throwing up his hands in defeat.

“At the moment, I have more financial resources and a larger professional network than you,” I clarified for him. “When my parents were first married, as my father was building his business, he was the one with more contacts and financial stability, but over the years, over the course of their relationship, their dynamic has switched, and now there’s no doubt my mother is the more marketable of the two.”

He was staring at me, trying for bored, which I knew he wasn’t. He was listening intently to every word.

“I don’t know what our relationship will look like five or ten years from––”

“Five or ten years?” He was incredulous.

“I’m sorry, is that presumptuous? Are you not planning to stick around?” I bristled. “Perhaps you need to reassess what you’re looking for in––”

“For the love of—c’mere, would ya?” he barked, reaching for me. I was around the end of the bed in seconds, and perched beside him so he could take my hand in his. He stared at our intwined fingers for a moment, then looked up and

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