misreading this, because you think he likes you, just because he fucked you in the tub.
Remember, deep down, he’s just another rich man out for what he can get from you. Orgasms don’t imply connection.
It was just sex.
If it happens again, it’ll just be more sex.
The thing is, watching him close off makes me close off too. How can I trust someone who doesn’t trust me?
Well, you didn’t give him much reason to trust you just now, did you?
Stupid. So stupid. I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t want Jimi in my life, and if I told Colby about it, he’d just drag Jimi to the front and center of everything.
This, I think, told me everything I needed to know about my confusion over Colby.
When I know someone is right for me—as opposed to just someone I want physically, or need for a job, or whatever—when I know someone is the one, I’ll have no trouble telling him the truth. About Jimi, about the club.
About the scar.
When I find someone to trust well enough to tell them about the scar, then I’ll know I’ve found the one.
I guess part of me assumed Colby was that, because he was so exciting. So new. So protective.
But rich men protect their possessions, don’t they?
Doesn’t mean they love them.
Doesn’t mean they understand.
Colby interrupts the silence. “Well, I suppose I’ll turn in, and see whether Dalton’s right that a full night’s sleep is anything worthwhile.”
There is no hint of an invitation there.
Not a word.
Okay. That’s fine. I know where I stand, at least. I’ll sleep in a luxurious bed, all by myself, and tomorrow morning I’ll return to work, and be the good little employee that Colby needs.
And if he wants more… Well, he can find someone else.
Wow. I hadn’t expected that thought to hurt the way it did.
Someone else?
“Goodnight,” I tell him, and can feel my heart break a little as he walks back inside.
I’m alone in the darkness, but I’m not ready for bed. My head is too heavy with thoughts. I can make all the big pronouncements I want to, to myself, but none of it stops the worry and anxiety, the fear that I don’t know what to do with Colby, I can’t make a man like that happy, and before I know it, I’m touching my stupid scar again. Like it’s the opposite of a rabbit’s foot.
It’s my bad-luck charm.
My phone buzzes. I’d never given it back to Colby. Half in horror, I look down to see who it is, and it’s such a relief to see Polly’s name on the screen, I literally gasp.
“So, are you living it up, while I’m sitting here eating a can of beans warmed over a candle?”
I chuckle. “A candle? Did you have to pawn the microwave? Things are gorgeous here. It’s way, way more than I expected. I kind of hate to leave it tomorrow.”
“Well, you might not want to come back to town,” he says, and any thought I have that he was joking, is extinguished by his serious tone.
“Polly…”
“Your guy Jimi has left another letter, my friend. He’s quite the epistolarian.”
“A what?”
“Dude, let me just ask you this. Are we safe?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The guy that delivered the note scared the fuck out of Roan. I mean, it’s Roan, he’s half out of his wits at the best of times. But—”
“Is he hurt? Is he okay? Did the guy—”
“Everything’s fine. Physically. But dude, if you don’t work for this guy anymore, you need to make it clear that he has to leave us alone. Roan was shook, I’m telling you.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Please do. But, y’know, be careful when you handle it. What the hell did you get mixed up in at this club of yours?”
I shake my head, as though he can see it. “I don’t know. I really don’t. He fired me…now he won’t leave me alone.”
“Maybe you can sic your billionaire on him.”
Literally the last thing in the world I want to do.
“Thank you for telling me. I’ll see you tomorrow. And Polly—?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell Roan I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to him. I promise.”
I meant it, too. I was going to find a way to make all of this okay.
Hopefully.
20
Colby
Dalton had thoughtfully sent over the pajamas I’d left here last time I’d stayed overnight, as well as some old leather slippers that were soft and supple as kid gloves.
So I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, dressed for sleep, hands in my lap, knowing there’s no