Endeared (The Accidental Billionaires #5) - J. S. Scott Page 0,15

green eyes studied me as he rested his elbows on the island. “What happened to all of those dreams you had about becoming a veterinarian? I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“I did,” I said in a clipped tone, unable to keep the irritation out of my voice. “I think you know what happened, Owen. Can we just cut this whole pretense?”

Why had he needed to go there just when we were managing to have a civil conversation?

God, was he really going to keep acting like he had no idea why I didn’t like him?

“No, I really don’t know,” he said, his gaze never leaving my face. “We need to talk about whatever happened. It’s been over ten years, Layla. We’ve been adults for a while now. If I did something to hurt you, I want to fix it. I hardly saw you during the last few months of high school, and then I was gone to Massachusetts to get my shit together before I had to start college. I hate the way we parted, and I hated not being able to talk to you while I was gone. I missed you, and I never did understand why you ended up hating me.”

My heart ached as I remembered how much I’d missed him, too. It had been really painful for those first few years. Eventually, I’d convinced myself that his betrayal didn’t hurt me anymore, but I’d been lying to myself.

I’d learned to live with what Owen had done.

But I’d buried the hurt rather than resolving it.

“You’re right. We are adults. Do we really need to discuss something that happened a decade ago?” I asked tersely.

I didn’t want to pull the scab off old wounds. Not now. Owen and I had to work together.

“Yeah,” he said huskily. “I think we do. What does this have to do with your education and your desire to be a vet?”

Like a cork from a champagne bottle, I exploded. “I couldn’t go to college the conventional way. I needed the Manheim Scholarship to do a bachelor’s program, Owen. I got several smaller scholarships I applied for, but I needed something bigger to help me get my bachelor’s so I could apply for vet school. I’m sure that you probably wanted that scholarship, too, but you got more than one major scholarship, and you had more financial aid available than I did. I never saw my father, but he paid a ton of money for child support, money that covered all of my expenses since my mother didn’t have a job. I think that was the agreement with my mother so he could claim me as his dependent. I had to claim that on my FAFSA, so my financial aid was minimal, even though I knew my father would never cover another dime of my expenses once I turned eighteen. There was no way he would help me with college, but I couldn’t get much financial aid, either. I knew I’d be screwed without that hand up that the Manheim would have given me to get through a bachelor’s with whatever low-paying jobs I could get while I was completing that degree. I just didn’t know that my entire opportunity to even be considered for it would be undermined because you lied to me.”

I’d stood up during my rambling explanation, and I had to rest my hand on the counter and force myself to breathe.

Having been thrown back to the moment when I’d discovered that Owen, a guy I’d trusted more than anybody else in life, had screwed me over, my buried emotions had come flying to the surface with a vengeance.

The anger.

The pain.

And the tumultuous sense of betrayal.

Maybe I should have said all those things years ago, but I hadn’t because I’d avoided confrontation as much as possible back then. To some extent, maybe I still did.

Owen moved until he could wrap his hand around my shaky fingers. “Hey, calm down, Layla. I never lied to you. Ever. I swear. I never have and I never would. What the hell happened? Shit! Don’t cry.”

I lifted my chin and looked him directly in the eyes. The warmth and concern I saw there almost soothed my emotions. Almost, but not quite. I tugged to get my hand back, but he had a firm grasp on it. “Please cut the bullshit, Owen. If I’d known that you’d applied for the scholarship, too, I never would have asked for a peer recommendation from you in the first place. But