know exactly where we're going. Still, I fight, clawing at his back and yelling.
"Will you shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch?"
"I hate you, Nash," I mutter, but the words taste sour in my mouth. I instantly regret them. But before I can say anything, I'm airborne, flying toward the ground but instead of hitting the cold pool deck, I'm submerged in water. It's not cold but it shocks me all the same. I sink toward the bottom before I pop back out, letting out a scream.
"You need to cool the fuck down," he growls at me before turning and walking away.
As I climb out of the water, I sit on the edge of the pool, shivering and replaying every second of that in my head. What the fuck was he talking about?
"You okay?" A new deep, cool voice travels across the silent patio and shocks me before I can start crying.
"I'm fine." I'm not in the mood to be charmed by Ellis right now, so I stand up and head back toward the guest house.
"Hanna, wait a moment."
"I said I'm fine."
"I heard you two fighting." He grabs a towel off the back of the chair and brings it over, draping it across my shoulders. I'm sure my makeup is melting down my face, but I stare up at him, looking for any sign Nash was right, and Ellis can't be trusted.
All I see is a confident man with a hint of something behind his eyes. Maybe it's loneliness too.
"Maybe someday you'll tell me what really happened between you two," I mumble. "For now, I'm going to bed."
With that, I turn away from him and walk silently back to my room. When I get there, I make sure to lock the door.
9
Nash is tense as hell. Pouring over this business plan for the hundredth time, I don't have the heart to tell him he doesn't need me. He has crossed every T and dotted every I there is, but I'm still here. What he needs is to relax. Let go. Try to focus on something else for a moment, but he certainly won't hear anything like that from me.
Watching him across the table, hammering on about the budget, I can’t help but notice he hasn’t changed a bit in the past three years. He’s matured physically, grown out his hair, started dressing like a business owner and not a punk kid. But he’s still wound just as tightly.
It makes me wonder how Nash and I connected so quickly in Amsterdam. When he stood before me that first night at the party, a fully grown man with fire and fear in his eyes, I wanted to know him more. I wanted to draw out the man inside, the one who could be whoever he wanted to be without fear.
I moved too quickly. The first night we shared the girl in my apartment was too soon for Nash. Not too soon for sex, too soon to have sex in front of me—with me. In the room, I mean. But there was a spark, and I knew it could be a blazing fire if handled correctly.
Well, I saw that fire eventually. I pushed too hard, and I got burned for it. I could handle the fight, the anger, the backlash. What I couldn't handle was the silence and then the absence, but that's what I got.
I’m still curious about last night with Hanna, and I want to ask him, but I keep my mouth shut. I heard them in her guest house. I'm pretty sure he wanted me to hear her screaming his name. I haven't gotten a good feel on their relationship yet, but I'm willing to bet they weren't much of a thing before I started flirting with her. Nash still has a jealous side.
"It's past seven, Nash. The budget isn't going to be solved tonight. Take a break."
He looks at his watch. "Fuck, I didn't even realize. I'm sorry. Have a good evening, and we'll resume this tomorrow."
When I stand to leave, he doesn't move, still running numbers on his desk. "Nash," I say in a stern, deep tone reserved exclusively for commands and not requests. I watch him pause, a subtle tic in his hand. Slowly, he looks up at me.
"It's late, Nash."
"You still think that shit is going to work on me?"
Holding back my shoulders, I stare down at him. "Yes, I do."
Which is true. Nash may love to wield his stubborn temper, but he can't ignore the