Make Me - Tessa Bailey Page 0,48

No, she was laughing, too, as she broke into the running man, keeping time to the beat. When the male voice started to rap, she somehow recalled every word from her childhood, closed her eyes, and lip-synced with over-the-top enthusiasm. When she opened her eyes again and saw how entertained and happy everyone looked, satisfaction lifted her spirits.

Then she looked at Russell, witnessed his broken smile, and those raised spirits went plummeting beneath the pool’s surface. He looked happy . . . but the happiness was causing him pain. It refreshed her anger. Screw him for confusing her. For sending her mixed signals. Abby stopped dancing, words rising in her throat that she would surely regret, but wasn’t capable of holding back. What do you want from me? You wreck me and then get sad when I pick my pieces back up? Those words died in their inception when Russell’s attention left her and landed on her lit-up cell phone, vibrating where it was connecting to the speaker, a call interrupting the song.

When Russell stood and reached for Abby’s phone, she lunged for it, but he got there before her, disconnecting it and picking it up before the blaring song could start to play again. “Who is Mitchell, and why do you have forty-two missed calls from him?”

“Give me the phone,” Abby demanded, not caring for his cold tone. Not at all. There was a counterpart to her distress, though. She hadn’t told Russell about her father and the subsequent workload, but she wasn’t entirely sure of the reason for omission. Now, as he waited stubbornly for an answer, phone clutched in his hand, Abby knew. She’d wanted Russell—at least, Russell—to see her as more than a dutiful worker bee. Was it so much to ask? To be desirable instead of reliable? That chance was gone now. Maybe it had never really existed. Not the way she wanted it to.

Russell stepped into her space. “Answer me.”

“Sti cazza. A fanabla!”

“Uh-oh . . . she’s breaking out the Italian,” Roxy whispered.

Riding the surge of defiance and irritation, Abby plucked the cell phone from Russell’s hand and chucked it—still ringing—into the pool. The reduction of pressure pushing down on her chest was so extreme, she bent at the waist, planting her hands on her knees. “Oh my God.” Oxygen seeped from her lungs. “That felt really good.”

Abby’s voice broke on the last word. She felt her friends come up beside her, resting their hands on her back. “Hey, let’s go upstairs,” Roxy said. “I’ll send Louis out for some ice cream.”

“Someone needs to tell me what’s going on here.” Russell’s voice came from behind Abby, harder than she’d ever heard it. “Now, please.”

She straightened and turned on a heel, started to tell Russell that no explanations were owed to him, but his expression stopped her. After what he continued to put her through, she shouldn’t care that he looked haunted. Shouldn’t care that his face had gone ghost white. When would she stop? “I—”

“Abby.”

The new male voice brought all six of them up short. Abby’s pulse went dull for a few beats, then turned erratic along with her breathing. Mitchell, the firm’s lawyer, stood on the deck, looking down at them. She blinked, hoping he would vanish, but there he remained, dressed as though he’d just walked out of a boardroom.

“What are you doing here?” Roxy asked, her obvious recognition of the lawyer drawing questioning looks from the guys.

“I’ve been calling Abby nonstop, and she wouldn’t answer. I had no choice but to make the drive.” Mitchell squinted into the pool, which was still rippling from the tossed cell phone. “I guess I know why my calls were ignored.”

Abby’s vision was cut off when Russell removed his shirt and pulled it down over her head. The worn-in material dropped to her knees. Until then, she’d forgotten all about her lack of clothing, save the bathing suit, but apparently Russell hadn’t. His arm banded around her waist, dragging her up against his side, before addressing Mitchell. “Who the hell are you?”

Mitchell coughed into his fist. “I’m Mitchell. Abby and I work together. There’s a business matter that couldn’t wait until Monday.” He nodded toward the house. “It won’t take long.”

Russell gave a humorless laugh. “I don’t care what this is about. She’s not going anywhere.” He shook his head. “Wasn’t her father available for this?”

The lawyer’s chin went up a notch. “I’m not in a position to discuss that with you. Although, I’m surprised