doorway. My entire body freezes as horror shoves icy fingers into my gut.
Jo’s standing there, her complexion so white that it almost looks gray. Her lips are stark red with lipstick; they look like a bloodstain on her colorless face. She sways a little.
I jump to my feet to catch her.
But she puts one hand on the doorframe for balance, then pushes the other out in my direction as though I’m some kind of evil she has to ward off.
“Stay away,” she croaks.
“Jo.” I know I have to fix this. Say something to put the color back in her face. Make her smile.
But my mind is blank. Words jumble in my head, but won’t line up to create a convincing argument to let her know that what I said wasn’t as bad as it sounded.
But my damned mind, which gave me “Jo is perfect, precisely because I’ll never love her. Ever” is struggling to come up with the perfect line to fix it.
Assuming it can be fixed.
Dad’s still booming in my ears, yammering about the family legacy, my responsibility to the name, to the company, to all that we stand for.
And what do we stand for, except misery? This terrible look on the mother of my child’s face?
“We’re done. I quit,” I say to Dad.
“What—”
I rip the earphones away and toss them on the desk before moving slowly toward Jo. She’s breathing too shallowly. I’m afraid she’s going to grow hysterical and pass out.
“Jo—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Don’t. You’re such a liar.”
I don’t think I’ve lied to her. Even when I was at my most mindless during sex, I never promised I’d love her.
On the other hand, what she overheard has to seem like a betrayal to her. I need to address that, rather than arguing about whether I’ve lied or not.
“Let me explain,” I say, my voice tight and hoarse.
“What is there to explain? I heard every word. I’m perfect because you’ll never love me.”
Her voice breaks toward the end. The skin around her eyes is red, but she isn’t crying. She has too much pride.
It cuts me until I can’t breathe. The icy fingers are twisting in my gut.
I start to reach out, needing to hold her and comfort her.
But she recoils like she can’t bear the sight of me. “You said you took care of Aaron’s video,” she says bitterly.
Why is she talking about that now? But at least it’s something I know I’ve done right. “Yes.”
“Then how come your mother has it?”
Furious shock explodes in my head, and I stare at her, unsure if I heard right.
“She’s blackmailing me to fix the broken relationship between you and her. What I don’t get is why any of this is my problem. If your family is a mess, you guys should fix it and leave me out. It isn’t like I matter.”
Panic tightens its grip around my throat. “Of course you matter.”
“Right. You care about a woman who you can’t even love. The only thing you care about is the baby. I should’ve known better than to think this”—she gestures between us—“could become more—like something my parents have.”
The warm, happy scenes from her family lunch play in my mind like a movie reel. A yearning for what I found among her family pulses through me. But as the longing grows deeper, the fear grows icier.
She picks up her purse and stands straight. She’s putting on a brave face, but I know she’s only a breath away from shattering. She’s even paler now, more unshed tears glinting in her bloodshot eyes.
She’s walking away. I have to stop her, but for the first time in my life, terror immobilizes me. What if I cause more damage with a wrong move? I’ve made too many mistakes. I can’t harm us any more than I’ve already done.
“Wait!” I say, my brain finally sputtering to life again. “Don’t go. You should stay here.”
Most of her things are here. Although she didn’t bring everything from her apartment yet, she has what she needs to be comfortable in the penthouse, which means her apartment doesn’t have it.
“No,” she says, her voice thick. “I can’t be with you.”
“I’ll leave, then.” I grab my phone and laptop and walk past her. Part of me wants to reach out and touch her, make sure she’s okay. But I know I don’t have the right to touch her, not right now.
She doesn’t stop me. She stands there like a hurt and wary creature, her wounded eyes following me.
Walking