Page 48 of How Dare You

“How much longer do you have?” I ask, finally getting to the meat of the issue. “Six months?”

She crosses her arms, looking away. “The major projects that were paying the bills are all but wrapped up, but we have gotten a couple of medium sized jobs recently that should float us for,” she pauses, “a little bit. Once the damage from the flood is handled at the Calle Vista project and we can get back to work there, that will help too.”

It’s the most forthcoming she’s been on the subject. “So less than six months? Four?” I ask, hoping she doesn’t retreat into herself again.

She shakes her head the slightest amount, sending a ripple through her blonde hair and a sinking feeling into my stomach.

“Christ, Devon.” I dip my head, trying to force her to meet my gaze again. “Less than four months? Why didn’t you tell anyone? You shouldn’t be fucking around in the desert with me if it’s that dire.”

Her head snaps back to mine. “You think?”

“No one would have pushed this if they knew,” I say, almost to myself. Guilt tightens my chest, and for the first time I realize how selfish this plan was. “What do you need?”

“I’m not taking money from you,” she barks.

“I’m not offering money.” Although if I thought she’d take it, I would. “I’m trying to figure out how to help.”

“You can’t help me. You don’t know anything about running a business.” Her words are vicious, cutting, and I realize that up until now I was getting a softer version of Devon than everyone else. She doesn’t stop there, though. “That’s why there’s an entire collections worth of original furniture pieces stacked under a tarp in your garage. You pride yourself on taking risks, but you won’t even pursue your own passions.”

She meant every word as a blow, and that’s exactly how they land. I’ve toyed with a custom furniture shop for years, and quitting my job was the time to pursue it. But I couldn’t follow through. I went back to construction because it’s steady and reliable. The responsible choice, but somehow, she doesn’t see it that way.

My brows furrow as I consider her. She holds my gaze, stone-faced. Is this truly how she sees me? Or is it just that her attempts at pushing me away are finally starting to work?

“You’re so committed to doing the wrong thing.” Her words drip with disdain. “You’re purposely making irresponsible choices. Is that it?”

I take a steadying breath. “So, which is it? Am I irresponsible, or too much of a coward to take risks? I can’t be both.”

“And yet, somehow, you are,” she snipes, but her eyes won’t meet mine.

“You know how many times I’ve corrected guys on jobsites who called you a bitch?” Her response is a disinterested shrug, still refusing to look at me. “How many times I’ve explained that being strong, self-assured, and confident, those things don’t make you mean? But those words? The ones you just said to me? Those were cruel. You’re better than that.”

She lifts her face back to mine. “I don’t care if people think I’m a bitch.” She says, adding another layer to the carefully constructed walls she surrounds herself with. “Especially not you.”

“You always forget that I told you a secret too that night.” I lean my forearms over my knees. “I could see it in your face, immediately after you told me about the fact that you might lose your business.” Her flinch is almost imperceptible. “There was the briefest flash of relief, at getting it off your chest, and then a wave of regret. So, I gave you something too, something raw from inside me to soften the blow of your own vulnerability. To let you know we could be in it together. But all you can think about is you. Your business. Your not-so-secret rivalry with Trian Boatswain, who isn’t worth the energy you give her, by the way.”

Her face doesn’t give away even a flicker of recognition. Does she even remember?

Her sharp response proves that she does. “You don’t think you’ve ever done anything that matters? Then do something that matters. Figure it out. Do you think being an engineer matters? Then go back and do that again. Do you think building houses matters? Do that instead. Start a custom furniture business. Make a choice.” She’s trying to create more distance between us with her words, but at this point I’m more curious than hurt. She’s said that our first night together wasn’t her. But this version of her, biting and offensive, this doesn’t feel like the real her.

I huff a laugh at how off-base she is. “You think the only thing that matters is work, my career. None of that matters. That’s the point.”

Her brow furrows, the brief flash of confusion cutting through her hard exterior. “Of course, work matters. How could it not? We spend the majority of our lives working, so we should choose work that’s significant to us.”

“You spend the majority of your life working.” I shake my head. “I try to work as little as possible, so I have time—”

“Have time for what?” She jerks her narrow chin toward me. “An elusive thing that matters? Have you actually spent any time trying to figure out what that is?”

I’ve found something that matters, and she’s glaring at me in the light of the still burning campfire. “Do you know why you matter?” I ask.

She blinks, taken aback at the shift in conversation. “So, you’re not going to respond to what I said.”

I could defend myself, give Devon the answer she’s looking for. But that would take the heat off of her, and I am not backing down. “You matter because of your passion—”

“I’m done with this conversation.” She stands up.

I stand up too, blocking her path. “You matter because of your generosity.”

“Get out of my way.” She pushes lightly against my chest, but I don’t budge, keeping her path blocked.

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