Page 46 of Veiled

“Can I ask you a question?” Well, damn. Maybe I wasn’t saved from having to reject her after all. Her lips are in a slight pout as she watches me carefully.

“Relax. I’m not going to jump you,” she teases, and I cringe.

“Sorry. I know. I just, umm . . .”

“Well, that answers that,” she says, relaxing back into the sofa.

“Answers what?” I ask cautiously, not really wanting an answer. Afraid of the answer.

“If you and Waylon were a couple.”

That makes me laugh, but it comes out bitter and angry. Something I really don’t like at all. “We aren’t a couple.”

She tilts her head to the side, her eyes appraising. “You sure seemed to be. What happened?”

“We were never a couple.” I sigh, the pain too deep. “He just left.”

“But he’s still your manager.” It’s not really a question, but I nod anyway.

“Yeah, he’s fine with having a professional relationship with me.” And apparently, fucking me until he got bored, but I don’t say that part to her. “But he doesn’t want anything else.”

“Are you sure about that?” Her eyes aren’t on me, but she’s looking behind me pointedly, compelling me to turn around.

When I see Waylon standing there in the doorway, I immediately glare at Daisy, ignoring him. “Did you know he was there?”

She shakes her head emphatically. “No. He wasn’t until just now, and I had no idea he was coming today.” She looks hurt, and I cringe for being such an asshole to her. She doesn’t deserve that at all.

“I’m sorry. Of course you didn’t.”

She offers me a sweet smile and pats my knee with her hand before standing up. “You two should talk. I’m going home. Lock up when you leave, please.”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer, passing Waylon with a sad smile on her way out. I sit on the sofa, my arms crossed and my body tense. I hear his footsteps, my heart starting to race, but I don’t lift my eyes to look at him. I’m afraid to look at him. Apparently, looking at Waylon makes me stupid.

“You two looked awfully comfy.”

My eyes snap up to his now, rage soaring through me and keeping any lust at bay. “Are you fucking kidding me? What is that? Jealousy?”

He looks worn and broken, defeated in a way I’ve never seen Waylon before. “Yes,” he answer simply, his voice quiet.

“You don’t have the right to be jealous.” I try to stay firm. “We’re just client and manager, remember?”

His face is stoic, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t allow his expression to do anything, and it’s infuriating.

“You should go. I don’t need your assistance right now. I’m sure another client needs you though.”

“They do.”

“Then go.” My eyes hold his, mine cold and unfeeling—I hope, at least. I don’t feel anything for this man. I don’t.

“I can’t,” he says, his voice cracking on can’t.

“What do you mean?” I hate sitting while he’s standing, but I don’t move as I hold his gaze.

“I mean I’m not here on business. I’m here to see you.”

I try like hell to calm my rapidly beating heart. “Why? You said this is just professional. And I don’t need your help as my manager right now. You have gigs booked. You have my recording sessions booked. I don’t need you.” I hope that sounded convincing, and I think it might have because he looks almost ill. His arms wrap around his stomach, like he’s in pain.

I wish I could say I don’t care. But I do. Worry shoots through me. He’s not actually in pain, is he?

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