Page 100 of Catfish

I laugh through my nose. “And your stupid idea for us to meet here.”

And stupid that I agreed when I know better.

I don’t want to plan Jed’s wedding, let alone see him.

Well, I take that back, it’d be amazing to see him.

I just don't think I have the stomach for it. My guilt eats at me every time I think of what I did to him. I've done a lot of shit to a lot of people and felt nothing, but he was a whole other kind of human being.

He was my first love.

He was the young teenage boy who stole my heart and held it softly in his hands. Never in my mind would I think he’d hurt me. I should’ve thought about not hurting him instead.

Jed was the only person I let buy me ice cream, but I wouldn't let him buy me clothes. He'd walk me to the edge of Daphne, but I wouldn't let him cross the border. I didn't want him to be tainted by where I lived. He was my getaway from reality, and I didn't want to mix the two and ruin it.

But I must’ve subconsciously wanted things the hard way. It must’ve been printed in my DNA to make things tougher for myself because I brought Jed right down with me.

“He can’t make it,” Grant professes, tucking his cell phone back into the pocket of his suit. “He had something come up.”

Sure he did.

Standing, I toss my napkin on the table and smooth down my dress. “Have a good night, Grant.”

"Wait." His hand reaches across the table, but he quickly tucks it back. "Stay."

“This was a business meeting,” I retort. “Your client isn’t here.”

He furrows his brows. “He’s my brother, your...friend.”

A soft mirthless chuckle breaks from my lips. “Pretty sure I literally fucked that up. We’re not friends.”

“Regardless,” Grant enunciates while shifting in his chair. “You don’t have to leave. We can talk about—”

“I already told you,” I growl. “I want you to leave me alone.”

“Reagan, your little high school, ghetto ass doesn’t ward me off. I’m a man, not a boy. My brother asked for me to bring you here. If I wanted to talk to you alone, I’d just show up at your office again.”

I smirk and lean over the table, letting my gaze soak up the upper half of his body. "Sounded like a boy when I told you I was leaving you." He pushes his chair back, but I stop him with my next words. "You stand up from that chair, Hardison, and I'll make sure the people that are sitting behind you with their phones out, trying not to look completely obvious that they want to post us to their Facebook timeline, get a fucking show. I told you I was leaving. Let me go."

“If you think this shit is over, Vixen, then you don’t remember me.”

“Oh, I remember just fine.” I straighten my spine. “And not in a way you’d want to be spoken about in your eulogy if you try to stop me again.”

“I’ll call you when my brother is available.”

I grab my purse that’s hanging off the back of my chair. “Don’t bother. I don’t want to do it.”

—

“Reagan, Reagan.” I turn on my heels to see Sadie beelining her butt over to me with furrowed brows and a sour expression painted on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Strippers,” she breathes. “I had to kick out strippers.” I blink, then remember Sadie is super new to this.

Shit, it's better than the hooker that made a grand entrance at Mayor Montgomery's anniversary party. Or the line of cocaine I found Senator Graholm's wife doing in the ladies' room at a graduation party about a month ago.

“Right, um...do you need help?” I ask, placing down a tray of appetizers that needed to go out to the party we were hosting.

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