Page 83 of Catfish

“You didn’t mind it when my dick was—”

I jolt from the couch. “Get the fuck out. We’re done.”

Grant remains where he is. “I told you the other day that I wanted to have dinner to discuss things.”

“I’m not interested in your things unless it’s tying you to the end of a boat and watching you drown. I just want you out of my life.”

“The life I made for you,” he digs in. “The one you owe me for.”

My jaw feels like it’s going to break off my face. “I already told you, early on, that I was never going to love you, Grant. I’m not capable of it.”

“You loved my brother,” he leers, hitting me where he knows it’d hurt. “Then you tore his fucking heart out just like you did mine. So, are you sure you didn’t love me?”

The answer was easy, yes. I never loved Grant the way I loved Jed. Never had that unleashed passion or warmth that unhinged when I was with his younger brother.

Jed and I were kindred spirits born on the opposite side of the financial chain. He never saw me as anything but beautiful, and I felt every ounce of his affection. And, at the time, I felt every shred of his betrayal once his father fired Mama, and she lost everything.

I was young, dumb as a bag of rocks, and acted on my impulses. The whim of a girl who didn’t turn the other cheek when she got slapped but rounded with an uppercut to the face. I began to date Grant openly, showing up at the Hardison’s house just to wrap my arms around his older brother and ardently kiss him.

I watched Jed’s heart crack right in front of me while I wore a smile on my face.

I wanted him to feel every jab I threw at him, every cruel intention I flung his way because Ma was dying in front of my eyes, and Marty was a wreck. I couldn't watch the two people I loved most in the world suffer at the hands of a wealthy politician who didn't give two shits about the loss I would abide by if she didn't get the help she needed.

When weeks turned into a year, and I longed for something more than the slums of Daphne, I regretted each and every single one of my decisions towards Jed. My heart ached because I never let myself forget what I did. I never had the courage to apologize, I avoided him like the plague every time we were in the same room for a family event with the Hardisons.

He was nothing but a good man, grew up exactly how I always knew he would. And I’m still the sinister woman who fucks random men at bars because I can’t deal with loneliness and the fact that I suck.

“I have work to do,” I protest and nod towards the door. “You need to leave.”

"You didn't even hear the details of my event that I need help planning." My arms remain at my sides when really they want to grab him by the lapels of his jacket and yank him up, followed by a headbutt to his perfect face.

“What is it?”

His mouth twitches. “My brother’s wedding.”

? Colors —Halsey ?

Walking back into Wade Lockwood’s office has the hairs on my arms standing on end.

It’s quiet, cryptically so, as I step off the elevator and into the ritzy receptionist area I was just in less than forty-eight hours ago.

I’m a little surprised that I’m feeding into this, the back and forth for this job that is allegedly so high in demand. Emmy Lou called me back yesterday after I requested to meet with the governor, whom I had a few additional questions for.

Hunter green walls are lit by recessed lighting that matches the receptionist’s desk. A column of gold bars all crisscrossed into a pattern lining the back wall, giving the room a modern vibe. Fresh pink roses are the only thing that decorates the long desk as a middle-aged woman stares at me the moment I start to approach her.

Every click of my heels echoes along the room like I'm entering a tunnel, but we're far from alone. A handful of employees are talking on their cell phones, typing busily away at laptops, and walking around with coffees in their hands.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was deaf with the lack of sound.

“Miss Shelton, correct?” the receptionist asks the moment I stop at the front desk. Her smile is faint, a little forced, as she stands from her chair.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Mr. Lockwood is expecting you.”

Of course, he is.

The man appears anal as shit with his schedule, campaign and career. I’m sure each one of his employees were hand-picked based on the volume of their voices and how softly they could walk across the hardwood floors. I got the overbearing vibe from him, guy who wants power done his way or no way at all.

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