Page 59 of Scrooge

My cell rings, and I grab it from my pocket as we start walking down the sidewalk to Dan, who is waiting at the car nearby.

I see it’s Logan. And I ignore the call. He’s a clingy bastard.

“Hey.” I hear a male voice and turn quickly as a fist flies in my direction, but I duck just in time.

“Oh my God! Jaryd!” I hear Haylee shriek. “What are you doing?” The asshole tried to punch me from behind like a coward, tried to catch me off guard. I am fuming, but then I see his hand gripping her upper arm and her trying to pry it off, and I’m filled with rage.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” I grit out, striding forward. All I see is red as my fist connects with his chin. He stumbles back, Haylee flying to the side and out of his grip, almost tripping on her heels. My fist stings like a motherfucker, and I shake it out as I step toward him, positioning myself in front of Haylee. I don’t want him to touch her. I don’t even want him to look at her.

“You punched me? I’m going to sue you.” He spits a bit of blood on the sidewalk as security, mine and the restaurant’s, come running. He looks pitiful, his shirt now untucked, a dribble of blood running down his chin. I loom over him so he knows exactly how this power dynamic works.

“Do it. It would be fun,” I seethe, knowing that there are cameras all around here, plus witnesses. Grinding my teeth, I flex my hand, wanting to hit him again. I’m not usually violent; I can’t remember the last time I hit someone. It was probably in college, maybe even high school during a football game. It has never been on a New York street in front of the media. It’s out of character for me.

Flashes go off, catching my attention as men grab him by the arms. Haylee reaches for me, her hand holding mine, cold and shaking.

“Sir,” Dan says, indicating to get to the car, and I pull Haylee along.

“Handle it,” I tell my security team, who all nod and get to work calling in the police, while others go into the restaurant to secure the footage.

More flashes go off right in my face, and I close the car door just as Dan starts to drive like a madman.

“I’m so sorry,” Haylee says in a rush, looking at me like she’s begging for forgiveness.

“Sorry?” I ask as I grab my cell, needing to call Laurent, because this is going to go viral in a matter of minutes.

“I should’ve told you. I should’ve left the restaurant.” She shakes her head like she is disappointed in her actions, her voice panicked, still laced with fear.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. That asshole put his hands on you.” I’m still angry, my body tense, and her thinking this is in any way her fault has me wanting another go at her ex.

“But now the media are going to throw this everywhere. They are already talking so much rubbish about you and Deloris. God, he is such an asshole.” Her head falls into her hands before she lifts it again and starts rubbing her arm. I lean over, grabbing her wrist gently and lifting her arm into the light. It is red, already swelling, a slight purple tinge starting to appear.

“I'm fine,” she says, pulling it out of my grasp, placing her hand over the top of it. My anger swirls deeper at this man having the nerve to touch her again, to hurt her. I have to take deep breaths to calm myself as Dan drives us quickly through the streets. Paparazzi are following, this game of cat and mouse starting to become our new normal.

“Just so we’re clear, Sunflower.Thatis not fine,” I tell her, shifting to face her.

“I understand if you want to end the contract. Tucker Toys can find another building,” she says, almost resigned.

“No, we’re not ending the contract. Tell me what he did to you. How someone could do that to you.” I’m trying to keep my voice level, but with the way she’s still looking uneasy, I don’t think I’m hiding my frustrations very well. When she starts tugging at her ear, I lower my tone, trying again as I say simply, “Please, just tell me.”

“You want me to tell you that he didn’t like the fact I painted, and when I didn’t stop, he took his fist to my face and left me bloody and bruised for not doing what I was told,” she says, her voice trembling. I blanche, stomach sinking. I didn’t think I could get more upset than I just was, but I was dead wrong.

“What?” is all I can ask, making sure I understand correctly. But I know I did.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you about my baggage. I should have made sure you knew th—”

“He hit you because of you were painting?” I stop her from her rambling and unnecessary apology, bewildered. A man should never hit a woman, at all. But over her hobby? A hobby that she is extremely good at? I can’t wrap my mind around it.

“Y-yes. I had a few people show interest. Much like what happened at Maddison Miller Gallery. I saw it as my break. An opportunity to try to make it a career, maybe? I don’t know. But he said no. He told me I was not to do that. He wanted me to be home when he got home, not doing gallery openings or painting all weekend. He wanted to keep me small, didn’t want me to grow and become more. The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital.” She sits back with a heavy breath, almost exhausted, the fight leaving her.

“Hospital. That fucking piece of shit.”

“I'm sorry, Alex. I should have told you before we started this thing…”

“This thing?” I ask, eyes narrowing.

“Our agreement.”

“This has nothing to do with the fucking agreement.” For someone trying to keep my cool, I’m failing miserably.

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