Page 77 of Worth the Risk

“He’s right.” She hugs the blanket around her body, a vacant expression on her face. “I don’t deserve you or him or anyone.”

“Hey, Taylor.” I rub her arms. “Baby, listen to me.” I lead her over to the couch and sit with her. “He’s angry and hurt. A lot of people lash out when they’re feeling like that, but it doesn’t mean it’s right or true. He’s an idiot, a fucking moron; we both know that.”

“But how can you love me?” Fresh tears tumble over the lip of her red-rimmed eyes. I open my mouth to protest when she shakes her head. “You don’t know the truth. I lied to you.”

My heart feels like it’s just been squeezed within an inch of its life. “Lied to me?” I say, trying to keep my tone calm. “Lied about what?”

“I didn’t choose him—” She squeezes her eyes closed. “I just didn’t choose you.”

I stand there confused, nothing making sense.

“I don’t understand.”

“I lied that night at your house, about not getting that job with Metzler,” she says, referring to the firm she had interviewed at the day we met. “They did offer me the job, but I didn’t take it.”

“Because you chose to come work with me,” I say, finishing her point as if it’s news to me.

“But it wasn’t some thought-out plan I pretended and made myself believe it was. When you leaned in to kiss me that night, I wanted to kiss you back so bad. I wanted to be with you, but I panicked.”

“Baby, I knew you were lying.” I smile when her eyes grow wide. “Did you really expect me to believe that a woman as bright as you, that graduated top of her class from Northwestern Pritzker School of Law and interned at the best law firm in Chicago didn’t get the job?” I cup her adorable, panicked face.

“How did I screw up so bad, then?”

“You didn’t. There’s no planned-out list of decisions you’re supposed to make or tick off. You did choose me. You chose to build a business with me. You chose to trust me with your career, the thing that arguably I’d say you probably care the most about… maybe slightly more than me?”

She laughs through her tears and my heart releases the death grip it’s had on itself since I walked in here.

“You chose me to be one of your best friends, someone you don’t have to hide who you are from. Someone you don’t need to convince that you care about or love or deserve to be with. I don’t care that you feel like you didn’t plan everything out the ‘right’ way. I don’t care that you worry that you’re a bad person because you gave your heart to a man who was so jealous, so angry, he couldn’t see past all of that to realize what he had with you and fight for it.”

She’s no longer crying. Her eyes are fixated on mine, like for once, she’s finally hearing all of the things I love about her. Allof the things that have made me fall in love with her every single day.

“But I messed up so many years that we could have been together.”

“It’s not about that. It’s not about any of the things that we could have done or might have done differently. I can’t tell you how many times I go back and forth with myself,” I say for the first time to her. “How many times I wish I would have told you that he wasn’t right for you.”

“You kind of did.” She shrugs. “I was just too stubborn.”

“No, I mean grabbed you and kissed you, told you that you’re my world, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, the most incredible lawyer and person and human.” I rest my forehead against hers, both of us closing our eyes for several seconds.

“Do you think that would have worked?” she finally says with the slightest hint of her snarky tone.

My eyes fly open and I’m pretty sure my cock twitches. “Always with that attitude.” I reach around and pinch her ass, making her squirm against me with a laugh. But her eyes flick past me, her smile fading.

“I forgot I ruined dinner.” Her chin quivers.

“Hey.” I pull her gaze back to mine. “I’m sure we can still salvage some things. You didn’t ruin anything.”

Her emotions are still on the verge of instability. She goes from overcorrecting with laughter to almost crying over groceries. I step to the counter, bringing her with me.

“Okay, let’s see what we can still work with.” I begin pulling items out. “A baguette, that’s still good and wine,” I say, holding up an item in each hand. Next, I pull out two very room temperature steaks wrapped in white paper. “These might be an issue.”

“Ugh.” She sighs loudly.

“And the cheeses.” I sort through them, all very warm at this point. “Probably better to pass. Oh shit.” I smile when I see my absolute favorite dessert, a full-sized red velvet cheesecake from Eli’s, a third-generation cheesecake maker in Chicago.

“The cheesecake,” she pouts, clearly forgetting it was even in there. “Tonight was supposed to be special.”

The first night after our first official day of work as business partners, we celebrated by eating a steak from Gibson’s, and then I convinced her try Eli’s after she swore to me she hated cheesecake. We ate ourselves sick that night on it and she’s been a fan ever since.

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