Page 4 of Shame

I groan as she types out a text message.

There’s no way Cait will reply.

She knows better.

I hope so, anyway.

God. Fucking. Damn. “You don’t need to do that. I’m happy to stay home tonight.”

She laughs again. “Home?” She waves around. “This place where we have occasional, simple sex? Where you mostly dodge me and wait until I’m asleep before you crawl into bed?”

My gut turns over and my skin goes cold at the accurate barb. “Yes, home.”

“Who. Is. She?”

I give her a little. “She’s an outside counsel we used once at the firm.”

“Someone you work with.”

“Worked with once.”

“I see.”

“I love you.”

She laughs hysterically. “No, you don’t.”

“I do. Please, let me—”

Holding up her hand, she shakes her head. “Nah. Don’t bother. I’m going to leave.”

“Don’t leave.” Desperate need storms inside me. I’ll say anything to keep her here. “I know this is awful. I know you have questions. I know—”

“How long have you been in a relationship with someone else?”

“It’s not like that.” It’s honest to God not. How can I make her see that? “I swear to you, it’s over. Done. I don’t care about that woman. I never did.”

That’s the truth. At least part of it.

She hesitates. It’s a glimmer of hope, and I latch on to it with every bit of my vicious, Bay Street-honed training. I know when a negotiation turns my way, and this one—as fucked up as that is, and I own that—just broke for the bad guys.

Fucking hell.

I swallow hard. “She’s nothing, Grace. You are everything. Whatever you need. Whatever you want. I love you. Please, give me a chance to fix this.”

3

Grace

I screamat him for hours. Throw things at him. He refuses to leave, and eventually, at dawn, I fall asleep on the couch. I wake up an hour later, jolted awake by dark, gross nightmares.

He’s curled up on the floor beside me, his hand up on the couch right next to my hand. Not touching me, but close enough that I can feel the heat of his skin.

I should recoil. Iwantto recoil. But I need his warmth more. I nudge the edge of my hand against his, and he lets out a shuddering groan, then wraps his fingers around mine. “I know I’ve fucked up.”

His voice is raw, his eyes red.

I sit up and look at him. He’s rumpled. Ashen-faced and needs a shave. He looks…old. And broken.

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