Page 64 of American Beauty

What the hell am I doing? I need to get my head on straight.

Now.

The door clicks softly behind me. Ty leans forward on the bed, forearms balanced on his knees, his gaze pinned to the floor. For once, the relentless arrogance in his posture is gone.

He rubs a hand along his jaw. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

I stand across the room from him, keeping my distance. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

He looks at me for a long moment before shaking his head, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Bloody hell, Magnolia. You’re so fucking beautiful, and––”

He stops, like he’s contemplating his next words, and shoves a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what Sebring was thinking. He was a fool to let you go.”

“Alex had a differing opinion.”

How many times will talking about this cut me to the bone?

Ty shakes his head. “I’ll never understand it.”

Neither will I.

I’m so damn tired.

Tired of wondering what went wrong.

Tired of replaying every moment, every conversation, searching for some hidden clue I missed.

Tired of waking up every morning with the same hollow ache in my chest, knowing that no matter how much time passes, it still hasn’t gone away.

I just want it to be over—the pain, the questions, the what-ifs.

“The point you were making about the bed is valid. I’ll choose thicker mattresses and taller bed frames.” My voice is all business as if the last ten minutes never happened.

“I’m glad you understand the logistics.”

The insinuation hangs between us, heavy and electric. I tear my gaze away, pretending to return to my laptop, feigning focus. But my hands move without purpose, my mind too tangled in the direction that conversation nearly took. I can’t sit here and talk about lovers who take pride in a woman’s pleasure—especially when the man sitting across from me looks like he could teach master classes in it.

Not when I haven’t had that since the last night I spent with Alex many months ago.

Ty stands, adjusting his trousers. “You’re doing a great job. This place is going to be special.”

“I’m happy you’re pleased with my work.”

He checks his watch and glances at me. “I have somewhere to be.”

Relief flickers through me. “I’ll reach out when I finish the sample board.”

“Look forward to it.”

He reaches for the door handle but hesitates, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “I know Sebring didn’t paint me in the best light. I can only imagine the things he’s told you.”

My brow arches in silent response, the words kept locked behind my teeth.

He exhales a quiet laugh. “All I’m saying is I’d like it if you gave me a chance. Perhaps begin with friendship?”

“Let’s start with a designer-client relationship and see how that goes.”

He nods, his blue eyes locked onto mine. “Fair enough but remember this: I’m more than happy to help you forget Sebring if you ever change your mind.”

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