Page 11 of Point of Contention
It’s over. I’m sorry.
What remained of my broken heart shattered into a million shards as I hitsend.
Then I closed out of the text thread and swiped it to delete it entirely before I lost my nerve. Then I blocked his number. And, one by one, I blocked everyone else I’d met during my time at Reed Romance.
I couldn’t go back.
I opened the text message from Greer, clicked on my mother’s contact information, and held my breath as I reached out to my mom after so much lost time.
“Oh, RJ, thank God,” she said when she answered after the second ring, her voice laced with relief. I hadn’t heard that nickname in five years, hadn’t heard the familiar cadence of her voice, and new tears sprung to my eyes.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, though the words were sloppy and wet as I cried.
“Oh, baby.” She paused long enough to make me think the call had dropped, then said, “I left your father.”
Chapter Four
Cabot
I’d paced a groove in the imported Italian tile of my penthouse for the past few hours until finally forcing myself into my home gym for countless rounds with my punching bag. My hands ached, knuckles raw, but the pain had not abated.
My frustration was at a maximum high as well.
An emergency board meeting had been scheduled for Friday morning, and all trustees of Reed Enterprises, along with the heads of each division, were required to be in attendance. Heads of departments were flying out from Los Angeles and Miami. Our European shareholders would attend via video call.
My fate was again on the line.
It felt like eons ago that they’d approved the succession of control of Reed Enterprises from my father to me, though it had only been a matter of weeks, and now my future hung in the balance once more.
The Rabbit Hole was a fucking mess. Membership numbers had dropped rapidly since Friday night’s leaked images. A compromising photo being sold to the press from within the supposed safety of the underground club was a threat to every member’s privacy—and too many clients had lives that would be categorically destroyed if news of theirinterestsgot out.
Take mine for example. My life was in tattered pieces.
Nearly ten hours had passed since I dropped Rylan off in Park Slope this morning. I jumped every time my phone alerted me to a new call or text message, but none were from her. Every minute that ticked by without her felt like an omen.
I’d intentionally left the device in the kitchen so I could let off steam without being distracted by every buzz or beep, but I still couldn’t shake the distraction ofher.
Since we’d begun this thing, whatever it was, we’d never gone this long without at least texting.
My body thrummed with energy and anger, a need I couldn’t alleviate without fighting, fucking, or disappearing into my sanctuary, and I didn’t even know if I was allowed back into that space. I ran my hand over the back of my neck, massaging the muscles there. I didn’t even know if Iwantedto be allowed back into that space without Rylan, which was beyond troubling.
This was why I never allowed myself to feel for the women in my life. I’d welcomed Rylan into my most sacred space and now I didn’t want to go there without her.
And she waseverywhere. Reed Tower. The elevators. My office. My café. She’d come on my goddamndesk, for Christ’s sake.
She’d infiltrated my home.Bothhomes.
She’d infiltrated my heart.
Nothing about my life had been spared from the tornado that was Rylan Blake.
I cursed under my breath and shoved the bag away, then quickly sidestepped when it swung back toward me.
All this time I’d been so convinced it waswomenwho couldn’t keep their professional and private lives separate.
What a fucking fool I was.
Back in my bedroom, I stripped out of my gym shorts and unwrapped my tender hands, pulse racing. Beating the shit out of my punching bag hadn’t eased this tension. I’d known that would be the case, but tried anyway.
