Page 2 of Always Been Mine

He looked straight into her eyes. “No. Someone else. I need to leave.”

“No. That’s not a freaking explanation,” Beatrice fired back.

“You deserve more—”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit!” Beatrice screamed. Tremors shook her body. This wasn’t happening. Why was this happening?

“Okay, you want the fucking truth?” Gabe replied tersely. “I’ll always care for my job more than I’ll ever care about you. I realize that now.”

She inhaled sharply at his blunt, if not cruel, declaration. Heat burned behind her eyes. She wasn’t going to cry. Oh, no, she wasn’t. She wasn’t becoming her mother.

A tear slid down her cheek.

Gabe cursed. “You asked for the fucking truth. You got it.”

He made to move past her again, but she couldn’t let him go.

Against her better judgment, she raised a palm against his chest.

“Please, Gabe—”

“Jesus, Beatrice,” Gabe growled. “You’re an admiral’s daughter. Have some fucking pride. Don’t beg a man to stay if he doesn’t want you.”

The final stake was driven into her heart. She dropped her hand and swallowed hard. She stepped aside. Gabe didn’t even hesitate as he walked briskly away from her.

Yet what hope was left inside her made her walk to the window. The rain had slowed to a trickle, and there were still rumblings of thunder in the distance. The scene outside was pretty much what she felt inside—pure desolation. She watched the headlights of Gabe’s car flash as he bleeped the locks. Seconds later, his tall silhouette emerged from the sidewalk fronting her house.

Look up. Look up. Don’t leave, Gabe.

He never looked up.

Three yearslater

“Rise and shine, Beatrice Porter!”

The smell of coffee hovered around her nose, but Beatrice shoved her face further into the pillow. “Go away.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Late night? Or can’t sleep?” The amused masculine voice teased.

“Both,” Beatrice grumbled, finally flopping on her back and sitting up. She glared at the leanly built blond man smirking at her. Douglas Keller—her personal assistant, her confidante, her everything actually. Because he did everythingfor her security consulting business that she had no patience to do. Besides, he took good care of her. She eyed the Styrofoam cup of morning brew held so tantalizing close to her face.

“From your favorite corner coffee shop,” Doug said as Beatrice grabbed the cup from him. He sat on the edge of her bed. “Drink up. You’ll need it.”

She groaned, “Don’t tell me there’s another article.”

“Front page of the DC Tattler,” Doug said. “Not too shabby a picture of your altercation with Rocker Boy in front of a Georgetown restaurant.”

Eric Stone, lead guitarist of Titanium Rose, was a moment of female weakness. She had succumbed to all those tattoos and bad boy image, and somehow fell into an intense fling that lasted for five weeks. That ended two weeks ago when she walked in on him snorting cocaine off a naked groupie.

It was official: Beatrice Porter had become a cliché and she hated it. Right now, she hated the disapproving look Doug was giving her. He had warned her, after all.

“He’s spreading the word that he’s begging for a second chance. He accepts full responsibility for the breakup.”

“He said he had stopped using.” Beatrice took a big gulp of her coffee and thought she should have brushed her teeth first. Setting the cup down, she padded to the bathroom, leaving the door open so Doug could talk to her.

“He said he was missing you.”

“Seriously? That’s his excuse? I was gone for less than four days. If I had not cut my trip short . . . I would have . . .” She shuddered before sticking the toothbrush in her mouth. It was a good thing she refused to forego using condoms with him. God knows if this hadn’t been the first time. Still, it was a good thing to have herself tested.

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