Page 13 of Hate the One You're With
So I ask him again. “Six months. I’m only asking for six months under the same roof. You don’t need to do anything else. I’ve already asked the lawyer if we can stay in my grandmother’s penthouse. It’s big enough—we can divide it. We don’t even have to see each other at all.”
“You want me to live with you for six months?” He stares at me incredulously. “I have a job that requires me to travel.”
“I understand, but?—”
“No,” he cuts me off, his tone sharp. “I’m not here for your entertainment or to play along with whatever twisted game you’ve got in mind.”
“This isn’t a scheme I concocted to make your life miserable. The shrew . . . It’s about making me pay for something or who knows what. She always took pleasure in seeing me miserable,even when she claimed to love me,” I say, sensing a crack in his armor. “I’ll pay you a salary—on top of everything she left me. If you have to hire anyone to cover for you, I’ll pay them too.”
“You’re going to give me everything?” he asks, his tone sharper, probing. “Including your trust?”
I stop breathing, my heart stuttering in my chest. That’s not something I can just give up, not even for this.
“So, you wouldn’t give up all your money, huh?” He’s daring me now, those blue eyes narrowing, challenging me to call his bluff.
“It’s not that,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “After I graduated and started working, it’s been funding a charity that helps with college tuition and books.”
He continues to look at me in a way that makes me feel small and judged, as if he doesn’t believe for a second that I could be using that money for anything other than personal gain. No matter what I say, nothing will convince him that I’m not the person he thinks I am.
Fine, good luck trying to use the money. He’s going to have to hire someone to run the charity that allocates those funds annually. His problem, not mine. But then again, it’s not just about the money. It’s about keeping the company as it is, making sure no one loses their jobs. That’s why I’m doing this.
“Fine, you can have that too. Everything. Just do this one thing, will you?” I say, more determined now. “I do need you to promise me you’ll keep the company as is. No layoffs, no changes. I run a charity with the trust money, and I need to make sure it’s in good hands.”
After a long pause, he steps closer, his gaze intense,probably trying to intimidate me. “I’ll have my lawyer draw something up,” he says, his tone clipped.
“You’re not taking my word for it?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“Sorry, don’t trust you.” I almost laugh at what he says because he’s not sorry in the slightest.
His words hurt more than I’d like to confess. It hurts to know he never trusted or believed me, but I won’t waste energy trying to convince him this time. Once this is over, we’ll go our separate ways, and I’ll have six months to figure out where to start my new life. Do I really have to give him everything I own, or just what I inherited from my grandmother?
Who cares at this point? He’ll have his lawyer draft some ironclad contract where he gets the satisfaction of taking everything away from me. But at least I’ll finally be free—from all of it. For the first time, I won’t have to figure out a way to keep my late mother happy, my grandfather at peace, and Grandma . . . well, she won’t be around to manipulate me anymore.
It’ll finally be over.
“You know what’s sad?” I say, not sure if I’m talking to him, the universe, or myself. “I have to depend on a man to fix something—again. But make no mistake, I’m only doing this because she’s forcing me—again. I don’t need a man to be happy, to live my life, or to succeed. After the six months, we’ll divorce, and hopefully, you won’t fuck over the company and the livelihoods of all its employees.”
With those final words, I turn on my heel, chin up, and march out of the room. My heart’s pounding, but I refuse to let it show.You’ve got this, Em.
As I’m about to step over the threshold, I pause, taking a deep breath. Then, in a flash of defiance, I spin back around, pull out a fancy pen with pink ink from my purse, and scribble my digits on the back of his hand, adding my name and a little heart for good measure. “Just in case you forget my number,” I say with a sweet smile before walking out, leaving him standing there with a bemused expression.
“Don’t worry, I’ll add it to my contacts as She-Devil,” he calls after me, his voice laced with playful sarcasm.
“Good, I’ll have you in my phone as Satan,” I reply, tossing the words over my shoulder, hoping to have the last word.
Chapter Eight
Emmersyn
Well,that wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. Caleb and I didn’t kill each other. Though let’s be honest—he might’ve been pretty close to eliminating me. Not that I could blame him. The last time we saw each other things ended up pretty bad and, like Grandpa before me, I lashed out at him so bad. I hated myself for it—but it was necessary.
For a moment, I almost wishedhe was different—less lethal and more . . . caring? Yeah, right. As if Caleb Cunningham would ever be the nurturing type after the way we left things. I quickly erase the ridiculous thought and refocus on getting out of this building.
I hurry down the stairs, my pulse still racing from the encounter, and rush outside, hoping my driver is waiting. As I push through the door, a small part of me worries he might have left; because, honestly, with the way my day is going, that wouldn’t be surprising.
But thankfully, he’s there. Earlier, I had asked him to follow Ethan’s car, knowing I’d need a quick escape once the meeting was over.
As soon as I step outside, Logan is already in position, standing by the car, holding the door open with a polite smile.
