Page 7 of Tangled Kisses
Does it make me boring? Maybe. But I’ve never been a go-with-the-flow type of woman.
Until now.
“Give me five minutes.” Disconnecting the call, I dial my soon-to-be ex-fiancé, feeling my resolve strengthen.
I need this time. Otherwise, I’ll lose what little sanity I still possess.
“Where the hell are you, Reese?” Judging by Vander’s tone, he’s less than pleased with my sudden disappearance. No questioning if I’m okay, just condescension lining his voice.
“I got overwhelmed. I need space. Time.”
“You embarrassed me. This is not how a future Hale behaves. This is not how one handles their affairs.”
Thanks for the sympathy, you dickless wonder.
Okay, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. He’s at least three inches, possibly four. On a good day. Averygood day.
“Oh, really?” My voice sharpens. “Which affairs are you talking about? The salesgirl in housewares? Your secretary? Or maybe one of your golf buddies’ wives?”
Vander huffs into the phone, long and sharp. “I’ve had just about enough of your attitude. I made dinner plans at the club tonight. Seven o’clock. Don’t be late—and you had better show up in an acceptable mood.”
“No.”
“Excuse me?” Vander Hale isn’t used to being told no, especially not by me.
“I’m not going to the club tonight. Or any night. I hate the club. I hate your friends. And who can blame me? You’ve slept with at least two of their wives—or so their husbands told me when they propositioned me to return the favor.”
The silence stretches. Lethal. Waiting to snap.
Finally, he exhales. “You’ve always had a talent for the dramatic. Stay home tonight. Tomorrow you’ll wake up, put on a proper dress, and remember why women like you should be grateful to marry into families like mine.”
There it is. The noose disguised as benevolence.
“Grateful?” I choke out a laugh. “For what? A fiancé who can’t keep his dick in his pants? In-laws who made it clear I’ll never measure up? A job your mother pulled strings to hand me because she couldn’t stand that I’m a nurse?”
“That position,” he cuts in, tone clipped, “is befitting of a woman who will carry the Hale name. You should thank us.”
“But it’s not befitting of me,” I fire back. “Just say it. I’m not good enough.”
“I don’t have to.” The smile in his voice is cold, triumphant. “You just did, and if you continue to behave in this manner, I can make life very difficult for you. Try getting a job anywhere in New York.”
With those words, he gives me the final push off the ledge of indecision. “Good thing I have one waiting for me in Oregon, then.”
“Oregon?” he sputters out the word. “What the hell are you going to do in Oregon?”
“I’m going to live, Vander. According tomyrules. No more games. Besides, it’s not like you love me.”
“Not the point.”
“Shouldn’t it be, though?” That I have to ask is proof enough this relationship is dead in the water.
“I care for you.” His admission lacks emotion, spoken as if he recites it daily in the mirror to convince himself of the fact.
“But that is not good enough for me.”
“Are you having a nervous breakdown? Do I need to have you committed?”
“I’d only need a mental evaluation if I stayed. I’ll drop off the ring and any other gifts at your home.”
