Page 90 of The Renegade Billionaire
“That’s…” He steps back, clutching his chest as if he’s winded. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The way his emotions fly from anger to humiliation and back again gives me whiplash. It’s the reminder I need to put more space between us.
“And yet, here you are, doing it again. You have no idea of the monster alcohol turns you into. But I won’t allow you to continue hurting me either. I know that somewhere, deep, deep inside of you is a good man. Or the bones of someone who once tried to be a good man. I hope that someday, you find him again.”
“Madi…”
“I hope you find the boy who would rescue stray dogs. The teenager who snuck supplies down to the local food bank when you thought no one was looking. The man who once promised me the world and made me believe him. I hope you find that guy, Harry, because he had the potential to be pretty great.” I see the hope flicker in his eyes. “But not for me. We’re done, and though I appreciate the thought, I think I should take it from here.”
I point toward the shed, then slowly walk away.
“I— I’m sorry, Madi.” His voice breaks, but putting him together means tearing myself apart to fix his holes, and I’m not that person anymore.
“I know you believe that, Harry. And someday, I hope your actions will prove it.”
Locking the shed, I grab the handle of the wagon and walk to the back door of the Chug. Adrenaline buzzes through me, a dizzying combination of anxiety and pride at having that conversation. I’ve always put myself last so everyone around me could be first, and maybe it’s time to start correcting that character flaw.
Heading up to the second floor of the Chug, I sit at the desk where I do most of my admin work when I need to be away from everyone. I slowly open the bottom drawer. The offer for syndication sits right where I left it.
I read it six more times, knowing this is the route forward for me and a career I love so much, but still unable to pull the trigger. There’s something in the legal jargon that isn’t sitting right with me, and if I’m going to do this, the offer will have to be perfect.
Or is that an excuse I’m still using because I feel like a fraud? A matchmaker with no match.
Stuffing the file back in the drawer, I pull my laptop out of my bag and get to work on something I should have done a long time ago, my business plan forThe Matchmaker Manual.
I know deep in my bones that this is where my heart belongs, and I’m so freaking good at it. It’s time to stop making excuses, and start preparing for my future, even if that future means only owning a part of the Hideaway for a while.
What does Braxton’s future look like? And how will I feel when it no longer includes me?
21
BRAXTON
“Why are we doing this?”Greyson asks from the passenger side of my truck.
Somehow, he got shotgun, while Pops is in the middle and Sage is squished into the back seat. I saw Pops out messing with Grey’s rental car earlier—I know that’s why it wouldn’t start. I’ll have to speak to Pops about that.
“You’ve got to see the town.” Pops sounds annoyed, and I wonder if it’s because Grey outmaneuvered him to the passenger seat today. “First stop is the diner ’cause I’m starving.”
Grey’s stomach growls so loudly we all hear it, so he doesn’t bother arguing even though I can see in his shoulders that he was about to.
These two figured out immediately how to push each other’s buttons, so it’s anyone’s guess how it’ll play out.
“It’s a busy place,” Sage says, his head resting on the seat in front of him between Pops and Grey.
“It’s Betty’s famous meatloaf today, that’s why we needed to get here early.” Pops huffs. “If I missed out on my meatloaf because you were dicking around with your wiffee meeting, heads are gonna roll, you hear me? Heads will roll.”
“What the fuck is wiffee? And I wasn’t dicking around with anything. I had a $14 million deal on the table, Mercutio. What the hell is it you think I do anyway?”
“Not making meatloaf, I know that.”
I finally find a parking spot, and Grey jumps out of the truck before I’ve even put it in park. He stands outside, rolling his shoulders. I shouldn’t laugh at my best friend for being so out of his element, but I do.
“Come on,” I say, following him out. “How about you two put a pin in your little war and let’s go eat?”
“He started it.” Pops pouts.
Grey stares at me with a wide, bewildered gaze. “Is he for real? What kind of?—”
