Page 89 of Reckless Desire

“No, I wouldn’t, because I’m not a charity case. I made mistakes and I’m paying for them, but I don’t need your pity.”

“It was a fucking practical solution to a problem that fucking impacts my life. It’s a lot of money, but I won’t miss it and it makes a huge difference for you. Why can’t you just accept I want to take care of you and protect you from assholes like McFadden?”

“Behind my back!” I yell, anger pulsing through me, poisoning my reason and my words. “What else have you been doing without telling me? Picking up dates with Gigi Lafontaine?” I regret the words, driven out by a need to hurt, as soon as they leave my mouth. I don’t even know what my point is.

Hunter yanks his head back as though my words hit him physically.

“I can’t do this.” I run out and don’t stop until I reach the street.

ChapterThirty

Hunter

It’s been two weeks since Sydney ran out of my office. Christmas is in a few days, and I’ve been in such a foul mood that most people have been avoiding me. Hunter the Grinch.

I’ve stewed for a week. How dare she compare me to her husband? How could she even remotely compare those two situations? She can’t possibly blame me for wanting to get rid of McFadden, especially when she would be moving in with us.

Ifshe’s moving in with us. I throw a pen across my office and it lands with a dissatisfying plop, not even falling apart. I’m the only one falling apart.

I’ve been working on payroll for the past two days. At this pace, people will get their Christmas bonus next summer.

I can’t even sulk and steam in peace, with a tumbler of whiskey, because Caro’s presence in my life doesn’t allow for such luxury. She’s been asking questions about Sydney since that night when I canceled the skating trip, because I was seeing red and couldn’t imagine spreading cheerful joy around. I still owe Caro that skating outing.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The worst part is I miss her. I miss her so fucking much. I’m blind with sadness. A thousand times a day I have something I want to share with her, but she’s gone.

After my initial anger subsided, I called her, but she hasn’t been answering. And Caro said she hasn’t come to school. Her class was told Mrs. Lowe was sick and a substitute teacher has taken over.

But now it’s been two fucking weeks. The worst weeks of my life.

To add insult to injury, things at work haven’t been going well either. We had to push the opening at Tribeca to next year, and there have been a few more membership cancellations than usual.

Yet I can’t focus on the business, because my mind is constantly struggling to veer away from the green eyes and soft sounds she makes.

I’d have hoped Ash would step up, but he’s been avoiding me and acting weird. I really need to focus on getting the house in order before the shoot starts, but I can’t think straight until things with Sydney get resolved.

She hasn’t been answering her phone. She hasn’t been going to work. I imagine her suffering alone in that cold apartment and pain sears me. She was so hurt when she left. Fuck.

I check my watch. It’s eight o’clock in the morning and I have to leave for the photoshoot with Delaney soon.

My entire being wants to go to Brooklyn, but Sydney needs to realize she overreacted. Has she, though? As more days, hours, minutes pass without her, the more I can see how I betrayed her trust. I shattered the confidence that was fragile to begin with.

I promised to never keep things from her. But in my mind that promise blanketed bad, hurtful shit. Not helping her out. I don’t even know why I went behind her back. I was focused on the result, not the execution. All I saw was relieving her of an immense burden.

Goddammit. I gather my things and make my way out.

“I have to go,” I tell Lea. “Call me if you need me. I might not come back today.”

“Sure, boss. Can’t wait to see the pics.” She smirks.

I get into the car the studio sent for me and dial the number I should have called sooner. It rings six times and I’m about to hang up when a raspy voice answers.

“What the hell, Hunter, you woke me up. Is Sydney okay?” London sounds as if she smoked a pack of cigarettes in her sleep.

“That’s why I’m calling. Is she okay?” I hate this, but I doubt she would see me and I need to know she is okay. And, shamefully, part of me needs to know she is as miserable as I am.

“Why are you asking me? She’s been canceling on me because she’s with you all the time,” London scolds, but then she probably wakes up fully. “Why are you callingme?”

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