The feeling of being shut out overwhelms me.
I’m so confused and torn.
I shoot another glance at him and note with a fresh wave of insult thathe’s switched to speaking French, which I mentioned to him in Monaco that I don’t understand beyond tourist phrases and cognates.
A storm rises, fast and savage, inside of me. It’s a kneecap-kicking, knife-in-the-teeth brawl between parts of myself. There’s the compassionate person who wants torunto Phaedra and take care of her if Mo is sick. But there’s also a skeptic, sitting back and watching,judging.
And in the very,verydarkest corner of me? There’s a vengeful, wounded monster who wants to make her wait… even if it’s true that she’s scared.
Let her deal with her own problem, like all the times I’ve had to when she’s been too clueless and selfish to be a supportive friend…
And Klaus. How am I to interpret his saying nothing? We’ve talked a lot about trust and opening up. He’s admitted to the scars left by his widowerhood. He’s made me feel special, burrowing straight to the heart of my people-pleasing self, assuring me he hasn’t felt this close to anyone in years.
Has it all been bullshit? Did he track my craving for approval and deliver the right lines in hopes of luring me back into bed? Was he saying what I wanted to hear, that day at the Emerald factory when he claimed that rather than craving “a win,” he wants connection?
I wonder if he could do his job so well if winning weren’t integral to his nature.
I look down at the dress I’ve worn with the specific aim of seduction tonight and feel like a fool. An insecure woman who’s perpetually searching for—and forgiving—the sad little boy in every man. A rejected girl who’s always,alwaysput everyone’s feelings before her own, just hoping to belong.
Across the room, Klaus hangs up his call, taking off his damned sexy-librarian reading glasses as he wanders into the living room. He sets his phone and glasses on the bar.
The words escape before I can hold back. “Edward Morgan is sick?”
His steps freeze. “How do you know such a thing?” he asks, his smooth baritone carrying unexpected coldness. “Is there a press leak?” He continues to the sofa, sitting and resting one ankle on the opposite knee, the picture of ease.
I hold up my phone. “No. I got an email from Phae. Nospecifics—just that Mo is sick. Is this why you’ve been moody all week?”
Klaus shakes his head, opening his hands. “I really can’t discuss that.”
A coal of sorrow ignites in my chest. “Why won’t you talk with me about it? Obviously not as a journalist, but… just as your friend? You told me in Monaco, that night on the boat, that you feel like you can tell me anything. Like you’ve been ‘let out of a cage,’ you claimed.”
“Certainly we’re friends,” he replies evenly. “I care for you greatly. But you’re also press. I must be cautious about what I share.” His expression is shuttered, controlled, and it hurts to see it. “I’d appreciate your discretion on this matter,” he goes on. “It’s a private issue for family. Leaking it would serve only to alarm Emerald’s sponsors.”
A chill runs across my skin. The distance between us suddenly feels like it’s stretching into light-years.
How could I have been so naïve?
Why do I never listen to my gut instinct about men? It isn’t that I fail to see the warning signs. I see them, then pirouette onto the minefield anyway…
“Are you kidding me right now?” I say slowly. “It’s ‘a private issue for family’? Has it occurred to you, Klaus, thatI amlike family to the Morgans? I’m not ‘the press.’ I’ve known them longer than you have. How many summer vacations haveyouspent in their North Carolina beach house? How many middle-of-the-night phone calls from Phae have you fielded?”
“From Phaedra?” he echoes with dismissive amusement. “Too many. There’s friendship, and then there’s business. I’m sure I getmoreof Phaedra’s midnight rants.” Noting the anger on my face, he adjusts his approach. “Talia, please. I didn’t intend for that to sound as it did. And now you’re upset.” He extends an arm. “Come here and sit with me.”
“Your condescension is the last thing I need,” I snap. “I won’t be made to feel small, or unworthy of someone’s confidence—either Phaedra’s or yours.” After a withering pause, I throw my next words out, hoping to hurt him right back. “I don’t need the grief, and… I don’t even needyou.”
Ouch—oh God…
It’s not inaccurate. I don’t “need”anyman to complete me. But it’s also one of the biggest lies ever to pass my lips. I’ve fallen for Klaus Franke hard. But he obviously doesn’t trust me, and I’m unsure in this moment if that means he doesn’t respect me either.
Seeing him sitting across from me with that cool, unflappable stare, it occurs to me that what he shares of himself feelscurated.
His outstretched hand withdraws. He rakes his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “I see. Is that how you feel, after all? I’m surprised.”
His alleged “surprise” sounds more like an intimidation strategy to make me walk back what I’ve said, and his lofty expression is pure Emerald Team Principal.
The hot tears hanging at my lower lashes get heavy enough to fall. I swipe them away, heart racing, mind scrambling for how to soften my assertion without yielding fully.
“I don’tneedyou,” I amend, “but I do want you, Klaus… and I want to know where this could go. But only if you’ll let me in. Like I said about Phae: I won’t be in unbalanced relationships anymore. I deserve better.”
