“Listen,” Justin said. “I don’t want to add to your stress, I just wanted to tell you I’m here if you wanna talk, or get drunk, or whatever. Twice in one year is a lot for anyone.”
“Yeah . . . okay.” This was not happening again.
“Love you, bro.”
“Yeah. Love you, too.” He hung up.
Instead of picking up the phone and calling Shannon, he dressed and went straight to her house.
He pounded on her door and called her name. When she didn’t answer, he glanced through the front window.
Nothing.
His palms started to sweat.
Oh, who was he kidding? His heart rate had soared the second he’d seen the pictures, elevated even more with Justin’s phone call, and now might need some serious drugs to find a normal pace.
He started to dial her number before he noticed the trash at the end of her driveway.
The roses he’d sent her sat on top of the garbage.
His step faltered.
Something inside of him started to chisel away and break.
This was not okay. Not again. Not with Shannon. Was he so easy to leave, to forget?
He finished dialing her number.
“You’ve reached Shannon, please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
Hearing her voice made his heart shatter.
He didn’t bother with a message.
He wished now he’d put her on Friend Finder so he knew exactly where she was. Only the thought hadn’t occurred to him.
It was Sunday morning . . . afternoon. He’d forgotten to set his watch to the current time. The last time they spoke she was excited about the loft, so that’s where he headed.
Victor tried to calm down, talk the caveman off the ledge. He was still half-dead from flying and cautioned himself against jumping to conclusions. But damn if he was going to ignore the pictures he’d found. Maybe Justin was right. Maybe he was jumping too fast with Shannon. What if she wasn’t over her ex?
His stomach wanted to erupt.
Worse, his heart started to break.
If she was walking away, she’d have to do so face-to-face. No running away! Not this time.
He violated several speeding laws in his haste to drive to her loft and even parked in a red zone when he couldn’t get into the tenant garage.
He heard music from inside before he knocked on the door.
When she didn’t answer, he let himself in.
Shannon was on her hands and knees, her arms reaching out in front of her as she worked a worn spot of the floor with a sponge. The simplicity of what she was doing was lost with the feeling that his world was changing with every breath.
“Hello,” he said from behind.
She jumped, turned his way, and dropped her head. “God, you scared the hell out of me.”
She was beautiful, even with dirt smudged on her forehead. “Sorry. You didn’t answer the door.”
It took her a second to get to her feet. She turned to him, took one step, and then froze. “What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? She couldn’t be that clueless. “You don’t know?”
She blew out a breath. “Hold on.” She moved to the blaring radio and turned it off.
The room plunged into silence.
Shannon looked at him again. Paused. Anything that looked like a smile fell from her face. “You read the papers.”
He nodded. “Yeah. All of them.”
She started to smile and stopped. “You believe ’em.” She wasn’t asking a question.
“Tell me they’re wrong.”
“Of course they’re wrong. How could you think for a minute they weren’t?”
He pulled the picture that was the most convincing out from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Explain this.”
She took the picture from his fingers, handed it back. “Explain what, Victor? That a photographer took a picture, out of context, wrote a bunch of lies, and splattered it everywhere? Is that what you need to hear?”
He ticked off the facts that couldn’t be denied. “You went to a political fundraiser.”
“Lori asked me to go. Reed hates those things.”
“Where Paul was going.”
“I didn’t know he was on the guest list.” She placed both hands on her hips. “As if I need to explain this to you.”
He looked at the photo again, winced at how intimate it appeared. “He’s touching your face, Shannon. Is that photoshopped?”
She turned her back to him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “I was telling him goodbye, Victor.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I thought you did that years ago.”
“Divorce doesn’t always mean you stop caring for someone. He needed to hear it again.”
Victor stood back. “You still love the man.”
“Loved . . . past tense. But if you need me to spell that out for you, maybe I was wrong about us.”
“All this posturing about me taking time to get over Corrie, and it was you needing time to get over Paul.”
Shannon turned in a circle, put space between them. “This is a ridiculous argument.”
“I went to your house.”
“So?” She was pissed. How was she the one upset when it was him getting screwed?
“You threw away my flowers.”
Her jaw dropped. “I thought they were from him.”
It was Victor’s turn to pace the room. “He’s sending you flowers?”
Her hands flew in the air. “You went through my trash?”
“They were on top of your trash.”
She walked past him and to the front door. “Enough. Get out. You either trust me or you don’t. And obviously, you don’t.”
Some of his fire started to turn to smoke. “Shannon . . .”
She shook her head vehemently. “No. Go. I can’t.” She opened the door wide and pushed him through.
When he had to back up to keep the door from slamming in his face, he realized his mistake.
He knocked, heard the click of a lock sliding into place followed by her music being turned on and the volume placed on high.
Shit!
Chapter Thirty-One
Shannon paced the loft, clearly heard Victor trying to talk to her through the door. How could he believe anything the papers said?
When it was obvious that he’d left, she slid down the wall and stared at the bucket and sponge that had occupied her morning.
She’d seriously miscalculated the man, and all for what? She’d promised herself years ago to never let a man make her cry again, and here she was, sitting in the middle of her brand-new loft with tears running down her cheeks.
Runaway emotions were the worst.
Her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen, expecting to see Victor’s image pop up. She’d taken a few snapshots during their time in Tulum and had attached one to his number . . . only it wasn’t him.
She picked up the call. “What do you want, Paul?”
“Hello, beautiful.”
She scrambled to her feet, turned off the music. “Stop. You have no right to call me that anymore.”
“I want to take you to dinner . . . so we can talk.”
“No. Paul, stop. Okay. Just stop.”
“You saw the papers.”
“Of course I saw the papers. Everyone saw the papers. Which is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
The fact he didn’t immediately deny her accusation told her what she wanted to know.
“I want you back.”
The teeth in the back of her mouth started to strain under the pressure of her clenched jaw. “You need me back. It isn’t the same as want, so be honest with yourself. Your campaign manager is probably waiting for your call to tell him I’m on the hook.”
“You weren’t like this when we were married, Shannon. Victor Brooks isn’t good for you.”
Hearing Victor’s name roll off Paul’s tongue was like ice on a bad tooth. “You know nothing about Victor.”
“He’s a garbage man, Shannon. Takes trash from others and sells it abroad. You deserve better.”
“How dare you.”
“I’m sorry. That was out of line. You belong in cocktail parties and diamonds, the life we had together.”
“Had, Paul. And it was all a facade.”
“You wanted it to last,” he pointed out.
“At one time, yes. But we’ve been over this. I’m finally over you. And if you think selling pictures to the tabloids was the way to win me back, you’d be wrong. All it did was point out the kind of man you are. You used me to get what you wanted the first time. I won’t fall for it a second time.”
“You signed the Alliance contract just like me. Who is the one pretending now?”
“I said goodbye last night. I meant it.”
She heard him take a breath. “Fine.” His voice changed. “What will it take?”
She pinched her brows together. “What do you mean?”
“Six million was your price the last time. How much do you want now? Double?”
The knot in her throat stuck.
“Fifteen?” he asked. “Name your price.”
“You make me sick.”
“Will twenty million make you less ill?”
“Fuck you, Paul.” Any feelings she’d had for the man disappeared with his proposition.
She hung up.
Her phone immediately rang again. This time it was her mother.
“Good Lord, now what?”
Drying her eyes with the back of her hand, she faced her mother’s call because ignoring it would bring twice the pain. “Hello.”
“Shannon, honey, how are you?”
Shannon, honey, was always a bad sign. “I’m fine, Mom. What’s up?”
“I’m calling to make sure we’re still on for your birthday dinner.”
Birthday dinner? Good God, she’d been so busy and preoccupied with the loft, Victor . . . the stitches that still pained her with every step, she’d forgotten about her birthday the next day.