Page 9 of Threaded Lies

But he doesn’t.

“And yet it makes perfect sense.” I give him the same cursory once-over. “Life is black. It’s white. It’s gray,” I repeat his words back to him about the three ways you can live your life—bad, good, or with a little mystery thrown in for added measure. He may live in the gray, but right now I prefer the stark white of the truth. “You never know which thing will be which color, huh?”

And with that, I turn on my heel and walk away without saying another word.

I keep walking.

I want him to chase after me. I want him to explain why he screwed me over.

I want so many things, but when I turn the corner and look over my shoulder, the hallway is empty.

Just like my heart feels.

Nothing has changed and yet everything has.

FOUR

Holden

It’s black.

It’s white.

It’s gray.

Leave it to fucking Rowan to throw that back in my face.

My hands fist and my shoulders hurt from being so goddamn tense as I pace the confines of my office like a caged tiger.

That fucking pathetic excuse for a bikini. Ties on the sides and barely any fabric.

Desperate to throw something, I pick up the crystal paperweight from my desk.

Their hands on her. Three pairs of them. Her tanned skin. Their bare chests.

I put the paperweight down. The urge is so goddamn tempting my fingers ache from gripping it.

Her red painted lips. Her sexy smile with them. Her disgusted scowl at me.

I lace my fingers and pull down on the back of my neck as I cover the same ground, the same fucking twenty steps, again, but gain zero goddam clarity.

Her eyes. The hurt in them I don’t understand. She did this. She caused this. What in the fuck am I missing?

I reach for the paperweight, welcome its heft again.

Her complete disregard for me.

My chest aches.

My fingers tighten.

My arm cocks back.

“Don’t you dare,” Audrey warns from the doorway.

The words almost egg me on more, but I lower my arm. I drop it with a thunk on my desk.

And I fucking hate that Audrey has caught me in a moment of weakness. I only show my temper when I care or when someone has gotten past my guard.