Page 342 of Double or Nothing

“I know Alice hasn’t agreed to any viewings since the auction,” I tell her prick of a fiancé. “I know collectors and galleries are asking for her, and somebody is refusing on her behalf.”

“That has nothing to do with you.”

“Maybe not now. But it will.”

Bill finally picks up the resignation letter. He waves it at me.

“You are no longer in a position to involve yourself in my daughter’s affairs, do you understand me?”

“I never was. Not unless it suited you.”

It feels bizarre to walk out of Parker Capital knowing I’ll never be returning.

I leave with no title. No guaranteed salary. No plan.

Only a choice.

I gulp in a breath of cool air when I reach the main entrance, quaking as the adrenaline starts to flood.

My phone is already in my hand.

Five unread messages from Jack Reid.

Now it’s time to open them.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

BRYCE

Five unread messages from Jack in my inbox. Five attempts to reach me since the auction.

The first one was sent less than an hour after I walked away from him.

For the record, I know I was an asshole tonight. Possibly even a reckless, arrogant, financially irresponsible asshole. Don’t get excited, I’m not agreeing with everything you said.

But I heard you.

Hopefully see you later.

I remember Jack standing in the saleroom with his hands in his pockets, wearing a careless smile as though nothing I said had reached him. Not even scratched his polished surface. But it was an illusion. I heard you, his message says.

That’s far more than Bill managed in the past fortnight.

Jack’s second message was sent just a few hours after.

Found your keys here. Bit of a punch in the guts, but I know I punched considerably harder.

I know you’re angry. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have told Parker you were helping me, and I shouldn’t have acted like your job didn’t mean shit. I know it means the world to you.

Please return for some toasties, and we’ll talk it over.

His words hit home. Hard.

My keys. Not the keys to his apartment. My keys.

I remember standing in his dressing room with an overnight bag open. Taking my shirts from the wardrobe. My charger from the kitchen. My cufflinks from the bedside table.

I remember deciding to leave the keys behind, so flamed up, I wanted to throw them at him.