Page 175 of Hate You More

“Looking for you.”

“They told me you were Chelsea.”

“I would’ve said my name was Bertha to get in through the door. Can I?” I make a gesture. “Please.”

She nibbles on the inside of her lip but nods. Tight jeans and a T-shirt. She must be going out. She has makeup on, though underneath, she’s pale. I can see she’s been crying, and that’s a relief. Not that I want to see her cry, but it means that there might be some sense in my calculations. That I’m not fooling myself.

She hesitates but ultimately steps back, allowing me to pass.

“What do you want?”

Once inside I turn to face her as she folds her arms across her body.

“I would’ve thought that was obvious. You are what I want. I’m not ready to let you go, Clara.” Not in three months or six. Not ever.

“It’s not your decision to make,” she says quietly, carefully.

“Sure, let’s talk about that. Shall we . . .” I gesture to the chairs placed either side of an old-fashioned iron fireplace. It’s that or tell her she’s wrong. “I see why you like the place.” I pause to glance out of the window. “Bergdorf’s, the Park. Good places to eat.”

I watch her slot away those snippets of a past conversation.

“You’re thinking that was a miscalculation,” I say as I take my seat. Leaning forward, I put my elbows to my knees.

“Excuse me?”

“Or maybe you think it’s a fluke that I remember.” I link my fingers as though in prayer. “But I pay attention to everything you say and do. I remember every one of our moments together.”

“That sounds . . .” Consternation flicks across her face. “Creepy.”

I drop my head and give a breath of a laugh. “That is not the vibe I was going for. But I think it’s just what happens when you fall in love. Not that you become creepy,” I add hastily. “But that you catalog every moment. Every word.”

She shakes her head, almost a denial. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“No, what I shouldn’t have done is let you leave without telling you exactly what you mean to me. Without hearing you admit the same.” Please, God.

“I’m not doing this.” She crosses her legs and then her arms, her gaze sliding away before coming back sharp. “And I won’t let you do it either.”

“I forgive you for making the wrong choice.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness.” She pushes up from her seat. “I want you to leave.”

“Nope.” I sit back and cross my ankle, then slide my arm across the chair back as though she were sitting next to me. “Not until we’ve hashed this out.”

“There is no hashing this out,” she retorts, glancing at the nightstand. The phone. “You’re leaving or I’m calling security.”

“I’d give it all up, Clara, in a heartbeat. If it came down to choosing between you and being the CEO of the company I built with my own fuckin’ hands, I’d shut the door on my office and never think about it again.”

“You’re lying.” Her footsteps falter but she doesn’t turn.

“No, I’m just a little slow on the uptake.” I take a breath and let us both process that. “Please come and sit down.”

But she doesn’t.

“If you want me to leave, you’ve gotta let me say my piece first.” My heart hammers against my ribs as I watch her shoulders rise with a deep breath. Then she turns like her feet are lead weights.

“Say what you need to say.” Arms folded, she lifts her chin.

“I see you better than anyone, Clara. Better than you see yourself.”