Brontë blinked and focused on him, then smiled, her expression sleepy. “You’re home early, aren’t you?”
“I am. I canceled the rest of my meetings.” He didn’t tell her that it was because he’d been unable to concentrate on anything but her that day. They’d made love fiercely the night before, but when she’d come, she’d been utterly silent. She didn’t whisper words of love anymore when they had sex.
And for some reason, he wanted to hear her say it again.
Logan smoothed a lock of hair off of her cheek. “I have a present for you.”
She sat up on the couch, frowning, one leg tucked under her, and ran a hand through her hair. “Present? Why?”
He forced himself to be indifferent and held the envelope out to her. “No reason. I just wanted to give you something.”
“You’ve already given me enough stuff, Logan.” But she obediently took the envelope and opened the clasp, pulling out the contract inside. She stared at it, puzzled, then looked back at him. “What’s this?”
“It’s the paperwork for the diner. There’s three of them, actually. One in Kansas City, and the other two are in Dallas and Atlanta. They’re yours.”
Brontë looked down at the paperwork in her lap, then back to him. “Why?”
Her reaction didn’t tell him anything. “What do you mean, why?”
“I mean, why give me a diner? What’s the point?”
“It’s a gift. Income. You can live off of the profits, if you want, or you can work on improving the chain. I’ve set up a meeting with the consultant so he can go over what he’s learned so far and suggest improvements. You—”
She held up a hand, giving a small shake of her head to stop him. “Logan, I don’t understand.”
“It’s an expensive gift,” he pointed out, frustrated by her mulish responses. “Most people would say thank you.”
“I guess I’m confused. Why do you think I’d want the diner?”
“So you can make something of yourself.”
She stiffened. “You mean, so I can be something other than a waitress?”
“Something like that,” Logan said.
The papers smacked his chest. Brontë leapt to her feet. “Keep the diner.”
She didn’t want it. Didn’t want his money. Elation surged, and Logan watched her get up and cross the room. “You don’t want it?”
She didn’t answer him.
She was . . . angry? Logan got to his feet and followed her down the hall. She stormed into one of the guest rooms, and when he followed, he noticed she was emptying one of the closets. He noted her stiff shoulders, her furious movements.
And that she had a suitcase open.
“Where are you going?” he asked, frowning.
“You said I could stay as long as I wanted,” Brontë said, her voice tight. “This is as long as I want. I’m done here.”
“Why? His voice was harsh. Anger rocketed through him. This was completely irrational of her. “You’re mad because I tried to give you a gift?”
“No,” she cried, turning to face him. “I’m mad because you think I’m not good enough for you. Are you embarrassed that I’m a waitress? Is that why you’re trying to turn me into some sort of diner tycoon?”
“What? No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then why would you do such a hurtful thing?” Her eyes shimmered with tears.
“Brontë,” he said, his voice soft. He moved to draw her into his arms, but she stiffened and pulled away. He’d made a mistake, then. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I’m not embarrassed by you.”
“Then why give me the diner? I never said I wanted it.”
“It was a test,” he confessed.
“A test?” Her voice rose an octave in response. “A test? What sort of test?”
He remained silent at that.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God. You think I’m after your money. Like Danica. Is that it? You’re testing me to see if I want it.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “It’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that,” she said bitterly.
“I love you, Brontë.”
“You do now,” she bit out. “Now that you realize I don’t want your money. Well, news flash, Logan. You can’t withhold love as a reward. You either love someone or you don’t. Money plays no part in this.”
“Money always plays into things, Brontë. That’s not fair—”
“You’re not being fair,” she said, viciously slamming her suitcase shut. “And I hate to say it, but Danica was right.”
“Danica doesn’t have anything to do with this—”
“No? She told me that you treat everything like a business transaction. And silly me, I thought she was wrong.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, driving a knife into his gut. “It turns out she was right after all.”
She moved to the dresser and pulled out a blue velvet case—the necklace case. She looked at it and her lip curled, almost in disgust, and she held it out to him. “Take this.”
“It’s yours.”
Brontë shook her head. “I don’t want it. I told you I didn’t want it, and you pushed it on me.” When she held it out again and he didn’t reach for it, she tossed it on the bed as if it were garbage and pulled out the handle of her suitcase.
“Brontë,” he said, trying to take the suitcase from her. “We need to talk about this—”
“No,” she said, and her voice broke a little. “We don’t need to talk. You’ve said enough. Good-bye, Logan.”
She pushed past him and headed out the front door, rolling the suitcase behind her.
“Brontë—”
“No,” she repeated. “Don’t make this ugly, Logan.”
And she turned and left. He watched her go, his mind seething with turmoil. She wasn’t willing to listen to reason right now. She was furious—and she had every right to be, he supposed—but he wasn’t going to give up. Somehow, he’d get her to talk to him again. He’d explain his side of the story, and then they’d hash things out. Kiss and make up.
And then he could tell her he loved her like he should have—with no strings attached.
He went back to the room she’d emptied and stared at the discarded necklace box. I told you didn’t want it, and you pushed it on me.
It seemed like he’d pushed and pushed until she’d finally broken. Damn it. There had to be a way to fix this.
Chapter Ten
Brontë dashed down the street, ignoring the people around her. The suitcase dragged behind her on tiny wheels, slowing her down, but she didn’t care. Hot tears splashed down her cheeks, and her heart felt like a burning hole in her chest.
Logan wanted her to make something of herself.
The words made her sick. He didn’t like who she was. He thought she was a joke. Worse, someone to be embarrassed of.
Well, screw that, and screw him, she thought, dashing the tears from her cheek with the back of one hand. A subway station appeared down the street, and she headed for it, needing a sense of purpose. Somewhere to go. Anywhere.
Of course, when she got into the station itself, she swiped the MetroCard she’d gotten with Audrey while shopping and then realized that she had nowhere to go. She frowned and took a seat on one of the benches, staring in dismay at a nearby map of subway interchanges. She’d been so content, wrapped up in her little cocoon that Logan had created for her, that she hadn’t even bothered to sightsee in the city she’d been so excited to visit. No Statue of Liberty, no Guggenheim, nothing. All she’d done was go shopping and attend a party.
And spend hours in Logan’s bed, being pleasured out of her mind, she corrected herself.
Except he didn’t want her. Not really. Brontë the waitress was embarrassing. He needed her to be Brontë the small business owner so he could retain his billionaire street cred or something. She sighed in humiliation and hugged the suitcase closer to her as someone sat down on the far end of the bench.
And here she was, stranded all over again. Except this time, there wasn’t an elevator or a hurricane or a handsome man to keep her company. This time she was stuck in New York City with nowhere to go and no one to talk to, her heart broken into a hundred pieces.
She could always go straight to the airport. Call this little vacation quits, admit defeat, and return home. Of course, then she’d have to find another job. Logan was her new boss, after all. She wouldn’t be able to stay at the diner knowing that at any moment he could come through that door and insist that she talk to him again. So. New job. It was a shame. She liked her coworkers.
Despair threatened to overwhelm her. She’d lost the man she loved, lost her job, and was stuck in a strange city. Had she ever been lower? Tears welled in her eyes.
Music began to play at the far end of the station, and she automatically looked up. A man stood by a pillar, his violin case open, his soft song echoing in the tunnel. Someone passed by and dropped a dollar, barely even looking, but Brontë was entranced.
She was sitting in New York City, and she hadn’t even explored the place. “Adventure is worthwhile,” she told herself. Aristotle had it right. Why not visit all the places in New York City that she wanted to see before going home? A thought occurred to her, and she pulled out her phone, flipping through the list of numbers. She dialed a recent one.
“Audrey Petty,” the woman on the line answered promptly.
“Audrey? It’s me, Brontë.”
“Brontë?” The other woman sounded confused for a moment. “Why are you calling me?”
“I need a place to stay,” Brontë said, her eyes on the subway map. “I’ve left Logan.”
Just saying it out loud made her chest ache. They’d had a whirlwind courtship. She’d fallen fast, and she’d fallen hard. Logan Hawkings was going to be a difficult man to get over, she realized. She felt raw, completely shredded on the inside. Part of her wanted to turn around and hear him explain, to have him soothe away her hurt, and to return into his arms. She would’ve done anything just to curl up against him again.
Except he didn’t love her, did he? She’d told him that she loved him, and he’d given her a polite pat on the back. And then he’d tried to fix her, which rankled. Danica had been right. She’d blindly trusted him, and he’d tried to shove her into the mold of what he thought she should be.
“You . . . huh?” Audrey paused. “Wait. You left him, and you’re calling me? His assistant?”
A weepy little laugh escaped her. “You’re the only person I know in this town.”
“Oh.” Audrey got quiet. Then she sighed, as if resigned to her course of action. “Where are you?”
“The subway.”
“Yes, but where?”
Brontë curled up on the bench, feeling a little foolish. The subway map looked like a bunch of scribbly lines to her, and she’d never even taken as much as a bus in her life. “I honestly have no idea. It’s by Logan’s building.”