Chapter 25: Chapter Twenty-Five—Shelby

“You’ve been practicing,” I said to one of my students.

His brown eyes lit up underneath his dark hoodie. I’d never dressed in dark or baggy clothes to hide myself, but I’d felt like that on the inside. Seeing this kid grow over the last few weeks had really made my heart explode. “My mom’s been letting me paint on our front porch. I like the colors of the sunset. And the feeling. It makes things come to me easier.”

I nodded, patting his shoulder. “You can stay here as long as you want. Just lock my door on the way out. I have somewhere I need to be today. Just tell Mr. Scott you’re leaving if he’s not at the front desk, okay?”

He nodded, going back to his canvas. I gathered my things in a hurry. I’d spent way longer with my class today on the concept of capturing an image. I knew Joey waited on the corner, so it was no surprise when I opened the front doors of the gallery and saw him there.

Frankie had texted me that she needed to talk to me ASAP, and I couldn’t wait to get to the office so I could eat my lunch and call her. Since I’d finished the mural in the office, I planned on sketching ideas in Cash’s office for the one in Dallas.

“Hey, Joey,” I said.

He gave me a clipped nod while opening the back door. I sighed, scooted in, and immediately rolled down the divider that he always persisted on keeping up.

When he got in, I noticed him incline his head to me, but he started the limo anyway. I reached for my book bag. “So, how have things been?”

“Fine.”

I sighed, digging around for my sketchbook. “Just fine? I noticed Cash and you haven’t been talking much. Anything goin’ on?”

Joey kept his eyes on the road, not that I could see them behind his aviators. Silence.

Huffing, I rolled my eyes. I’d have a better chance asking Cash about it. “Wait,” I said. “I think I left my sketchbook at the house. Can you take me there first?”

Joey made the first left he saw. “Yes ma’am. I’ll call and tell Cash.”

I listened to him tell Cash while trying to remember where I’d left it. I’d spent a lot of Saturday and Sunday in the house. When I wasn’t underneath Cash, I’d been with him in his office. His office. I’d sketched him while he worked on his laptop. All fine lines and chiseled jaw. I’d always known he was beautiful, but it wasn’t until I’d begun to sketch him that I realized how flawless his face was. There wasn’t anything that I’d change on him. The scar I’d noticed on his jaw made him look tough, and it surprised me that he didn’t remember where it had come from.

“Shelby!”

I jumped, bringing my book bag to my chest. “Sorry, what is it?”

“We’re here. Do you want me to go get it?”

I shook my head. “I can do it. I’ll be right back.”

I scurried out of the limo, and up the stairs to the front doors. Judging by the smell, Gloria was in the kitchen, and I wished I could bathe in the holy goodness. The stairs were on the verge of kicking my butt when I made it to the top. Cash’s office door was cracked, so I pushed it in, remembering all of the memories from this weekend. He’d pressed himself between my waiting legs on his desk. His stapler, pens, and paperwork still littered the floor.

Heat crept up my neck at the memory of his wide palms on my upper thighs. His sweet mouth tasting my flesh for hours. I’d only wanted him to never stop. I couldn’t imagine anything that would make my blood stop pumping wildly for him.

Underneath the scattered papers under his desk I saw the corner of my sketchbook sticking out. I hurried to grab it, only to bump his laptop on the way up.

I froze, scared I’d messed it up, when his e-mail brightened the screen. I let out a loud breath when I noticed something—odd. Not even odd—infuriating. My mother’s name was in the last few e-mails he’d received. Why would my mother be e-mailing him? Maybe it was the charity event he’d been talking about?

Biting the corner of my lip, I sat my sketchbook down and took a seat in his chair. I felt like a creeper going through his things, but at the same time, I was scared to even open it. A weird sense of nerves settled low in my stomach, and my fingers began to twitch as I double-clicked the e-mail.

Time seemed to stop; all my breath was sucked from my body. I read over the words, trying to make sense of them at first. But then I caught myself trying to make sense of them in another way.

While it looked as if you two had a splendid time, darlin’, I’d appreciate if you took her somewhere the media could get a whiff.

Good publicity was the terms, not a good time.

Good publicity was the terms, not a good time. Terms? What terms? Bile scorched my throat, running a marathon to my mouth. Had my mother paid Cash to date me? My mind went into panic mode, frantically flipping through the files of my brain, reviewing every memory—every kiss—every touch—until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I shoved myself away from the computer desk, running down the stairs toward the guest house. Nothing made sense in my head. My only logical thought was that I needed to leave—now. Before he came home and talked to me. Talking to him seemed like the worst thing in the world—my worst nightmare. I gathered my clothes, shoes, and Nyla. She whined as I ran with her underneath my arm. I’d left things, but they were things that could be replaced. Things that would only remind me of this place.

Joey got out of the car when I rounded the corner. He swiped his glasses off his face and hurried toward me. “What’s wrong? Is someone in the house? Are you okay?”

I couldn’t speak; emotion held my mouth closed. I shook my head slowly, swallowing the hurt for a moment. “I just want to go home. Take me home—now.”

His brow furrowed, and I stopped him when he reached for his cellphone. “No!” I screamed. “Don’t call him. Please,” I begged. “Just take me home.”

Joey’s brows pulled down in a frustrated look. He opened his mouth several times before nodding and helping me load my baggage. I tried to keep a close eye on him as we drove, making sure he didn’t try to text Cash. He didn’t.

After several minutes, I took comfort in knowing he wouldn’t contact him and closed my eyes. But every time I did, Cash’s eyes flooded my mind. How had I fallen for this? Why would I have thought a man so—perfect would fall for me? Of course it was my mother. Of course, he was awful. Why hadn’t I seen it? There was a charity, all right: it was me. I was the charity.

I’d wiped away the tears by the time Joey stopped and helped me out of the car. He didn’t say a word as he carried my luggage up the stairs to my apartment. I went to dig for my keys in my purse when Joey’s hand stopped me. “What do you want me to tell him, Shelby? You know he isn’t gonna let you go, right?”

I met his gaze and nodded. Cash didn’t care about me, Joey was wrong. But I didn’t want to embarrass myself and say it. “Tell him I said, I hope it was worth it.”

****

Frankie grabbed all of the Kleenex off of the couch, tossed them in the wastebasket, and came back to stand in front of me. Her hands were fists on her hips. “Get up. We’re going out. I refuse to let you cry yourself to sleep over him. He isn’t worth it.”

I groaned, rolled over, and pulled my blanket over my face. I knew crying wouldn’t help anything. It wouldn’t take back what he’d done, or make him care, but it hurt so bad. I trusted Cash one hundred percent. Who was I kidding? All of me did. But not now. Not anymore.

“I just want to sleep, Frankie.”

She scoffed, snatching my blanket, and I immediately took the fetal position. “You’ve slept all day, Shelbs. Let’s go get drunk and forget these trifling men.”

Getting drunk did sound somewhat appealing. But that would mean I needed to move, and moving wasn’t in the game plan at the moment. “Frankie—”

“What happened to my friend who always went out when she was upset?”

She’d fallen in love, that’s what. I’d been upset by plenty of men and my ability to mess everything up. This time, I had actually cared about Cash—liked him, a lot. It was different.

Frankie slammed her fists on her hips. “I’m not going to stop talking until you come with me.”

Pressing my palms into my eyes, I sighed. “I’ll go—just for a little bit.”

Frankie smiled and helped me up. “What was it that you needed to talk to me about earlier?” I asked.

She turned to look over her shoulder. “Let’s just say that Cash Jenkins isn’t the only Jenkins we’ll be drinking away tonight.”

I didn’t pry. I’d take her word for it. If Asher was as half bad as Cash, I would save myself the drama of knowing.