Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Belle

Nomad doesn’t speak to me the next morning. He takes off the moment he can.

I don’t blame him. I’d take off too.

My cheeks burn, and I put my cold fingers to them as I get in my car after school.

Last night, I was a little drunk. I didn’t mean to be, but no dinner and the shock of the hot, beautiful biker Saint clearly has a history with tipped those sails. Along with it, my sense of reason.

As I drive home, the guilt still eats me up. Guilt at treating him like . . . I don’t know, a cheating husband? If Saint wants to sleep with her, he can. We never set anything up, never exchanged promise rings or nude selfies or whatever kids do today to show they’re exclusive.

I think it was him waking me after hearing she was staying with him that turned me around and into something I’m not. Or never have been.

That and the duckie pajamas.

By the time I get home, I know I have to apologize for my less-than-stellar behavior. It’s warmer today, especially inside. But it’s a nice temperature, not too hot or cold. It’s a baby bear of heat, just right.

Wait. Does that make me Goldilocks? I hope not. She was obnoxious.

I make a cup of coffee, missing Nomad winding around my feet. He’s not my cat, which makes me sound like Saint, but the cat’s his and only deigns to spend time with me.

As I sip my drink, I putter around, marking work, tidying, and organizing laundry, until I finally stop.

My apology won’t just magically happen when I’m doing something else.

I need to woman up, head down, and tell him. Maybe he’s not there. His bike wasn’t when I got in, but as I go to the front window to peek, it’s sitting in the courtyard and the sight of it makes my stomach twist.

I’m not scared he’ll reject me. Or be mean.

For all his size, tattoos, and a look that says mess with me at your own peril, Saint doesn’t strike me as a man to hold a grudge.

He doesn’t strike me as one to hold last night’s leaps and bounds to conclusions against me.

So, what am I scared of?

She’s tall, gorgeous, and built. She’s got long, dark hair and goes by the name of Sin.

She looks at Saint like he’s hers, or was.

They have a history.

Sin makes sense with Saint. I do not.

I groan. What am I even thinking? There’s no future for us. The man’s leaving, and even if he wasn’t, we don’t fit into each other’s worlds. We’re flirting with the other side, that’s all.

It’s one hell of a flirt. My pussy throbs at the thought. My heart dances.

I’m about to head down when he knocks on the door. Racing to it, I pull it open, and everything crashes down.

“Why are you here, Lance?”

He doesn’t ask, just comes in, looking about in the way he has, like he might pick up some horrible disease in a place like this.

He raises a brow and takes off his cashmere coat, folding it over his arm as he walks deeper into the apartment. “I own it?”

“Technically, you’re not the landlord.”

“Technically, Isabelle, I am. When my grandmother’s estate is finalized, this is mine, and I’m in charge, have been for years.”

“On paper.” I know, I know. I should let it go. He’s right, and so am I, but getting into an argument with my ex isn’t on my evening’s agenda. “Why are you here? I mean, in my apartment? You hate this place.”

“You’re here.”

I met him at a fundraiser Esther arranged not long after I moved here for the teaching job. I met her first, and she invited me. Water under a bridge, but I think I can count the amount of times he’s stepped foot in here on three fingers. Four now.

When we started seeing each other, we’d hang out at his place, which made sense. His place is palatial and gorgeous. Dripping money. His.

But the place is still in the hands of the other company. So, the fees, all of that, I know he’s right. When her estate is actually finalized, he’ll have a lot more on his plate than just Hank’s chain.

He has diverse holdings, but Hank’s is the family baby, and he loves that baby.

Esther liked her properties. I know he wants everyone out, that the Gardens is interfering with his plans, but until he officially gets the ownership papers, he can’t do anything.

Unless everyone is gone.

I rub my temples. I can’t believe I let his flash and sophistication blind me to who he is.

Esther might have loved her grandson, but she had his number, and while she liked us together, she did tell me to be careful.

That he was way more ruthless than he was showing. Because, she said, he was courting.

Usually, my instincts are spot on. They were way off with him.

I look at his handsome face. “I’ve been here since before and after we split, Lance, and you never come here.”

“Maybe I got sick of waiting for you.”

“To come to the dark side?”

He fails even to crack a hint of a smile. “Don’t be foolish, Isabelle. We make a good team. I’ve let you spread your wings, but you don’t want another winter in this Siberian wannabe.”

“Siberian? A little dramatic.”

“Why is it warm in here?” He frowns and glances about as though the answer might be in the air.

“It’s winter.”

“I know, but?—”

He stops abruptly, and a shifty expression comes over his face. I narrow my eyes. “There are laws regarding heat, Lance. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go.”

“Where?”

I pick up my coffee cup and take it into the kitchen, where I wash it very carefully. Then I dry it. Finally, I put it in its place in the cupboard.

“It’s not any of your business,” I say, trying to keep the anger that still beats from his question in check.

He nods in the way he has, which tells me he’s strategizing, rethinking his next move.

“I’ve got an apartment, Beacon’s Hill, brand new. Top floor, two bedrooms.” Lance glances back to the living room and my sofa. “New furniture. It’s got central heating, a doorman, and?—”

“You have a house in Fairfield.” The richest part of Sweetwood. So rich, so special it’s just Fairfield. “So . . .”

I trail off. Oh boy.

“Why do you have this apartment?”

“I don’t.” He smiles. “You do.”

“Are you bribing me?”

“Of course not. But you can’t live here. This place has its days numbered, and I’m still hopeful you’ll become Mrs. Lance Hastings.”

I curl my toes in my shoes right as I fist my hand by my side. “I don’t want an apartment on Beacon Hill. And you and I? Done. I’m not marrying you, Lance.”

His eyes narrow. “There’s someone else.”

The heat rushes my face, even as I say, “No, there isn’t.”

But his lips press together, and his nod’s tight. “Whoever he is, he can’t compete.”

Could he cause problems for Saint? I don’t know. I don’t want to be responsible.

“If there was someone, there’d be no competition.”

“Damn right.”

I let him believe what he’s clearly decided, that he’d win, which isn’t what I meant.

“I’ve got things to do, Lance.”

“The apartment?”

I sigh. “It’s a no. It’ll always be a no, but how about I say I’ll think about it?”

“You will?”

“It’ll be a no, Lance.”

He smiles like I handed him cold, hard cash and the keys to prime real estate to build another Hank’s on. Or a resort.

“No can always become yes.” He goes to embrace me but I sidestep it and go to the door, opening it.

“Goodbye, Lance.”

“Isabelle—”

“I’ll see you.”

I do something bold and rude of me. I shut the door in his face.

It takes a while to stop shaking. Even longer to get my blood pressure and heartbeat down. Longer still to let go of the lingering tendrils of anger.

When I’m somewhat calm, after mixing up and baking some cookies, and I finish marking the homework, which is pretty much all positive comments, I smooth down my dress. I’ve made a decision. I pack half the cookies into a container and head to the ground floor. There, I knock on Saint’s door.

He takes ages to open it.

My mistake. It’s not Saint.

It’s Sin. In small lacy boy short underwear and a tank top.

If I didn’t already know she was perfect, this confirms it. I’m not into women, but if I were, she’d be at the top of my list.

“Sorry, I was sleeping.” She pushes her hair over her shoulder. “Alone. Saint’s doing something called work.”

“Just . . .” Then I shake my head. “Never mind.”

“You can come in. I’m up now,” she says, wandering off, giving me a view of her perfect ass. “Drink?”

“Ah sure?”

I follow her, and she pours two drinks, handing me one. I take a swallow and almost choke. “Whiskey?”

“It’s after five.”

“I’m not judging.”

“So, you’re the little librarian, huh?”

I shake my head. I’m still holding the cookies so I hold them out. “I’m a teacher.”

She opens them and eats one. “A teacher who bakes cookies for bikers. And you’ve got innocent all over you.”

“I’m not innocent.” I take a step back. “I should go.”

“Hey, Belle?”

I stop and turn. Stunned she remembers my name. “Yes?”

“We’re not doing anything. I just needed a place to crash, and Saint’s actually nice. Even to me, his ex.”

“Look, I just brought cookies.”

“You like him, he likes you. Whatever.” Sin flops on the sofa. She looks back at me. “Sit. Explain to me the deal with his building.”

“Nothing to explain. My ex’s grandmother owned it when she passed. Well, it’s his, but not technically. Yet. And he wants people out, but it’s rent-controlled. And no one’s going to move. Where are they going to go? Farther out? Or one of the bad parts of town?” I shrug. “It’s the same in lots of places.”

“Those rich fat cats . . .” She swigs her drink. “Assholes.”

“Lance is spoiled and has the Hastings name. He’s the head of Hastings, the head of the Hank’s chain, and . . .” She’s right. He’s a rich fat cat, and that’s not any disrespect to Nomad. “And he likes money.”

She studies me for a long time. “You don’t want to marry him or the other way?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Good for you.”

Sin’s about to say something when the door slams and boots thump to us. “What the fuck?”

I jump up, spilling the drink, face burning as Saint looks from me to her. “I’m sorry?—”

But he isn’t listening to me. “Don’t fucking cause trouble, Sin. And put some clothes on. She’s not interested.”

“I’m not causing trouble. Your little honey bear and I are talking.”

“I’m going,” I say. “Nice to meet you, Sin. Again.”

“Belle.”

Saint’s voice is soft and low, and I meet his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“This?” He doesn’t answer, his attention going to Sin, and I start for the door. “I’ll see you around, I need to go home.”

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and he’d definitely not listening. He’s fully focused on the hot Sin as she saunters into the bedroom, and I walk out on stiff legs.

I’m an idiot for thinking I’m more than sex or fun. For thinking . . . I don’t even know. Because I didn’t get a vibe they were having sex. I didn’t pick up tension, and that makes his lack of attention toward me worse.

I get myself some water, wishing I had hard liquor because now I spilled the whiskey all over myself, I could use a drink. But I left the tequila at his place, and I’m not even sure I have wine.

Besides, wine didn’t help last night. How on earth is alcohol going to help now?

I almost jump when someone knocks at my door.

It would be my luck that Lance came back.

With a sigh, I get up and open it.

It’s Saint.