Chapter 8

 

"Oh, I'm—” I bent down and picked up my shopping that had slipped from my hands when I'd walked into someone. After I retrieved the fallen items, I pushed to my feet and looked straight at Brett. At his bobbing Adam's apple to be precise. "—sorry." The single word blew over my lips in a whisper.

I didn't want to, but I knew not making eye contact was cowardly, so ever so slowly my gaze traveled from his neck, over his now fuller beard and settled on his rich hazel eyes. There was so much intensity burning behind them; for a split second the past just melted away, and we were just two people standing in front of each other.

"You okay?" His voice sounded both strained and clipped.

Nodding, I was grateful for having both hands occupied; the sudden need to fiddle with my hair was almost unbearable. Brett shoved his hands into the front pockets of his Levi's; both of us seemingly unable to move.

"Your car should be ready in a few days."

Although we were standing outside, it felt as if we'd been dropped into a tiny room with all the air sucked out. I could barely breathe with him standing so close. Conflicting emotions scrambled up my already confused thoughts.

My pulse started its fiery dance again, and the usually dormant butterflies in my tummy joined in. I had to admit it was a little disconcerting that I still reacted to this man the same way I had the first time I'd seen him.

"I know," I finally managed. "Logan already told me."

He opened his mouth to say something but shut it again as if he thought better of the idea. This was weird. I couldn't even imagine how strange it looked to the people who sidestepped us. Honestly, how could two people standing in the middle of a sidewalk, staring at each other not seem odd?

"How have you been?" It was probably the lamest thing I could ask, but unfortunately, that was all my brain offered up.

Confusion drew Brett's brows together, but it didn't stop him from saying. "Good. You?"

My tongue slid over my lips, and I noticed his gaze drop to my mouth for a second before he snapped it away and the muscle in his jaw started to jump. "Uh… good."

Gosh, this was beyond awkward. The longer I stood there, the more constricted my airway felt. I swallowed hard, to relieve some of the pressure. It didn't help.

But even with all the awkwardness swallowing us up, I wasn't ready for us to part ways. "I always figured when I ran into you again, it would be at some fancy art studio or something."

"Yeah, well—" his voice had an icy edge to it. "—life didn't work out as planned." I heard the accusation, and I felt its pressure like an anvil dropped on my chest.

"Speaking of life plans," he went on. "You working for your daddy's company?"

I tightened my grip on the shopping bags. Brett had been the only person who I ever confided in about the reservations I had over working for my father. Even back then I had no idea what I'd wanted to do with my life; my future in business had been decided before I'd even taken my first breath.

Then life threw me a bone in the form of a six-foot-three sexy-as-sin art student. He'd showed me that it was okay not to know where you were headed and it was even better to dream of where you wanted to be.

For a while back then, I'd been drawing strength from the way being with Brett had made me feel. I'd begun to believe that I could spread my wings and fly where I wanted to fly. Then he went away and sent me that horrible letter, and just like that my wings had been clipped and I was destined to never fly again.

I made sure to keep the sadness out of my voice when I answered, "Yes, I am his CEO."

The muscle in his jaw started ticking faster, and his eyes turned deathly cold. "Of course you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Brett shook his head and took a step backward. "Once a daddy's girl, always a daddy's girl, right?" Another step backward. "Did you actually have to work for that position or did dear old dad just hand it to you for being his obedient lap dog?" The vein in his neck ticked and nothing but hatred flashed in his eyes. "I can't bloody do this." One more step back. "I can't stand here and make niceties with you."

Anger raged through my veins. "You're an asshole," I dropped the bags and stomped forward. "You keep running away like you're nursing some gaping wound," I realized I was verging on the edge of sounding hysterical, I didn't care. "Newsflash, Brett, you were the one who hurt me with your terrible insults. I've apologized to you! I can't change the damn past! And it's not my fault that you are stuck on sulk-mode."

His face morphed into something unrecognizable. I held my stance as he headed straight for me, I didn't even blink when we were toe-to-toe, and his head dropped, so we were at eye-level. "Every single word in that letter was deserved," each word he spat at me dripped acid. The anger and hurt I saw burning in his eyes lit a flame in my soul. "You think I'm sulking? After everything you put me through, you're the one standing here crying over a letter. What about me, Kenzie? I gave you everything I had to give and still it wasn't enough."

Brett closed his eyes briefly, and after he opened them again, he took a deep inhalation and straightened. "If I'm an asshole, then it's you who turned me into one."

A mixture of guilt, anger, and sadness had tears stinging the back of my eyes while I watched him stalk off. I'd always been so hung up on how he'd left me that I'd conveniently forgotten that this man gave up his freedom for me.

I focused on the cold look in his eyes while I dropped to my haunches to gather up the bags I'd thrown down. I needed to remember that icy gaze the next time I conjured up fantasies about Brett Carter.