Page 25 of Abyss

The rain has let up, and while I can’t see the clouds against the darkened sky, I have no doubt they’re still there.

My gaze falls back on the gift basket.

Did he have his chauffeur deliver this? More than likely, Belinda got it all done—thirty-something-weeks pregnant and all.

I’m just about to retrieve it when my eyes pick up movement across the street. I turn on my porch light, lightly clicking the door shut behind me so as not to wake Mom and Neil, before I step out onto our cold porch, the rough concrete biting into the bottoms of my feet.

But dark skies or not, he’s hard to miss.

All six-foot-something of him, outlined against the night, standing next to his truck.

He shifts as I pad closer, unconcerned with the thin material of my old Christmas T-shirt—the wordsThe Grinch stole my heart and my pantswritten in cursive over my chest—my short shorts, or my lack of a bra.

Feet on wet pavement, I come to a stop a few inches from him, my eyes falling to the hands he has secured inside the pockets of those ever-present suit pants. My chest rises and falls as I try to steady my heart rate. “If you think this will convince me to stay—”

“It should.” The corners of his lips barely lift, but it’s the delicate cupid’s bow over his top lip that I can’t seem to disconnect my gaze from. It’s perfectly defined, framing the lush fullness of his mouth, as if drawn by an artist’s hand. “Though it’s not why I did it.”

His eyes trail down my form, a flicker, a flare. The slightest fever grazes across my exposed skin, tightening my nipples into painful buds and sending goosebumps soaring.

His voice ripples through the breeze, low and throaty. “What did you mean on the note you left with that slice of cake:Thanks for chasing away the rain?”

I shrug. “You’d given me a job and well,” I look to the side for a moment, “it gave me a chance to breathe. I was . . .”

Drowning.

Suffocating.

Sinking.

I don’t finish my sentence, but he seems to pick up my gist. “Which is why I’m asking you to stay.”

I don’t wrap my arms around my chest, though it would be prudent, and before I can rethink my words, I hear myself speak again. “It would be a bad idea, Hudson.”

His tongue sweeps over his lip, a soft blink that does nothing to take away the heat from his irises. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

I look down the darkened street to my right before facing him again. “Then maybe we shouldn’t.”

He shrugs, his frown betraying his detached stance. “It’s your decision.” He nods toward my house behind me. “I thought it would help . . . with everything—”

I’m about to respond with an irritated reply, letting him know I don’t need his help, when he speaks over me. “And it’s not out of charity or pity. You’d be working for every cent of it. And let me remind you, it would be temporary.”

I bite my lip, mulling over his words as the bills sitting on Mom’s countertop, future bills surely gracing our mailbox, and small numbers displayed in my meager bank account cloud my vision. “Even if it’s temporary, I need to know you won’t be an asshole to me at or outside of work again.”

“Or maybe you could just develop thicker skin.” His lips twitch seeing the tinder lighting up inside my eyes.

My hands fist at my side. “Or maybeyoucan find someone else to take over Belinda’s job.” I mentally high-five myself for not addingjackassto the end of that. “Figure out what to tellyour most strategic client when they ask why they have to work with yet another new person.”

I turn back toward my house in a huff—not for the first time noting the changes in my personality the man seems to bring out—before I speak over my shoulder. “Thank you for the gifts for my brother. See younever, Mr. Case.”

But before I can even take one step forward, a warm hand circles my wrist, pulling me back and turning me to face him in the same movement.

His jaw works in an attempt to hide his smile. “That was a joke, but don’t get used to it. I don’t make them often.”

I wrap my arms around myself. “I won’t be humiliated and spoken to the way you did to me multiple times today, Hudson.”

“I already apologized for those . . . for all of it,” he argues.

“Yes, but I want to make it clear.” My voice wavers with my next words. “I’ve seen too many rich assholes get away with things they shouldn’t, but I’m not as forgiving anymore.”

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