Page 22 of The Rules We Broke
“What is this, twenty questions?” I snapped—sharper than I meant to. Why did he care where I was staying?
Brady reached across and lifted the pen from my hand with infuriating ease. “Come on, Ellie. Can’t we talk?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why do you insist on calling me Ellie?”
“You used to like it.”
I snatched the pen back. “That was a long time ago.”
He had the gall to tug on a strand of my hair. “It wasn’tthatlong ago.”
He was starting to get on my nerves. This was supposed to be business.
“Do you treat all of your customers like this?”
“No,” he said, grinning. “But you are by far my most beautiful customer of the day.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Jackson.”
“Please,” he drawled. “You’re killing me with theMr. Jackson.”
Yeah, well, he’d killed something inside of me a long time ago. I wanted that part of me back. The girl who used to be able to love with all her heart.
I signed the final document and pushed it toward him. “I think that’ll do it.”
Before the ink even dried, I stood and hurried toward the door, chest tight, breath shallow.
“Please don’t go yet.”
I spun around. “Why, Brady? If I remember right, you’re still a Jackson. And I’m still an Eaton with no titles and no crowns. And this,” I pointed between us, “is still against the rules.”
“Things have changed, Ellie.”
I stepped backward, inching closer to the exit. I didn’t know what he meant by that. Didn’t care to find out.
Because one thing hadn’t changed. I still loved him. And I could never have him.
“I appreciate your help,” I said, reaching for the doorknob.
Brady stood, as if the movement jarred something loose. “My niece loves your books,” he blurted out. “She’d be thrilled to meet you.”
That caught me off guard. I didn’t expect him to know that I wrote children’s books. Or anything about me, for that matter. And his niece would be way older now than my target audience of four to eight-year-olds. That was, unless he was married, and he was talking about his wife’s side. Admittedly, I had already looked at his left hand to see if there was a ring there, and there wasn’t.
Maybe he was just one of those guys who didn’t wear one. That didn’t sound like him. Or maybe I just hated thinking abouthim being married. Look at him; he was a catch to be sure. He was definitely already married.
“That’s really sweet. I’ll have my office send some signed copies to the bank for her,” I said, flustered and clearly not thinking straight. Why had I offered that? I didn’t need to send Brady’s niece anything. This wasn’t a goodwill tour.
Before I could say anything else ridiculous, I turned and bolted.
I marched through the bank, heels clicking against polished floors, heart pounding loud enough to drown out the murmurs.
The stares followed me.
I wanted to yell—Don’t worry, Brady and I didn’t do anything against the rules.
But I didn’t.
I just kept walking.
