Page 77 of The Pucking Date
She scoffs, turning away like she can’t stand the sight of me.
“Save it. Congrats on the big payday, O’Reilly.”
I catch her wrist this time—not hard, but enough to stop her from walking out of my life again.
“I never said I was taking it.”
She yanks free, her gaze burning with betrayal.
“You didn’t have to tell me about LA. I already know where your priorities are.” She pauses, as if weighing whether she should continue. “I saw a video of you from last July, Finn. Some gorgeous girl stumbling out of a bar with you. I realized I’m no more than another stop on your tour.”
My pulse stutters. “Jesus, Jess?—”
“Don’t,” she cuts in. “I don’t need the details. Doesn’t matter. I was in Shanghai convincing myself what we had was one night only. Turns out I was right.”
“You think I’d touch another woman after having you? No one else exists for me except for you.” She laughs, quiet, bitter, shaking her head. “What do you think we were doing last night? I was clear this isn’t a one and done deal, Jessica.”
Her name leaves my mouth like a prayer I’m not sure she wants to hear. Like the most important word I’ll ever say, and she’s already decided not to listen.
For a second, she flinches. Her shoulders go still and her eyes won’t meet mine.
Her voice comes softer this time, but it slices just the same. “I think whatever we were doing…is over.”
The words hit like a physical blow. Not only because she’s walking away, but because she believes I’d let her.
She presses her lips together, jaw tight. “It was fun. It got messy. But now we’re done.”
“Jessica—”
“No.” Her voice softens, but it doesn’t lose its edge. “It’s all good. No strings. So let’s not pretend it was anything else.”
She turns and walks into the hotel without looking back. I stand there for a long moment, watching her disappear, before my attention shifts to the restaurant window. To Chad. Still seated, looking perfectly composed.
Thinking he’s won.
My jaw cracks as I roll my shoulders back, every instinct sharpening into focus. She’s not ready to hear what I need to say—that LA means nothing compared to her, that I’ve been half dead since she left me in Montreal.
Chad, on the other hand, is about to get a very clear explanation of where things stand.
I return to the restaurant, calm on the surface, every muscle coiled beneath the suit like a loaded weapon. He’s still at his table, swirling the last of his wine. He doesn’t see me until I’m standing right beside him.
“Vanderbilt.”
He looks up, that signature smirk in place, ready to play whatever game comes his way.
“O’Reilly,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Congrats on the offer. LA’s a hell of a market.”
I don’t smile. Don’t sit. When I finally speak, my voice is low and even. Dangerous in the way a ticking clock is dangerous when you can’t see where the bomb’s hidden.
“You like playing games, Vanderbilt?”
Chad’s grin twitches, but he holds it. “It’s business, Finn. You of all people should understand, gladiators don’t get to pick the terms. They fight. We watch.”
My eyes lock on his. Then I step in, close enough that he can smell the adrenaline bleeding off me.
“You’d better pray you never end up in the ring with one.” His jaw tightens. “What did you say to her?” I drop my voice, cold and lethal. “Because I happened to watch Jessica Novak storm out of here like she wanted to set the world on fire. And I know exactly whose matchbook she was holding.”
He leans back like he’s unbothered, but his fingers twitch against the glass. “I don’t discuss private negotiations,”he says smoothly, but there’s a crack in the polish now.
