Page 13 of Crazy In Love
“Yes. That’s how you’re going to force me to apologize, by threatening to kick me out of your flower shop? I don’t even like flowers.”
I blew out a breath. “You’re an asshole, Bridger Chadwick.”
“Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.”
I whipped around and stormed down his driveway, waiting until I was far enough away to let the tears fall.
This hadn’t exactly gone as planned.
He showed no emotion. No remorse.
And I didn’t get my apology, nor did I think one would be coming. When I turned the corner at the end of his ridiculously long driveway, I glanced over my shoulder, and there was a dark shadow twenty feet behind me.
The bastard was following me now.
five
. . .
Bridger
The factthat I was now walking in the dark behind a woman who’d shown up on my doorstep just to blast me was absolute insanity.
But she was all worked up and looked like she was about to cry, and it was dark outside, and she shouldn’t be walking alone. It was tourist season. God knows who was here in town.
And I may not have liked Emilia Taylor, but I sure as shit wouldn’t have her get murdered on my watch. I wasn’t a complete dick.
Still didn’t mean I’d apologize.
I wasn’t an apologizer.
It just wasn’t my thing.
If I made a mistake, I tried to learn from it. I looked forward, not backward.
And in all honestly, I could count on one hand how many times I’d been wrong about something that I’d been this certain of.
So I’d need to check out this polygraph and make sure it was aboveboard, and then I’d decide if she was telling the truth.
“Why are you following me?” she hissed as she turned around, and if looks could kill, I had no doubt I’d be a dead man.
“That’s a bit narcissistic, even for you, Emilia. I’m out for a walk. We just happen to be going in the same direction,” I said, my voice flat, unlike hers, which had reached unusually high pitches tonight.
She turned around, grunted, and kept walking, taking a right on the next street and then a left on the next, before she turned around again. “If you aren’t going to apologize, then stop following me.”
“I don’t believe you own the roads, last I checked. Just mind your own business and go home,” I commanded.
“You are the absolute worst, you know that?” she said, but she didn’t turn around this time. She kept her back to me as she marched forward, hostility radiating from her body.
“So I’ve been told.”
She came to a stop in front of her house and turned slowly. “Why do you hate me so much?”
Her voice was totally different now. There was no anger, no rage.
Just sadness.
If I had a heart that worked, it may have cracked a little.
