Make Me: A Broke and Beautiful Novel (12 page)

“Come on.” Honey smiled at her. “Everyone has something. Bad kisses, a wave stealing your bikini top. Camping outside the box office for Garth Brooks tickets only to find out he’s playing the next town over.” She patted her blond hair. “Not that
I
ever did that last one.”

Shitty-summer-vacation story.
Maybe purging the old memories would make it easier for new ones to take their place. “One summer, my parents left me here with the nanny and went to Italy for a month. Does that count?”

No one said anything. She heard Russell curse behind her and frowned. Not the reaction she’d been going for. Honestly, her story hadn’t been as bad as the others, had it? Their expressions told Abby they felt bad for her, and it really didn’t sit well. Not when she already felt bad enough for
herself
to sink an oil tanker. Not when she desperately wanted to move on from those memories.

“Sorry, Abby,” Louis muttered. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Actually,” she interrupted, striving for a bright tone, “it was a lot of fun. The nanny brought her daughter over, and we made up dances. I still remember it.” Reaching to the very bottom of her liquid courage, Abby stood, dislodging Louis’s arm. “Want to see it? I actually have the song on my phone.”

Roxy whooped. Honey put two fingers in her mouth and whistled loud enough to echo around the pool area. “Hell yeah, we want to see it. DJ, drop that beat.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Abby murmured, positioning herself in an open space that faced her ring of friends. Again, she felt Russell staring but swatted his attention away like a bug. Her nerves were mysteriously absent. Any kind of public speaking or performing—which had been proven during a disastrous piano recital in fourth grade—typically broke her out in hives. But right now? Recapturing some of the bravado she’d discovered this morning at the office felt like the only course of action.
That
Abby had started to slip away, and she needed to grab on with both hands, yank her back.

She found the song in her phone, hit Play, and tossed the phone to Ben, who placed the device in the portable Bose speaker and cranked the volume, sending “Everybody Dance Now” blasting through the speakers. Simply hearing which song she would dance to sent her friends into a laughing fit, but the laughter did nothing to detract from her courage. No, she was laughing, too, as she broke into the running man, keeping time to the beat. When the male voice started to rap, she somehow recalled every word from her childhood, closed her eyes, and lip-synced with over-the-top enthusiasm. When she opened her eyes again and saw how entertained and happy everyone looked, satisfaction lifted her spirits.

Then she looked at Russell, witnessed his broken smile, and those raised spirits went plummeting beneath the pool’s surface. He looked happy . . . but the happiness was causing him pain. It refreshed her anger. Screw him for confusing her. For sending her mixed signals. Abby stopped dancing, words rising in her throat that she would surely regret, but wasn’t capable of holding back.
What do you want from me? You wreck me and then get sad when I pick my pieces back up?
Those words died in their inception when Russell’s attention left her and landed on her lit-up cell phone, vibrating where it was connecting to the speaker, a call interrupting the song.

When Russell stood and reached for Abby’s phone, she lunged for it, but he got there before her, disconnecting it and picking it up before the blaring song could start to play again. “Who is Mitchell, and why do you have forty-two missed calls from him?”

“Give me the phone,” Abby demanded, not caring for his cold tone. Not at all. There was a counterpart to her distress, though. She hadn’t told Russell about her father and the subsequent workload, but she wasn’t entirely sure of the reason for omission. Now, as he waited stubbornly for an answer, phone clutched in his hand, Abby knew. She’d wanted Russell—
at least
, Russell—to see her as more than a dutiful worker bee. Was it so much to ask? To be desirable instead of reliable? That chance was gone now. Maybe it had never really existed. Not the way she wanted it to.

Russell stepped into her space. “Answer me.”

“
Sti cazza. A fanabla!
”

“Uh-oh . . . she’s breaking out the Italian,” Roxy whispered.

Riding the surge of defiance and irritation, Abby plucked the cell phone from Russell’s hand and chucked it—still ringing—into the pool. The reduction of pressure pushing down on her chest was so
extreme
, she bent at the waist, planting her hands on her knees. “Oh my God.” Oxygen seeped from her lungs. “That felt really good.”

Abby’s voice broke on the last word. She felt her friends come up beside her, resting their hands on her back. “Hey, let’s go upstairs,” Roxy said. “I’ll send Louis out for some ice cream.”

“Someone needs to tell me what’s going on here.” Russell’s voice came from behind Abby, harder than she’d ever heard it. “
Now
, please.”

She straightened and turned on a heel, started to tell Russell that no explanations were owed to him, but his expression stopped her. After what he continued to put her through, she shouldn’t care that he looked haunted. Shouldn’t care that his face had gone ghost white. When would she stop? “I—”

“
Abby.
”

The new male voice brought all six of them up short. Abby’s pulse went dull for a few beats, then turned erratic along with her breathing. Mitchell, the firm’s lawyer, stood on the deck, looking down at them. She blinked, hoping he would vanish, but there he remained, dressed as though he’d just walked out of a boardroom.

“What are you doing here?” Roxy asked, her obvious recognition of the lawyer drawing questioning looks from the guys.

“I’ve been calling Abby nonstop, and she wouldn’t answer. I had no choice but to make the drive.” Mitchell squinted into the pool, which was still rippling from the tossed cell phone. “I guess I know why my calls were ignored.”

Abby’s vision was cut off when Russell removed his shirt and pulled it down over her head. The worn-in material dropped to her knees. Until then, she’d forgotten all about her lack of clothing, save the bathing suit, but apparently Russell hadn’t. His arm banded around her waist, dragging her up against his side, before addressing Mitchell. “Who the hell are you?”

Mitchell coughed into his fist. “I’m Mitchell. Abby and I work together. There’s a business matter that couldn’t wait until Monday.” He nodded toward the house. “It won’t take long.”

Russell gave a humorless laugh. “I don’t care what this is about. She’s not going anywhere.” He shook his head. “Wasn’t her father available for this?”

The lawyer’s chin went up a notch. “I’m not in a position to discuss that with you. Although, I’m surprised Abby hasn’t. You appear to be her . . .”

When Mitchell let the question dangle, Russell spoke up, discomfort transforming his features. “I’m her . . .”

Silence fell. Until Abby started to laugh. The hysterical sound bubbled from her mouth, impossible to control. There was nothing funny about any of it. Not the fact that work had followed her to the Hamptons. Or Russell—someone so important in her life—not even knowing what to call her. But the alternative was to sob and sob and never stop. So she laughed.

“I’ll be inside when you’re ready,” Mitchell called before escaping the awkwardness she’d created by striding back into the house.

“Should we give you two a minute?” Ben asked, clearly aware that it would take a bulldozer to move Russell. His arm was wrapped around her so tightly, drawing breath was a challenge, especially after her laughing jag.

“Yeah,” was all Russell said, his breath lifting the hair on her forehead.

“Screw that.” Honey crossed her arms. “How about asking what Abby wants?”

“It’s fine,” Abby forced past numb lips. “Really. Go inside and get comfortable. I’ll be in soon, sign whatever paperwork Mitchell needs signed, and we’ll get back to relaxing.”

Roxy looked inclined to argue further but didn’t. “You’ve got some killer moves, roomie. You’ve been holding out on us.”

Abby managed a smile that solidified when she heard Honey whispering on the way back into the house, “Did you know that Russell had chest hair?” Ben narrowed his eyes at his girlfriend as she passed, but the blonde only held up her hands. “Just seems like something we should have known.”

Then she and Russell were alone, and the smile on her face flickered before collapsing. It was hard to muster optimism when a discussion with one very pissed-off construction worker was on the horizon. And it wasted no time getting under way. Good thing she’d never felt more prepared.

Chapter 13

R
USSELL PACED
THE
edge of the pool, feeling raw, caged in. Like he’d woken up from a two-year coma, and everything he’d known no longer held true. Something was wrong with Abby—
his
Abby—and he’d fucking missed it. That’s all he knew. Flickers of memories from the last few weeks bombarded him, cursing him with perfect hindsight. Now he couldn’t look at her without seeing the fatigue on her gorgeous features. Where the hell had his head been? He’d failed her. Even without knowing the full story, that much was obvious. Not only had he failed her, he might have made whatever she was going through worse.

All this time he’d been trying to prevent his worst nightmare from becoming a reality when it had already been happening right under his nose. The sparkle she used to have in her eyes when looking at him was gone. Vanished, the way his mother’s had over time. History had repeated itself. Maybe there had never really been a way to avoid it. Dammit.
Dammit.

A jackhammer drilled into his skull, and he massaged the spot so he could think clearly, but it didn’t help, so he hit it with a closed fist. Once, twice.

“Russell, stop.”

God, he was such a bastard. Abby looked ready to drop, and his mind kept turning to the lawyer who’d driven all the way from Manhattan to see her. Did a man do that just for some bullshit paperwork? Could anyone spend time with Abby and not covet her?
No.
That’s who he’d always pictured her ending up with, wasn’t it? Some suit and tie wearing chump? The image of her dancing and laughing sprung to his mind, making his throat close up.
Jesus.
His unbelievable girl could end up with someone else.

Russell’s entire being rioted at the possibility. “Tell me he’s
only
a coworker.” He braced his head in both hands, positive it was about to burst into fragments. His question was irrational, and somewhere within the chaos, he knew it. This was Abby. She wouldn’t date someone else and let him touch her at the same time. But even the idea of lawyer man asking her out broke him out in a cold sweat. “Tell me. Please, angel.”

“That’s your foremost concern?”

“It’s the one I need cleared up so I can think straight.” He dropped his hands and took a few steps in her direction. “Believe me there’s more.”

She stared off toward the beach for a minute, sixty seconds that stretched into the longest of his life, as if debating whether or not he deserved to know the truth. And he’d earned every second of agony that came before her answer. They weren’t together. Their relationship was murky and undefined. He’d made sure of it. Finally, she answered. “He’s only a coworker, Russell. I don’t even like him.” She tugged at the hem of the Yankees T-shirt he’d covered her in. “He’s just a mouthpiece for my stepmother, delivering bad news so she doesn’t have to feel guilty.”

“Okay.” He breathed the word, relief showering down on him like an epic rainstorm. He was selfish for being relieved when her problems still existed, but seeing her with another man would have broken him, rendering him useless to help her. At least now he could breathe. “Tell me the rest.”

She dropped onto one of the deck chairs, wrapping two arms around her raised legs. “My father is undergoing psychiatric treatment. The stress caught up with him about a month ago, and he’s unable to run the company right now.” She lifted her shoulders in a weary shrug. “I’m just stepping in until he gets back on his feet.”

It took a moment for Russell to process the implications of that. “You’re running a multimillion-dollar hedge fund?”

“No, I’m running a billion-dollar hedge fund.”

“You’re making light of this?”

“No.” Her brows drew together. “No, I’m not making light of it. My father isn’t well. I don’t really know to what extent because he won’t even
see
me. I’m one computer keystroke away from losing millions of dollars every second of the day. So, no. Not making light.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was hoarse from holding back a shout. Not at Abby but into the ether. A general shout of
what the fuck
that would echo for a year
.
He wanted to level self-disgust at himself for underestimating her, for thinking she’d been working some cushy office job that catered lunch and overpaid their employees for sitting on their asses in air-conditioning all day. He’d always known Abby had a brilliant mind, but he assumed working was optional for her. It appeared to be anything but. “You tell me everything. What was different this time? I would have found a way to help.”

Abby pushed to her feet with a soft laugh. “You just answered your own question. You can’t help this time around. And it would have driven you crazy.”

“Don’t worry, I’m making up for lost time in the crazy department.”

She glanced toward the house. “Look what happened when I told Roxy and Honey. Now
my
problem is
theirs
. Now none of us can enjoy the weekend. I was fine with its just being me.”

“Of
course
, they’re worried, Abby.” He closed the gap between them and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her a little. “You’re worthy of everyone’s worry. If the same thing that happened to your father happened to you, I’d . . .”

“You’d what? Get mad at me? Stomp around and shout at everyone? Do you think that would
help
?” She jerked away from his grip, temper making her eyes glow in the partial darkness. “And I’m
worthy
? Worthy of what? Getting on my knees for you . . . but not actually being your girlfriend. Right?” Her words dug into his chest like a round of bullets. “
Manache!
Your words mean
nothing
to me right now.”

Russell had no idea how long he stood there, staring at the spot where Abby had been standing, her outline still visible. A chain saw had been swiped across his midsection, sending his vital organs falling to the ground. His legs didn’t want to hold him up, but collapsing would require movement, and he hurt too much to attempt that.

Abby thought he’d been using her. That was the sick truth his dishonesty had bred. This girl he dreamed of making his wife thought he wanted a temporary hookup—and why not?
I’m not in the market for a girlfriend.
Hadn’t he said those words, possibly even more than once? She’d stuck around anyway, and the only reason he could come up with was . . . she’d trusted him to do the right thing by her. And in fucktastic fashion, he’d fulfilled the prophecy originated by his father and done the opposite.

Could he tell her the truth? That he’d only wanted to be
sure
, positive that he could provide for her before taking that major step he was dying to take. Asking her,
begging
her, to be his forever. Right now, forever with Abby sounded like even more of a long shot than it had this morning. Now he was working against more than his couch-surfing status. He had to overcome the wound he’d inflicted by letting her feel used.

Russell cursed, the jackhammer in his head revving once again, ready to finish the job. Right now, he could only follow his instincts. They were telling him to get inside and do
something
to help her. And yeah, maybe it made him a bastard, but Abby around another man didn’t sit right. Never would. But when he walked inside, he found Mitchell sitting alone at the kitchen table, stuffing documents back into a briefcase.

“Where’s Abby?”

When the guy eyeballed him, Russell remembered his lack of a shirt.
Deal with it, man.
“She headed out the front door. Said she wanted some fresh air.” The lawyer’s smile was tight. “Maybe you should let her get it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t talk to me about Abby. Ever. How’s that sound?”

Mitchell laughed, and it sounded phony as hell. “Mrs. Sullivan will be interested to know whom Abby decided to bring into their home.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “Of course, the others seem perfectly fine.”

Russell refused to show an ounce of self-consciousness. But it stung. Maybe this guy wasn’t the corporate drone he appeared to be. There was a sharpness to Mitchell that hadn’t been apparent when he spoke to Abby outside.

But he’d think about it later. Right now, he wanted to go find Abby. He didn’t like the idea of her walking around alone in the dark. Was she still only wearing a damn bathing suit and his T-shirt? Russell shouldered past the lawyer and left the kitchen. He could hear everyone upstairs, speaking in hushed tones, but he didn’t hear Abby. The front door was slightly ajar, making him think Mitchell had been telling the truth about where she’d gone.

The night was warm, but he only registered the temperature dimly, totally focused on figuring out where Abby had gone. When he caught up with her, he would apologize until his voice was gone. He’d be as honest as possible without completely tipping his hand. If she knew everything hinged on one bank meeting, she’d tell him he was being ridiculous. That was Abby. But she hadn’t seen what the future could look like yet without the benefit of financial security. He
had
. He remembered every second, and she wouldn’t be subjected to it.

A short staircase to his left led down to the beach. Since there was no sign of Abby on the pathway, he took it, refusing to indulge the foreboding prickling the back of his neck.
Calm down.

Waves washed up onto the beach, white surf spreading until it soaked into the sand. Every fifteen feet sat a green-and-white-striped cabana for beachgoers to escape the sun. What ever happened to good old-fashioned umbrellas? He’d only ever been to Rockaway Beach in Queens, but he would appreciate the vast difference between the two locations tomorrow. Right now, he—

Russell stopped short, an alarm blaring in his head. Cold blasted him. His T-shirt had been discarded in the sand, right at the edge of the water. Moving on autopilot, he bent down to retrieve it and noticed the footprints leading right into the ocean.

A
BBY SAT ON
top of a flat rock, knees pulled to her chest, staring out at the water. The paperwork Mitchell had brought had been fairly straightforward, authorizing the moving of funds, overseas transfers. One new hire contract. And shuffled in between them all, a power-of-attorney document, giving her permission to make decisions on her father’s behalf.

She’d signed something similar when her father was first incapacitated, to cover them if word got out that he wasn’t actively running the company, but it hadn’t been nearly as extensive. Mitchell continued to say her father’s condition was stable, but she didn’t know what to believe. One thing was for certain. She wouldn’t sit around anymore and wait for her father to request her presence. As soon as she got back to New York, she would see his condition for herself.

Another interesting detail had snagged her eye while reviewing the paperwork. She personally owned a 2 percent stake in the company. Something she hadn’t been aware of until tonight and wasn’t even sure she was
supposed
to know. Why had she never been made aware? The discovery had sparked an idea. An idea that required more thought. One that snowballed the more she entertained it.

Abby’s racing thoughts were interrupted when Russell appeared on the beach. Her initial reaction at the sight of him, as always, was a mixture of warmth and contentment. But it was tempered with disappointment now. Sadness. And unfortunately, some significant sexual awareness that probably would never fade, now that she knew what their bodies could do together.

She watched as he picked up the T-shirt she’d thrown off in what had been an admittedly childish move. Just because she was angry with him and didn’t know where they stood, didn’t mean she should ditch his clothes in random spots. She hated feeling guilty for her parting shot by the pool. Really, she should own the statement she’d made because she’d
meant
it. Right now, though, she couldn’t help but crave their closeness from before. Before they’d been intimate. When she could lay her head on his shoulder and tell him everything on her mind.

Abby’s insides jolted when Russell shouted her name. Had he seen her? He wasn’t even looking in her direction. When he charged headfirst into the water, her confusion sunk into the yawning pit in her stomach. His voice sounded strangled as he called her name over and over, diving beneath the surface. Looking for her? Yes. He thought she’d gone into the water. As quickly as possible, Abby gained her footing and leapt from the rock onto the sand. Her still-sensitive ankle protested, but she paid it no attention, sprinting toward the water.

“
Russell.
”

The sound of waves crashing half swallowed her voice, but he would have heard her, had he not just dived below the surface once more. Abby had just reached the shoreline and splashed into the ocean when Russell rose with a strangled curse, water coursing down his back. He spun in a circle, obviously still searching the dark waves, hands moving furiously in the water as if he could peel it back and find her.

“
Goddammit
!” he shouted. “Angel,
please
.”

“Russell,” she said again, out of breath. He heard her this time—
thank God—
his entire body stiffening, before slowly turning to face her. The turmoil on his face made Abby stumble in her awkward attempts to reach him, but she pushed forward and threw herself at him without thinking. His big body was an unmoving block of ice, so she grabbed his shoulders and climbed, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding tight. “I’m sorry. I was on the beach. I’m sorry.”

Still, he made no attempt to hold her back. Tremors began to move through him, shaking them both where they stood in the churning water.

Abby buried her face in his neck. “Say something. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m scaring you.” The words were toneless, but she could feel his pulse thundering against her lips. “You were under the water.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

Russell’s entire body heaved a shuddering breath, then two powerful arms were crushing her against his chest. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t inhale; at least he’d come back to her from wherever he’d gone. “You keep doing this to me.” His whisper was furious in her hair. “Keep almost taking yourself away. What would I have done, Abby?
What?
”