Make Me: A Broke and Beautiful Novel (16 page)

“No.” He closed his eyes. “No.”

“Good.” Abby reached into her purse and removed copies of the documents she’d signed in the Hamptons. The ones she’d asked Mitchell’s assistant for, claiming he needed her to review them for a meeting. She’d spent the last week poring over them in her free time. “I wasn’t aware of this until recently, but I have a 2 percent stake in the company. You never told me.”

Some of the shrewdness he’d been known for crept into her father’s expression. It was a relief to see a hint of the man she remembered. “It was done so long ago.” His eyebrows rose. “Honestly, I’d forgotten.”

She flipped a few pages, folded them over. “Mitchell asked me to sign a power of attorney form last weekend, giving me the ability to make decisions on your behalf.” Abby watched that sink in. “Along with my two percent in the company, I have the controlling interest. And I’m ready to use it.”

Abby jerked when her father threw back his head and laughed. Outside the room, she could hear her mother’s heels clicking down the hallway at a fast pace. She appeared at the door, one hand pressed to her chest as she ogled Abby’s father. “Was that you . . . laughing?”

“Damn right.” He wiped away tears of mirth. “God help anyone who ever underestimates my daughter. I certainly won’t ever make that mistake.”

Her mother moved into the room, arms crossed. “Meaning?”

Abby turned to the final document page and slid it across the desk toward her father. “Here is a list of New York hedge funds in the market to absorb funds of equal or lesser size. I’ve highlighted the candidates that appear most viable, based on the last four quarters and their client list.” When her mother started to interrupt, Abby held up a finger. “If we sell for the amount I believe we’re worth, this is what you’ll walk away with and still be able to give a two-year severance to each employee.”

“That’s pretty generous,” her father murmured, studying the document.

“Yeah, well.” Abby smiled. “They all hate me, and this is my way of making them regret it.”

Abby’s mother leaned over the paperwork, one manicured finger smoothing over the number Abby had circled. A number that would ensure none of them ever had to work again and would keep them in the lifestyle to which they’d grown accustomed. Her parents, anyway. She preferred her three-bedroom on Ninth Avenue.

Her father’s relief was palpable across the table, tension ebbing from his shoulders with each passing second. “I . . . I think I’ve got it from here, Abby.”

“Good. Because I think this is where I jump ship.” Stress fell from her body in heavy clumps. “I love numbers, but I don’t love adding and subtracting in my sleep.”

“Fair enough,” her father said, watching her closely as she backed toward the door. “Abby?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.” She rested her hand on the doorknob. “Um. You think maybe when you’re feeling better . . . maybe both of you could come over to my place for dinner?”

Her stepmother looked startled—but cautiously pleased—and her father proud. “We’d love that.”

Abby walked out of the building onto Park Avenue, sucked in a gulp of sunny, city air . . . and executed an awkward, but energetic pirouette.

Chapter 17

R
USSELL LE
ANED AGAINST
the downtown subway entrance, across the street from the Longshoreman. The bright and breezy late Friday afternoon had allowed the bar to leave the doors and windows wide open, giving Russell a view inside. His friends were there at their usual table, minus Abby. It bothered him that she wasn’t there. A lot. Was she sick? He’d been checking in on her via Ben, who got his information from Honey. At first, his so-called friend had refused to pass on a single detail, telling him to man up and go see Abby himself. Ben had finally taken pity on him after a drunk, desperate demand to know how Abby had worn her hair that day.

Yeah, he wouldn’t be living that down anytime soon. Nor did he give a damn.

He’d been told Abby’s workload would be easing soon, or so she’d told her roommates. His relief in hearing that was massive. The idea of Abby stuck inside, glued to a laptop with eight tons of pressure riding on her made him fucking crazy.

The blunt tips of his fingernails bit into his palm. He’d told himself he’d stop by after work wrapped for the day, just to get a glimpse of her. The letdown of not seeing her was the equivalent of being buried under an avalanche. Christ, how long had it been? Five days? It felt like five decades.

“Screw this,” Russell growled, jaywalking across the avenue toward the Longshoreman. If he went back to Queens now, the dissatisfaction would be unbearable. Hell, he’d probably go back to the house, where he’d been working without cease, pick up the closest power tool, and destroy all his progress. It would only be a temporary distraction, though, and he’d be back to thinking about Abby. Replaying every word she’d ever spoken, every secret she’d ever confided, every smile she’d ever gifted him with.

When Russell walked into the Longshoreman, he wondered if he’d ever paid attention to the interior before. Nothing registered as familiar. Or maybe he’d just gotten so used to zeroing in on Abby when he walked inside, everything else usually fell away. Jesus, even his thoughts were goddamn pitiful. Stop thinking. That was the only option. Stop thinking and ask his friends about Abby. Just like ripping off a Band-Aid. He’d think later, when he could drink at the same time and mute the images that haunted him.

Four sets of eyebrows lifted when he sat down at the table. A reaction he’d expected since he’d left Southampton like it was on fire. Figuring he’d give them a minute to get used to his being there, Russell folded his arms and waited.

Roxy spoke up first, as if there’d been any doubt. “May we
help
you?”

“Where is she?”

Honey’s chair scraped back, her intention to go for Russell’s throat sparking in her eyes. Ben hooked an arm around her waist just in time, yanking her down onto his lap. “Easy, babe.” He looked at Russell. “This better be good.”

“Good?” He dropped his head into both hands. “I’ve got nothing good left. I just need to know how Abby is, please.”

“What gives you the right to know?” Honey asked, still shooting daggers at him from across the table. “Whatever you did must have been pretty awful, Russell. She won’t even talk to us about it.”

He felt hollow. So goddamn hollow. “She didn’t tell you why she was upset?” A huge part of him wished she had. When a man hurt her, she should tell someone. Oh God, that man had been
him
.

You bruise up a lot of girls, Hart?

Roxy traded a glance with her roommate. “She wasn’t upset until she read your note and found out you’d split. Actually, she was singing the National Anthem in the shower. And I love the girl to death, but if she tried to carry a tune in a bucket, the bucket would sprout ears. Just so it could cover them.”

Honey clucked her tongue at Roxy. “We thought you finally came clean about how you feel—”

“Wait. Abby wasn’t upset before that?” Russell gave his head a hard shake. “The lawyer said she was . . . said she . . .”

Louis spoke up for the first time. “Mitchell? He left the night before.”

“No, he didn’t.” A pit was yawning wide in Russell’s stomach. “He was there on the road when I came up from the beach. He offered me money to leave . . . said it was best for Abby.” An ache splintered his concentration. “He said the money was
from
Abby.”

“Er. What now?” Roxy stared at him. “Have you not been wearing your hardhat in hazardous areas?”

“That sounds nothing like Abby, man,” Ben said. “Are you sure?”

“The guy knew about Hart Brothers Construction. And the business-loan meeting with the bank. I only told Abby about the meeting.” The protests sounded futile to Russell’s ears, but he felt obligated to push on. If he didn’t, it would mean he’d been wrong. Horrifically wrong. “I didn’t blame her for it. I didn’t even . . .” It had been the last thing on his mind, compared to hurting her. Anything she’d done to get away from him had seemed entirely justified, so he hadn’t examined it too closely. Even if she
had
offered him money via the lawyer, he’d assumed she’d done it out of whatever remaining generosity she had left toward him. Never out of spite. Not his Abby. But . . . what if she’d never done it at all?

Louis cleared his throat. “I imagine it wouldn’t be too difficult to get basic information about you. Not for someone who has connections in the financial world. And if he’s the corporate counsel for a hedge fund that size . . .” Louis shrugged. “That’s where he lives.”

Russell’s brain was struggling to play catch-up. Through the haze he’d been living in the last five days, holes started to form, letting in blinding light. Mitchell had known his last name. At the time, he’d barely been capable of registering it as odd, but now it told him how the lawyer’s night had been spent. Protecting his asset, namely Abby, by getting rid of the man who could drag her down. Or drag her away from the world she lived in. The company that kept him driving the most current Mercedes. Yeah, that fucker had taken Russell’s number by the pool, and again in the kitchen.
One of these things is not like the other. . .

Had Mitchell taken it upon himself to separate them? If he
had
done so, was it justified? If Russell had really hurt Abby, then yes, it had been. But he didn’t know because he’d left without even talking to her. Finding out how she felt.

“Why didn’t you tell
us
about the bank meeting?” Ben asked, gaze narrowed on Russell. “Why keep it to yourself?”

“I’ve had
five
fucking bank meetings, Ben.” The frustration burst out of Russell. Why were they asking him questions when his head was splitting in half? “You’ve known me for a while. Does listing my failures sound in character for me?” He pressed a hand to his right eye, hoping to prevent his skull from cracking. “I was trying for her. I’ve been trying for so long.”

“For Abby,” Louis said slowly, understanding clearing the confusion on his face. “While you were trying so hard, you pushed her away, man. She would have loved you all the more for it.”

Honey leaned forward on Ben’s lap. “What are you talking about?”

“I friend-zoned Abby,” Russell said, tight-lipped.

Roxy gave a decisive headshake. “You can’t friend-zone the friend zoner.”

“I’m in love with you.” Louis laid his head on Roxy’s shoulder. “Have I told you that in the last hour?”

Ben and Russell traded a
Jesus Christ
glance.

“Roxy is right, but it doesn’t explain what’s wrong with Abby.” Honey pinned Russell with a look. “Unless there was illegal contact in the friend zone.”

Russell banged his forehead against the table—and with that damning reaction—chaos erupted around him. “Did you know about this?” Roxy asked Louis, jerking her shoulder away, while Honey turned an accusing look on Ben at the exact same time.

Ben removed his glasses. “Fix it, Russell. Fix it now.”

“She didn’t even tell us.” Honey traded a worried look with Roxy. “You two are always stuck together. There was nothing weird about that . . . but we should have tried harder to get it out of her.”

Russell lifted his head to find Roxy glaring at him. “Do you know why she didn’t tell us, Russell? Her best friends?”

“Why?” he croaked.

“She was probably ashamed.” Roxy’s words were a hot poker impaling his middle. They were enough on their own to drop him, but she wasn’t finished. And he wanted to sit there and take it. Deserved every painful word. “And she wasn’t ashamed because of whatever complex you have about . . . money or your company. Work
that
shit out, by the way. I certainly did.” Roxy stabbed at the table with her finger. “She was ashamed because you cheapened something that could have been really beautiful. You made her a friend with benefits.
Abby.
”

Russell forced himself to swallow the anguish trying to capsize him because that final bullet would have done it. If he let himself perish from a wound now, he had no chance of seeing her again. And his sanity relied on that.

“Abby could care less about money, Russell,” Honey pointed out.

“That’s easy to say when you have it.” Russell ignored Ben’s and Louis’s frantic slashing motions in front of their necks. “And it’s different for a man—”

Roxy and Honey threw up their hands, tossing curses on the ceiling. “He didn’t,” Honey groaned. “He didn’t just say that.”

“Your grave is so fucking deep, man, you can see China,” Louis muttered, shaking his head. “Stop digging. You’re dragging us in with you.”

Russell sat up straight and laid his hands flat on the table. “I need to see her. I—might be able to fix this now.” He swallowed with difficulty. “At the very least, I need to make sure she doesn’t feel . . .” He couldn’t say the rest.

“Ashamed,” Honey supplied. “Used. Cast aside.”

“
Please.
” He felt gutted
.
“I only ever wanted her to be happy.”

Roxy and Honey deflated a little. “She’s her happiest with you, Russell. That’s always been the case. Even we can’t compete,” Roxy said, unhooking the apartment key from her key ring and sliding it across the table. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Russell’s chair was still wobbling when he vanished through the exit.

A
BBY PULLED THE
white sundress over her head as steam filled the bathroom. For once, the silence in the apartment was welcome. It matched the peace and quiet finally permeating her head after weeks of whizzing numbers and fear of failure. The corkscrew twisting into her temples from either side was gone . . . and she’d been the one to untwist it. She felt . . . proud of herself. Like right at that moment, she could fight a war and emerge victorious.

If her new, extra headspace allowed her other troubles to loom larger, that would change. Wouldn’t it? Russell’s abandonment and five-day silence had been sharing brain capacity with finding a way free of the company, all while maintaining the status quo at the office so as not to alert anyone of upcoming changes. Now the stark reminders of his absence rushed in to claim all the free real estate in her consciousness.

Determined to ride the high of what she’d accomplished that morning, Abby lifted her chin and went to work unclasping her bra, letting it fall at her feet. The heat from the shower steam attempting to ease the soreness in her neck and back, wrought from weeks over the computer. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, breathing deeply—

Abby’s spine snapped straight when she heard a creak outside the bathroom door. The steam went from comforting to a sight deterrent in a split second, her heart hammering as she whipped her attention toward the partially open door. Had she locked the front door?
Dammit.
She couldn’t remember. And her roommates weren’t due home until much later. Not to mention, they would call out to inform her of their presence, to save her the heart attack.

She started to reach for a towel. “Hello?”

Had the door moved?

“Abby. Can we talk?”

Her breath hitched, several emotions flooding her at once. Surprise. Awareness. Russell was right outside the bathroom, where she stood naked. She
hated
that a handful of gruff words from his mouth made her nipples tighten. What was he
doing
here? Frustration surged . . . and it surged
hard
. The anger at Russell she’d only just begun to process joined forces with the sexual energy his presence created. Whatever the reason, he was here? She didn’t
want
to know. Just like she’d done this morning, she wanted to control this. To win the war. He couldn’t come here and set her back like this. She wouldn’t let him.

I’m sorry.

Abby saw the note he’d left in her mind’s eye. She didn’t want his pity. She wanted him to know how being left behind hurt. So she’d show him.

A frisson of alarm uncoiled in her belly when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. There was determination, sadness, lust. She could push open the door and walk into Russell’s arms, as her instincts dictated. Might have followed through, too, if he hadn’t hurt her so badly. But no. She
refused
to open herself up that way again.

With a deep breath, Abby pulled open the door, feeling the steam curl around her as Russell came into view. He fell back a step, the key in his hand dropping to the floor. “Oh God, angel.” His gaze moved down her body, growing hungrier with every inch of flesh he covered. “Please. Go back in the bathroom. I-I’ll wait until you’re done.”

His reaction made her a seductress for the first time in her life . . . and that power was an immediate addiction. It blew out the twin flames of dread and doubt, replacing them with a roaring blaze of want. Want she could assuage on her own terms. “Come with me,” she murmured, the invitation twining with the steam. “Otherwise, you’ll be waiting a while.” Thrilled by her own boldness, Abby trailed a hand down her belly. “I’m going to be very thorough.”

Russell’s entire body visibly trembled. “You have every right to punish me, but I’m too weak right now to handle this.” His tone reminded her of torn-up concrete. “Five days is a long fucking time without you. I needed to see how you are . . . if you’re still tired. Still working too much. I came here to hear your voice.”