Irrational (Underneath it All Series: Book Two) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) Read online

  I exhaled and pushed the memory of her from my mind. "Let's get back on track."

  "Is it the girl from The Red Room?"

  I arched an eyebrow. "Can't have it both ways, man. You either get to complain about how distracted I am, then we get back on topic, or we can have a heart to heart."

  "I ain't asking for us to braid each other's hair.” Joe cracked a grin and eased backward in his chair. "I'm just hoping if you get all this out, we can get back to business, firing on all cylinders."

  I could barely handle sorting through all of this in my head. Taking it to my friend? That felt tantamount to taking a pair of pliers and yanking my own teeth out. But if there was one thing me and Joe had in common, it was our stubborn streak. His was currently chiseled onto his face. He wouldn't drop this. And there was a spark of something else there that was even more disconcerting.

  He was worried.

  Was I that off my game? If he was trying to get something, anything out of me, it was proof that whether I wanted to look at it or not, something was there. The cat had clawed its way out of the bag when I wasn't paying attention, foolishly thinking I was handling my shit. Joe had joked about the smart conference room table, but I was wishing I'd signed off on it too because apps and projections would have been better than the resignation on my face.

  "She came out of nowhere," I began with a sigh. "You know me. This wasn't a match.com situation. I didn't seek this, whatever this is, out." I gestured between me and Joe, then dropped my hands to the folder I wasn't even paying attention to. I used to know the ins and outs on my own accord, not because he'd put bullet points around the information that was of interest. Our meetings were thorough, quick, and efficient because my head was more than just 'in the game'. I was the game. I could barely get the words out and my stomach was in knots and I was pretty sure it wasn't normal to keep checking my phone. "She blindsided me...and I've loved every minute of this whirlwind-" Romance was too much, even if I thought about her smile, holding her, knowing her, as much as I thought about how she felt wrapped around my cock. "And now that I've screwed things up, I’m-” I stopped myself before I could finish and cleared my throat. “I mean, you’ve met her.”

  “For two seconds,” Joe clarified. “To be honest, she seems like a lot of trouble, and for what? It can’t be about sex-”

  “Keep the words ‘sex’ and ‘she’, whatever out of your mouth,” I seethed, gripping the edge of the table.

  Joe cocked his head to the side and I wrangled my inner caveman; the piece of me that was ready to fight anyone, Joe included, if they disrespected her.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a groan. “Sorry.”

  “Uh huh,” he grunted. There was no answering fight in the sound though, and when I warily looked in his direction, amusement flickered in his eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

  I had a feeling this conversation was going even further into heart to heart territory than I was ready to venture, but we’d pretty much reached the point of no return. I knew the answer and knew that I’d never hear the end of this, but I asked the question anyway. “And what day is that? Tuesday?”

  “Nice try.” Joe slid away from the table and rose to his feet. He buttoned his jacket and dusted invisible lint and wrinkles away until he was the picture of success and straight up business.

  I felt like I was in my element when it came to making hard choices and taking on any competitor foolish enough to get in our way, but at times, it felt like I was playing dress-up. Most days, I’d pick a t-shirt and jeans over cufflinks, but appearances were everything in this business.

  Joe was testament to that. He looked and acted his part, suave and professional from the boardroom until we hit some club and he let his metaphorical hair down. His element was generally surrounded by beautiful women, arm raised to the sky with a bottle of Cristal in his fist. Toasting life. So full of life that you could see it beaming from him like the sun.

  Now, even standing in front of the window with light streaming in from the blinds, he seemed somber. Quiet.

  Like, well, me.

  “I never thought I’d see the day when you’d let a chick get in your head,” Joe confessed.

  “In my head?” I repeated with a frown. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

  “Like you completely passing on the orgy that could have been yours at The Red Room.” I opened my mouth to tell him that if I ever had an orgy, he would not be on the invite list, but he scoffed and finished, “Dude, you know what I mean. I’m not calling you a player, that title is mine, but I hope we can agree that you coupling it up is just weird.” He didn’t wait for me to confirm the obvious. “And it’s impacting what we’ve got going on here. And I’m half expecting you to pass on the Vegas trip this weekend-”

  “That’s this weekend?” I cringed. “I don’t think I can make that.”

  “Of course you can’t, because you’re too busy with the ball and chain.” His shoulders slumped. “Is she worth it?”

  Yes.

  The word popped in my head instantly, dancing on the tip of my tongue before he even got to the question mark. Sadie was worth it and then some. I knew it the minute she cut her green eyes at me in that room. Her taste, her moans, and the fight in her told me there was so much more to know. A broken person, like me, was dying to be seen.

  Someone telling me to ‘fuck off’ should have elicited a smilier response, but the allure of a woman who demanded more of me, and didn’t take shit from anyone, monsooned my ego.

  Scratch the yes.

  Was she worth it?

  Fuck yes.

  I had a feeling he wasn’t ready for my emphatic answer, as a friend or as my business partner, so I tempered my response. “I think so.” I waited a beat, wheeling my chair back to the front and away from his disdain of commitment or anything resembling it. It was coming off him in waves.

  I cleared my throat. “Yes, she’s worth it.”

  The room got so silent that I almost turned back to make sure he hadn’t booked it out of there so quickly that I missed it. Certainly the chance that I had someone wasn’t so unacceptable that he had zero, zilch, nada to say. No joke to crack. No hard time to give.

  “If she’s the one or whatever people call it these days, why are you checking your phone every five minutes and all moody?”

  “There’s trouble in paradise,” I explained bitterly, flipping my folder back open. “I’ll handle it. I always do.”

  His indiscrete snort told me he wasn’t convinced, but we shared a vicious stubborn streak and neither of us wanted to see who would back down.

  He returned to his seat. “Knowing you, you did some dumb shit. You should try saying you’re sorry.”

  “I-” The rest got caught in my throat and heat flew to my cheeks. I’m not sure which was worse, that I was blushing on top of all the mushy gushy crap that had just transpired or that I was a grown ass man and shouldn’t need anyone to tell me that when I screw up, the thing to do is own it and apologize. I’d reached out to Sadie, but the apology...it got lost somewhere.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d apologized. That I laid it all out for someone to see, take it or leave it.

  I fired off a two word text and tried to ignore the newly discovered and highly annoying part of me that wanted to do more. Say more. Things like, “I’m sorry I was a colossal jerk, please forgive me’ and ‘Don’t give up on me yet’.

  The last brought unwelcome insecurities storming back to the forefront of my mind. Don’t give up on me...with the exception of the man who sat across from me, who I was taking for granted yet again because I was half listening at most, it was a common theme. The thought of me ending up as just another rich schmuck that breezed in and out of Sadie’s life was so much to take.

  I discreetly turned my phone back on, hiding my weakness beneath the table like some texting tween and nearly let out a whoop of excitement when I saw that she was typing a response.

  Even if
it was a threat to go away or else, I’d take it over the silence. It was maddening. I was the master of my universe and I was completely at her mercy. The scariest and most beautiful part was, there was no place I’d rather be.

  My phone vibrated in my palm and it nearly clattered to the floor as my heart lurched to my throat. My man card was definitely in danger of being null and void. Shredded up. Burnt to a crisp.

  And I didn’t give a damn.

  I reread her text twice.

  9:30 AM : (Sadie) - It’s okay...wanna come over tonight?

  My fingers pounded out when and where and I sent it off in a manner that should have bothered me. I wasn’t playing a damn thing cool here. The cards weren’t close to my chest. They were millions of miles away and laid out for her to see. If she responded, it would probably be along the lines of ‘Just kidding!’.

  The excitement had barbs of doubt when I saw those three dots a second time, after days of nothing at all.

  I waited.

  I almost held up a finger to tell Joe to give me a second so I could analyze her follow up text, but my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

  She’d given me her address and a time to meet her for dinner.

  She wanted to see me.

  Chapter Six: Sadie

  My sister was up to something.

  She’d only been crashing on my couch for twenty-four hours and in that span of time, we’d gone through all the stages of grief.

  Denial and isolation was first. As soon as we walked through the door, she’d dumped her suitcase on the couch and parked herself beside it. My questions were answered with grunts, shrugs, and flat out silence.

  Who the hell was that dude?

  Shrug.

  How long has he been living at the house?

  That got me a sigh and a shrug.

  Just how friendly is he?

  That was the most important question, and her silence got the big sister in me roaring. All the worst case scenarios, the nightmares, came knocking. The questions that I was gonna ask next were the kind that twisted my stomach into knots and got my fists ready for battle. If that asshole did what I thought he did, he wasn’t going to live long enough to hurt anyone else.

  You can’t just not answer that question, Rose. How friendly is he?

  That at least got a clipped, “He didn’t touch me, Sadie.”

  My sigh of relief was short-lived because the anger phase was next and she didn’t pull any punches. When I brought out an extra blanket and pillows for her, she’d snatched a pillow from me and growled. Not a growl-like tone, she literally growled.

  “You have no idea how hard it is to live with, Mom,” she’d said accusatorially. “To take care of her, to try and keep her together because the alternative is there’s no groceries in the fridge and the bills don’t get paid.” Eyes that looked like mine, felt the same hurt I’d endured, cut right through me. “Then I have to turn to you. Bother you. You washed your hands of her and you don’t even get what that did to me. You left me all alone.”

  How could I blame her for being angry?

  I’d been angry. I was still angry.

  The helplessness that I felt knowing that no matter how badly I wished things were different ultimately, it was my mother's choice, came back with a vengeance. She had to decide that she cared about someone other than herself. She had to be a mother. Every chance she got, she chose herself.

  My detachment had nothing to do with Rose, but at the end of the day, Rose was the one that paid for the war that I'd waged on my mother—and there were no victors.

  After we sat in even more uncomfortable silence, I painfully listened to Rose bargain. Watching her pick at her nails, trying to take it all on herself, tore my heart in half. I'd done the same thing, telling myself that if I stayed out of her way, that would make my mother happier. If I wasn't so demanding of her love, maybe she'd give it freely. If I made all A's and was the best at everything, she wouldn't have a choice but to be proud. To care.

  When I tried to explain that I got it, that I'd been where Rose was, so frustrated and angry, Rose shut up altogether and just cried. When we were kids, she let me hold her when she was sad, but in the precious hours we got together now, she’d locked herself in the bathroom and ignored my attempts to comfort her.

  It was hard to not take it personally, but I understood her anger. Her grief. And when she’d finally emerged, I’d received stone cold acceptance.

  I couldn't force Rose to let me in. Hell, I had no right to even ask it of her when I kept my own shit to myself. Still, her complete change from ‘go away' to eager to help me with dinner after her virtual hunger strike the day before...It made me worry even more. My head spun and my ‘big sis’ sense tingled. The tingle was upgraded to a full-on vibration the minute Rose said she wanted to cook dinner.

  I peered over at her from the worn couch in my living room. If disaster struck, which was not out of the question since Rose was infamous for burning pots of water, I wouldn't have to book it to her rescue at least.

  According to the gum popping rental agent who'd rolled her eyes every time I asked a question when I first toured the apartment, the square footage was 'cozy'. Cozy was being generous. Cramped was being honest.

  "Everything okay over there?" I knew that boiling water generated a fair amount of steam and unless I heard sirens in the distance I didn't need to be alarmed, but I couldn't help myself.

  "Hey!" Rose wielded the wooden spoon like a weapon. "I can cook spaghetti noodles just fine."

  "The last time you made spaghetti noodles for me, you forgot to actually boil them," I reminded her with a smirk. To be fair, she was ten years old at the time and it was pretty clear that somewhere along the way, she discovered that no one likes their spaghetti crunchy.

  "Your kitchen is too sm-cozy," she corrected, making air quotes as she regurgitated the story I told her in an effort to connect. "If you hover, I’m just going to make a mess and ruin everything."

  We'd been sparring back and forth since I agreed to let her make dinner, but her voice changed with her last sentence. I scooted to the edge of the couch, picking at the frayed chenille fabric. Did our mother give her a hard time when she offered to help in the kitchen? Even if I did it all in good fun, I didn't want to trigger her or seem ungrateful.

  "Rose, I just-"

  "I mean, who do you think cooks at home? Mom would starve if it wasn't for me. I would starve."

  The undercurrent I’d sensed in her voice was a little more than that. It was a riptide that would have brought me to my knees if I wasn't literally squeezing the life out of the cushion. It was easy to be angry at my mother. She moved in some guy with her underage daughter. She packed Rose's bag like she was running some sort of hotel. It took more than four walls to make a home and the place we grew up was pretty much a home in name only, thanks to that woman. But the fury that poured gasoline in my veins and lit a match didn't compare to the guilt that pulverized my heart. Our mother had committed her sins, with no visible sign that she would ever admit, never mind actually taking steps to atone.

  What was my excuse? I’d been so blinded by my resentment that I threw the baby out with the bath water. When was the last time I came home just to hang out with Rose? When was the last time I reached out and just checked on her and listened to her and was just there? Sure, I would drop any and everything to swoop in to save the day, but when I eyed the taut lines in her back, it was clear that she needed a sister more than a savior.

  I scooted from the couch and the floor didn't do a thing to mask my approach. Rose smacked her lips disapprovingly before I even made it to the kitchen table.

  "Whatever you've got to say, can you say it when I'm not trying to fix dinner?" she spat over her shoulder.

  I had a choice to make.

  The first one was the choice I'd been ticking. Giving her space and avoiding confrontation was what I thought I was doing by keeping my distance. I could turn around and park my ass back on the couch and after
she had some time to bang some pans around and angrily toss some salad, we could ignore the elephant in the room and pretend like everything was okay. The other option was to say what I needed to say. Something that seemed so obvious, so necessary to move forward to a different place that I was kinda ashamed I hadn’t done it already.

  I'm sorry.

  Two words that could open the door for us to begin to heal. Two words, and we could be sisters, and not just two people who shared DNA and a mother who drove us crazy.

  I paused at the dining room table, perching my fingertips on a stack of bills and spam. For all my strength and ability to stare down anything in the name of protecting her, saying those two words was harder than I thought it would be.

  I grasped at straws, my eyes glossing over the ‘Falcon High Cheerleader’ screen printed on her sweatshirt. The pang of disgust that my mother had once carried pom poms through those halls but called Rose's time on the squad 'a waste of time' was still there, but I didn't cling to that. I was making it about me, and that didn't lead to anywhere healing.

  "Remember when you found Mom's old varsity jacket in the shed and I taught you how to do a cartwheel?"

  Even though she was right in front of me, still pissed as hell, my mind took me back to that day. I could feel the sun beating down on us, drenching me with sweat. I'd been curled up on the grass with a book when I heard Rose's squeal. My heart stopped until I saw that my premonition that if she didn't steer clear of the shed it would collapse on her didn't come true.

  Rose was standing beside the old shed, her tiny, eight year old body swallowed whole by this letterman jacket. I'd rolled my eyes, ready to give her an earful as I pulled off the jacket our mother had claimed from some poor jock. I stopped when I got closer and saw the name ‘McLeod’ stitched on it.

  The wonder that beamed from Rose, the sleeves trailing on the ground. The way my heart broke when she said she wanted to be a cheerleader "like mommy”...