She hoped to all that was holy that she hid the fear that shot through her when she saw his face darken.
“That wasn’t fucking payment,” Cash growled.
“It seemed like it to me,” Abby retorted, making her awful lie sound real and, as intended, she successfully struck her target.
His darkening face turned thunderous.
“You’re a fucking piece of work,” he snarled, pushing off her and exiting the bed muttering, “unbelievable.”
At that point, Abby should have kept quiet.
She really should have.
But Abby often did stupid things so she didn’t.
Instead, scrambling off the bed, she asked when she’d gained her feet, “It was a simple question, Cash. Why do you sound so surprised?”
His dark eyes speared her and he answered, “Now, that’s a good question, darling, why am I so surprised?”
Abby watched, holding her ground with effort, as he came close, so close he was an inch away.
Then he dealt a deadly verbal blow. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve made it perfectly clear you’re determined to hold onto a dead man so given time to shut down, you fucking took it.”
And that’s when Abby lost her phony cool composure and also lost her temper. Not solely angry at Cash and what he said but also angry at herself because she was so, embarrassingly, transparent.
“I don’t believe you just said that!” she snapped, her voice rising and becoming shrill.
“Believe it, Abby,” he clipped back, his voice rising at the same time it dipped deep.
Her voice was no longer rising, it was loud when she yelled, “You don’t know a thing about me!”
His face moved close to hers and he returned crudely, “I know I can make you forget him when my mouth is between your legs.”
“Oh my God!” Abby screeched, arms straight down, hands balled into fists in an effort not to slap him.
But he carried on. “And I know you’re full of shit. I know this whole act is full of shit. You’re terrified. He died and then you sacrificed yourself to him but you didn’t have the fucking courage to slit your wrists to join him, did you Abby?” She gasped at his cruel question but he didn’t give her time to answer. “Instead you’ve done the next best thing. I don’t know how you’ve managed to so royally fuck up your life to get where you are now. I do know you’re pretty fucking comfortable letting a man pay for your company but you’re scared shitless of giving it away.”
“Don’t think, Mr. Fraser, with all the clever skills at your command, that you can actually read my mind while you fuck me,” she shouted.
“Darling,” he shot back tersely, “I didn’t have to fuck you to read you. You’re an open fucking book.”
“Don’t call me darling,” Abby snapped.
“I paid for you, Abby, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he bit back.
It was at that point Abby realised she was breathing heavily and so was Cash.
She stared at him, heart beating, breath coming fast. He held her glare and returned it until Abby could take no more.
She looked over his shoulder and asked with saccharine sweetness, “If you’re through with me this morning, Mr. Fraser, I’d like to go home.”
She let out a shocked gasp when his hand closed around her neck and he jerked her forward, her body slamming into his and his face coming within a breath of her own.
“I’m through with you Abby, for now. But you better fucking be ready tonight. Six o’clock. I’ll pick you up at your house and if you make me wait, there’ll be consequences.”
“I’ll be ready,” she snapped.
“Wear the fucking bracelet,” he returned, his beautiful voice had turned ugly, “and don’t wear any fucking underwear. You want to know the price of that bracelet? It’s you sitting next to me at dinner and me knowing the whole time there’ll be no obstacles when I fuck you after taking you home.”
And on that successful parting shot, he let her go and strode to the bathroom, the door clicking sharply behind him.
And Abby didn’t hesitate in dressing and slamming out of the house. She ran on her high-heeled shoes to her car and she didn’t allow herself to start crying until she hit the motorway.
Incidentally, Cash didn’t call that day.
Neither did Moira.
Abby went home. Upon seeing his quote, Abby gave the plumber the go ahead to fix the two other bathrooms and also gave the boiler man her approval to replace her two boilers.
And after working herself into a state about the idea that Cash would fire her as well as getting herself worked up in another way about all Cash had said to her, she called James herself. She told him to tell Cash that if he intended to forfeit on the arrangement, he could transfer fifty thousand into her account by the end of the working day and they’d call it even.
James had sounded strangely shocked and then he even more strangely suggested she talk to Cash herself.
When she refused, he stranger than strangely suggested she visit Cash at his office to “chat”.
The idea of Abby popping by Cash’s office to chat after their blow out was so ludicrous, she laughed straight out (not to mention, she didn’t know where he worked).
Then she’d flatly refused that too and demanded to know if he would pass on her message.
Although he didn’t sound like he liked it, he promised he would.
And after she’d slid her phone shut, Abby worried that calling James was a tactical error.
Then she found she didn’t have time to worry about that when she had to worry about her outfit for that evening’s dinner.
Now, she was standing in the guest bedroom wondering what on earth to wear to dinner at a haunted castle.
“Hello!” she heard Jenny call from downstairs.
Abby closed her eyes, tipped her head back and breathed, “Bloody hell.”
Chapter Twelve
Painful Lessons
It took Jenny what felt to Abby like a year to reach the top floor and when she finally entered the guest bedroom, Abby knew why.
Mrs. Truman was with her.
Just what Abby needed, Mrs. Truman.
“Why are you on the top floor?” Mrs. Truman demanded to know upon entry. “I never go to my top floor. I feel like I climbed a mountain.”
Jenny ignored Mrs. Truman’s complaining, took one look at Abby and asked immediately, “What’s the matter?”
Her best friend knew Abby well but, she had to admit, Jenny freaked her out sometimes.
“I…” Abby started to answer Jenny or more to the point, lie to her but she noticed Mrs. Truman leaning toward her.
Peering closely at Abby’s face, the older woman announced, “We need tea. We can’t have drama without tea. And maybe sherry. This looks like it’s going to be a sherry drama.”
“There isn’t going to be a drama,” Abby told Mrs. Truman, wondering why she was even there but not getting the chance to ask.
“Drama is written all over your face, Abigail Butler,” Mrs. Truman shot back always feeling entitled to be wherever she was.
“Abby, what’s going on?” Jenny asked, also leaning in.
They were both watching her and Abby opened her mouth to say something to throw them off the scent.
Then all of a sudden her eyes filled with tears and she felt them spill down her cheeks. She couldn’t control them and she found she no longer had the energy to try.
“Abby,” Jenny said softly but Abby ignored her.
Stiffly walking to the bed, she sat down and put the fingers of both her trembling hands to her mouth.
Jenny and Mrs. Truman followed, Jenny crouching in front of her saying, “What is it?”
“Cash and I had a fight,” Abby blurted on a tortured whisper and Jenny’s head jerked before her face changed to a look of stunned surprise.
“A fight?” Jenny repeated.
Abby swiped at the tears on her cheeks and nodded. “A fight. An ugly, shouting, awful,
awful fight.” She looked at Jenny then Mrs. Truman, finding she couldn’t keep it in a moment longer, she knew she should, but she couldn’t. “I think I hurt his feelings.”
Jenny’s mouth dropped open.
She snapped it shut and parroted, “Hurt his feelings?”
“What’d you do?” Mrs. Truman demanded to know.
Abby looked away from her friend who was clearly not taking this in and turned to Mrs. Truman.
“I…” she started then squeezed her eyes shut, tears sliding down her face, she opened them and admitted, “it’s a long story but I did something. Something not very nice. He was being nice. Very nice. And I was very not nice in return.”
“How very nice was he being?” Jenny asked and Abby looked to her friend.
“Very nice,” Abby whispered then her silent tears ended, she let go of her emotions and burst into loud, wracking sobs. She covered her face with her hands and babbled from behind them, “I was so mean. And I hurt his feelings. I know I did. Then he asked me to explain myself and I just made it worse. Then he got mad and he said the most awful things.” She pulled her hands from her face and wailed, “But they were true! Even though he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand. How could he?” Abby looked at Mrs. Truman, knowing she wasn’t making a lick of sense and also not waiting for an answer, and cried, “He was so angry. I’ve never seen anyone that angry!”
“Did he hurt you?” Jenny asked, her voice hard and Abby looked at her, confused.
“How do you mean?”
“Hurt you? Did he get physical with you?” Jenny explained.
“Of course not,” Abby snapped as if the idea of Cash getting physical (in that way) was ridiculous. “He just yelled at me.”
“Did you yell back?” Mrs. Truman asked and Abby’s gaze moved to her.
“No, I mean yes. I mean, it was actually me who started the yelling,” she confessed.
“You forgot,” Mrs. Truman told her with all-knowing finality and Abby stared at her, not understanding what she meant.
She hadn’t forgotten a thing. She was certain that fight with Cash was burned on her brain until the end of time.
When Mrs. Truman didn’t say more, Abby asked, “Forgot what?”
“You forgot,” Mrs. Truman repeated and when Abby still looked confused, Mrs. Truman sat down beside her on the bed. When she spoke again, her voice was surprisingly gentle. “When they die, you forget.” Abby pulled a sharp breath into her nostrils but Mrs. Truman ignored her reaction and carried on. “When they die, you remember only the good things. You don’t remember the bad things. The fights. The bickering. Their annoying habits that drive you mad. Like when they don’t put their socks in the wash hamper even though the hamper is only two feet away. They drop them on the floor. Morty and his damned socks. Used to drive me insane.”
Abby felt her lip tremble as more silent tears slid down her cheeks.
Mrs. Truman watched her face and then leaned slightly toward her. “After he was gone, I would have paid money to pick up another pair of his dirty socks. Those socks, the blight of my life, became a cherished memory. You forget that they’re just dirty socks on the floor that you have to pick up, Abigail.” She touched Abby’s hand every-so-lightly then took her own away so swiftly it was almost as if the touch never happened. “Now, you’re remembering what it’s like to be with a living, breathing, annoying male who you yell at and who yells at you. It isn’t something that you can mould into a cherished memory because it isn’t in your head. It’s real and it’s happening. And you forgot what it felt like. Now, Abigail, you’re remembering.”
“Mrs. Truman –” Jenny started but the older woman shook her head, not taking her eyes from Abby.
“But you know,” she said softly, “you know something your young man doesn’t. You know that even these fights, that hurt so much they make you cry, are something to cherish.”
Abby stared at her, eyes suddenly dry, body frozen even though her heart was beating a mile-a-minute.
Then Mrs. Truman broke her own spell by clapping her hands.
“Now!” she announced and went on authoritatively, “Tea. And cucumber. You can’t sit down with the upper crust with puffy eyes. You need cucumber and a wet flannel.” She pushed herself up and bustled to the door with the energy of a woman who would never complain about climbing two flights of stairs. “I’ll see to the tea, cucumber and flannel. Jennifer,” she turned and pointed at Jenny, “you take care of the outfit.”
And after issuing her orders, she disappeared out the door.
Leaving Abby with Jenny.
“I think you got some ‘splainin’ to do,” Jenny said, using her best Ricky Ricardo voice, attempting to inject humour where both women knew there was none.
“Jenny, I screwed up,” Abby admitted quietly.
Jenny got out of her crouch and sat on the bed beside Abby, saying on a sigh, “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Jenny!” Abby cried loudly, stung by her friend’s words even though of anyone Jenny knew Abby could screw up, big time.
Jenny turned to her. “Girlfriend, any woman in her right mind would screw up with Cash Fraser. The man is hot. He’s also interesting. He’s also funny. He also looks at you like you painted the Sistine Chapel on your lunch break while wearing a bikini. And let’s not forget, he’s hot.”
“He looks at me like that?” Abby breathed and Jenny lifted a hand to within an inch of Abby’s face and snapped.
“Hello? A little focus?” Jenny asked while dropping her hand and Abby blinked before Jenny continued. “Have you slept with him?”
Abby’s mouth dropped open.
Now Jenny was just plain creeping her out!
“Don’t give me that look,” Jenny warned. “He’s hot. I was in your shoes, I’d sleep with him,” she announced baldly. “How long did you wait?”
“It happened Thursday,” Abby answered.
“You were always slow,” Jenny remarked.
“Jenny!” Abby cried, surprised at her friend’s easy acceptance of these facts. “Do you not see that this is a problem?”
“Yes, I do. Because you let your heart get involved with everything you do. I despair the workmen coming to your house because you’ll make them all your BFFs and end up having to buy them Christmas presents you can’t afford,” Jenny retorted.
“I will not,” Abby returned.
“You will,” Jenny replied and before Abby could get a word in, she went on, “Cash Fraser may be hot and he may be way into you but I’m not certain his heart is involved. And I know you won’t just enjoy yourself for once and keep your heart out of it. This is a problem.”
“He bought me a cashmere robe,” Abby announced and she saw Jenny’s eyes get wide. “And this,” Abby continued, lifting up her wrist to jiggle the diamond bracelet that even after that fight Abby could not bring herself to take off. “That’s why we fought. Because of the bracelet and kind of the robes too.”
Jenny was staring at her wrist but she breathed, “Robes. Plural?”
“Yes, three. Only one cashmere. The other one was silk and the other one –”
“Oh my God,” Jenny whispered, her eyes snapping back to Abby. “Why is he buying you presents? He paid, like, a fortune for you.”
“I don’t know!” Abby cried. “He’s freaking me out; it’s all freaking me out. I can’t keep my head on straight.”
Jenny’s eyes narrowed on her. “You like him.”
“Well, of course I like him!” Abby clipped and shot off the bed, starting to pace then she whipped around and looked at Jenny. “He’s hot.”
“You don’t like him because he’s hot,” Jenny returned.
“You can’t not like him because he’s hot. That’s how hot he is!” Abby cried.
“Oh shit,” Jenny breathed.
“What?” Abby asked.
“He’s good in bed,” Jenny whispered while she stood then pleaded, “Please tell me a man that hot, that rich, that everything is a
lso not good in bed.”
Abby just looked at her friend not wanting to lie also not wanting to share.
She didn’t have to, Jenny already knew. “Shit. He is. He’s good in bed.”
“Jenny –” Abby started.
Jenny interrupted her, “How good?”
“Good,” Abby answered quickly.
“How good?” Jenny pushed. “God-like good or just, you know, good-good?”
Abby thought about lying, then because she was stupid, stupid, stupid, she decided against it.
“God-like good,” she muttered.
“Oh God,” Jenny breathed.
Then, going for the gusto, Abby whispered, “Better than Ben.”
Jenny’s face went pale and Abby held her breath.
Here we go, Abby thought.
“Really?” Jenny asked softly.
“Really,” Abby replied, her eyes began to fill with tears again and she took a deep breath to control them before saying, “We had a nice weekend, Cash and I. He’s different than Ben. He doesn’t talk as much but he’s more intense. He doesn’t move around as much but somehow he radiates more energy. He takes all my concentration. And,” she paused then went on, “I like giving it to him.”
Jenny regarded Abby for long moments and finally came closer, her voice going soft. “Abby, you’ve got to be careful. You have to remember what this is.”
Abby closed her eyes and sighed.
When she opened them, she said, “I know.”
“Are you going to be able to do that?” Jenny asked.
“I might not have to. That fight was ugly, Jenny,” Abby told her. “He might not want me around anymore.”
“I still don’t understand about the fight,” Jenny said.
“I was trying to pull away from him. I threw the diamond bracelet in his face, saying he was treating me like a whore.”
Jenny sucked in a sharp breath then whispered, “You did not.”
“I was trying to maintain a distance,” Abby defended.
“Is he treating you like a whore?” Jenny asked.
“No. Yes. I don’t know! I’ve never been a whore,” Abby answered, frustrated. “I’ve also never received cashmere robes and diamond bracelets like they were flowers and chocolates.” Abby pulled her hand through her hair, bunching it in a fist at the back and looked at her friend. “I don’t know what to do.”