Accept Me (13 page)

“Holy shit!” I nearly jump out of my skin when I see Damon coming up the stairs with my shoes, purse, and belt in hand. “What the fuck are you doing?” I screech. “You scared the hell out of me!” Blood rushes to my head, my ears ring, and my cheeks redden thanks to the copious amount of adrenaline humming through my veins.

“Where is he?” Damon growls, looking right past me.

My eyebrows furrow. “Who?”

“Is he here, Josephine? I’ll kill him,” he mutters and walks past me.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” I scurry behind Damon.

“Andy. Where is he?” he grates out, his jaw clenched tight and a muscle ticking in his cheek. He’s a walking time bomb of testosterone.

“You’re joking, right?” I can’t hide the disbelief in my voice. “Where’s Carrie?” I snap, bursting forward to step in front of him.

“Don’t toy with me, Josephine.”

“I’m not toying with you. I’m dead serious. What gives you the right to barge in here, scaring the shit out of me, might I add, just to try and dictate
who I’m seeing
?” I embellish the “who I’m seeing”
part for effect. I’m in no way, shape, or form
seeing
Andy. He’s a friend and I don’t plan on taking things beyond that.

“This is my property,” Damon answers simply, eyeing my scantily clad body. The way he’s declared that this is his property has me wondering if he’s talking about me or the penthouse or both.

A thick vein in his neck bulges and palpitates, displaying how pissed he is. Something about an angry Damon sets my insides stirring. It always has.
Stop!
I reprimand myself. Turning on my heels, I stomp off to the guest room, desperate for space and clothing.

Damon’s footsteps match mine as he walks close behind. He’s goddamned impossible.

“Privacy? Have you heard of it?” I grind out over my shoulder.

“I’ve seen your body a thousand times, Josephine. Don’t be a child.”

“A child? A child? Who’s the child walking around acting like the whole world belongs to him and people should just watch out, else be squished beneath your shining fucking Oxfords?!”

Damon’s eyes widen, apparently shocked by my insult.

“Just leave, please.” I scramble for something resembling pajamas. A robe. A towel. Even a scarf would be better than standing here in my panties and bra.

“Are you fucking him?”

I gape at his forwardness. “That’s none of your business, Damon,” I assert, shaking my head at how stubborn and persistent he can be. I snatch my robe from the floor, slip it on and turn to face him.

“It damn sure is my business!” he roars.

“No. It’s not,” I reply calmly. “That’s the funny thing about ripping a person’s heart out and walking away from them. It means you no longer get a say in anything that person does.” I talk to him as if he’s a child, pointing from me back to him.

“Jo,” he breathes, shoving his big paws through his dark hair.

“He’s just a friend, Damon, and he damn sure isn’t here,” I admit feebly. Part of me wants to let him stew in his mess, wondering if I’m seeing Andy, but the part of me that’s still so completely in love with him hates to see him upset. Irrational or not, in my heart, he’s still mine and I’m still his.

“Jo, I—” Damon visibly struggles with whatever he’s wanting to say.

My heart leaps, hoping that maybe he’s changed his mind, that maybe he’s realized that anything I ever did was because I love him so much. I watch him closely as his beleaguered eyes work at what he wants to say.

Nothing.

And with that, my heart breaks all over again.

“You can’t do this to me,” I whisper with a quivering chin. “You can’t make this ugly. A clean break is the only way I’ll survive this. It’s the only way I’ll survive losing you.” I make no effort at hiding the tears that have welled in my tired eyes.

Damon’s eyes slide shut. He shoves his big hands into his pockets in his customary way and turns away. Just like that I’m broken all over again. I’ve lost him for the second time in a matter of two weeks.

I stagger into the store after a night of tossing and turning. What little sleep I did get was dominated by dreams of Damon and the life we won’t be sharing together. Coming to the store this morning is actually far better than lying in bed feeling depressed.

Brian comes skipping into the store (literally) about an hour after I do with an annoyingly chipper disposition that I’m sure is thanks to a night full of sexual exploits. “Good morning, doll,” he singsongs, sounding all Broadway
Cats
meets
Will & Grace
.

I scoff at him, mostly out of jealousy. It’s nearly infuriating seeing happy people right now. Here I am opening box after box of deliveries feeling like death and Brian is acting like he’s a cast member of
Mary Poppins.
“What’s so damn
good
about this morning?” I bemoan.

Brian halts in his tracks as if someone has clotheslined him. “Eww. Snotty really isn’t your color, Jo. PMS much?”

I feel guilty almost instantly. He doesn’t deserve my shitty attitude. “I’m sorry, Bri. I’m just tired,” I lie.

“Awe, it’s okay. I forgive you,” he smiles and winks.

“What are you doing here?”

“Okay, so don’t shoot the messenger, but Damon sent me here.”

“What for?”

Brian motions towards the office and I lead the way. Once in the office, he squats to pet Hemingway, who is lounging under my desk as usual. Brian ruffles the hair on Hemingway’s head then holds his hand out to me. “Got any germ stuff?”

“He’s a dog, Brian. Not a corpse.”

“Same difference. Both are germy.” He shivers in mock disgust.

“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculous you are?”

“Of course,” he replies with a bright smile in place. He’s proud and confident in his own skin. I envy him. “Anywho,” he begins, rummaging through his man purse and producing his tablet, which I have to come to think of as an extra appendage, “Damon has some things he wants me to discuss with you.”

“Fine,” I groan as I sink back into Captain’s old chair.

“Okay, Damon has decided to wire money to your bank account in the amount of five hundred thousand. He’s signed the deed to the penthouse over to you. He wants to pay for your appointments with Dr. Versan for as long as you wish to go,” Brian swipes his screen, moving to his next page of notes, I presume.

I am wide-eyed and gaping at what he’s just said. Words escape me. He gave me what and what?

“He has also named you as his beneficiary in the event of his death.”

The mere thought of Damon dying has my stomach threatening to get me reacquainted with my breakfast burrito. “Don’t. Just stop,” I plead.

Brian arches his brows at me. “You okay, honey? Want me to grab a trash can?”

I shake my head. “Go tell him that I don’t want all of that,” I say softly. “I can’t. I don’t want his money. I want him. Never his money,” I reiterate.

“Honey, I know this. But he’s just doing what he thinks is the right thing. You know he’s just a caveman.” Brian shakes his head and I can’t help thinking he knows exactly how I feel right now.

I feel like a business transaction. Like an asset that’s being liquidated due to issues with demand, not supply.

“He already wired the money, Jo.”

I can’t even speak. I lean forward and let my head drop onto my desk. Maybe the biggest reason I don’t want all of this is because it screams, “It’s over!”

“It feels so final,” I whimper.

“Sweetheart,” Brian coos, scooting over to me. He rubs my back and lays his head on my shoulder. “You’re going to be okay. You have me. You have Noni. You still have Grams. You have Andy, who seems like a nice guy. And hot to boot!” He jabs a finger into my side and making me squirm. “I have a meeting in twenty. Are you okay?” Brian asks, stuffing his tablet back into his bag.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine. I’ve got tons of work to get done so that will keep me busy,” I say, looking around at the stacks of papers needing to be sorted. “Hey, is Lindsay still looking for a job?” I ask suddenly.

“Yeah, no luck so far.”

“Do you think she’d want to come work here? I wouldn’t mind having another person to help with orders, stocking, and inventory, and eventually the store will be open and I can’t run the register all the time, so I’ll need someone for that too.”

“Oh, that would be awesome, Jo!” Brian beams excitedly. “You’d hire her?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not the best pay, but it’s something,” I reply with a shrug.

“Have I mentioned how much I love you?” he gushes, pulling me into a hug. “You’re a doll. I’ll send her over in the morning. Is that okay?”

“Fine by me.”

“And I’ll email you this information in a bit. Cheer up. I was serious about snotty not being your color.” He drops a kiss on my cheek. “Ciao!” He waves on his way out of the office.

Ciao?
“What? Are you Italiano now?”

“Nope, but I plan on helping myself to one later.”

“Oh, God,” I groan and lay my weary head back down on my desk. I’m starting to feel really guilty about my snippy attitude with Brian. I owe him so much more than that. I need to practice more restraint. It’s just so hard to keep the heartbreak infection from spreading all over me. I’m grumpy and tired and beyond sad. It could be PMS but if I had to stamp a ratio on it, I’d say 90% breakup side effect and 10% PMS.

PMS?
I pop my head up from my desk and scrunch my brows, thinking hard. My period. I dig for the calendar buried beneath a load of paperwork on my desk. I find the thing and scan it, counting as I go. I flip back one month and another.
Oh hell no.

I grab Hemingway from his bed and jump from my seat like my butt is on fire. I emerge from the office to see Noni at the cash register, teaching herself every function. She did that yesterday too. I have a passing thought that
she
should train
me
on the register.

“Gotta run. Be back in a bit!” I call as I rush out the door.

My bathroom is in the same condition as my office and finding my pack of birth control pills proves to be a Herculean task. I need to count pills and days and try to remember the date of my last period. It’s a monumental effort on my part. My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. My head is spinning. I need help.

My queasy stomach goes into hyperdrive as I realize there’s a very real possibility that I could be…
pregnant. Holy fucking hell.
Instinct has me reaching for my phone. I swipe the screen to unlock it and scroll through my contacts with shaky hands.

I don’t have many contacts to speak of, so the scroll through the list is a short one. I make it to the bottom of the list then back up again. “Damon,” I mumble. I want nothing more than to call him and insist that he come to the penthouse, but I won’t. My pride and dignity are still partially intact and they’re all I have to work with at the moment. That, and one skinny jean wearing gay man. I quickly move to Brian’s number and click, waiting impatiently for him to answer.

“Hey hey, gorgeous!” he sings into the phone.

“Get your perky ass over here. Pronto. Emergency. Do me a favor and swing by the drugstore. Buy every brand of pregnancy test they sell. Use Damon’s money and keep your mouth shut.”

“Wai—what? Are you joking right now?” he says, sounding deadpan.

“Not in the slightest, Brianna.”

“Jo, I can’t. I’m with the boss man right now. Meeting. What would I say?” he asks in a hushed voice, all humor gone.

“Tell him it’s a goddamned family emergency!” I whine like a petulant child.

“K, sit tight. Be there in twenty.”

We hang up and I sit dazedly on the guest bed for what feels like an eternity. This can’t be happening to right now. I’m not pregnant. There’s no way. I’m on the pill. I take it at the same time every day without fail.

I begin scrutinizing the last two packs of pills and my responsibility about taking the magic little beasties. One pack was in the bottom of the bag I used before I switched to the one I carry now and the other pack of magic pills was in the drawer of my nightstand beneath my worn copy of
The Catcher In the Rye
. If the locations that I found both of them are any indication, I’m sure that I could have made it a point to be a little more diligent with taking them on time every day. I may have been a little late taking one or two of them but I’ve never missed a whole day. Hours, yes, but an entire day? No. I could slap myself right now. I’m an idiot. I’ve been playing with fire where contraception is concerned and I hadn’t even realized it. I’ve been so damn wrapped up in Damon and the store and the new house and wedding plans that don’t mean a damn thing now. I cup my head in my hands and do my best the quiet my spinning head and squeamish stomach.