FRAGILE: A Billionaire Romance (Part Two) (4 page)

How can Eli keep his emotions in a box?
I wonder, and not for the first time. I start to grab my hair again and finally put my arms at my sides. I recall Eli clamming up at my questions, and I almost punch the elevator wall.
Why do you have to make me so crazy?!
I hate to lose, and with Eli I felt like I was losing a piece of me.

When I arrive on the top floor, I have to take a deep breath I’m so dizzy with fury and sorrow. I walk down the hall towards Eli’s office, but I stop as I hear Eli’s voice to my left. There’s a glass door, and I peer inside to see Eli sitting at the head of a table, talking to a bunch of men and one woman, all of them in suits, papers in front of them.

The warning bells go off in my head that now is probably the
worst
time possible time to interrupt Eli, especially about relationship stuff, but I grit my teeth and swing the door open anyway. Eli glances in my direction, and then he stops speaking, staring at me.

“We need to talk,” I say. My voice comes out stiff. Mostly, I’m trying not to cry at the sight of him, or throw myself into his arms.

Eli pauses. “You can set up an appointment with Kim.”

“Kim wasn’t exactly honest with me,” I say, failing to keep the bite out of my tone. “I need to speak with you now.”

“Very well, Miss Jennings. Give me forty minutes,” Eli says. He glances at his silver watch; it’s not even the watch I’d gifted to him as an apology after our first encounter. “You can wait in my office.”

I should just accept it. I should take his offer and wait there. But my control on my emotions slips, because I’m afraid that I’ll go to his office and wait the entire day only to find out he’d moved offices or, worse yet, he’d left the city, or the country, and I’d never see him again.

“No. Now.” I see the other folks in the room shift, their heads glancing at each other, but I ignore them. “How could you just shut me out like that? When I needed you?”

Eli, who had maintained his composure despite his initial surprise at seeing me, stiffens. His green eyes narrow on me. “Miss Jennings, this is an important meeting. I will speak with you shortly,” he says, his tone even.

“Yes, yes, I know, your work is more important to you than anything else,” I say, sarcasm dripping from each word. “So important that you couldn’t possibly care about anyone else. Or maybe you’re just that cold—that you’d walk away when someone needs you most.”

Eli stands slowly. I don’t know what I said, but I said something that got his attention, and for the first time that I’ve ever seen, he looks absolutely livid. I half expect him to lunge for me, and I’m kind of hoping he’ll just grab me and take me to his office and we’ll work everything out there.

“Please leave this building,” Eli says, each word deliberate and heavy, his voice shaking a little.

Eli’s still not interested in working things out—even when he finally feels something. He won’t acknowledge my own needs.
Why had I bothered coming? Why did I ever think I loved this man?

I clench my fists at my sides, a couple of tears running down my cheeks. “So it’s true. You’re so cold that you have no feelings,” I hear myself say. “You have no passion!”

I’m digging, trying to make Eli hurt, but I don’t really want to and I’m not sure why I do it. I know even as I say the words it’ll only make things worse. But I feel out of control. I’m maxed out, and I can’t stop.

“And, as if that’s not bad enough, you don’t give a shit about anyone else,” I shout. “Oh no. It’s just all about you hiding in your own little cold world by yourself, where everything has its fucking perfect place so it doesn’t bother you. And everyone else be damned if they get too close and threaten to mess up your illusion of control! No matter how much they care about you!”

“Get out,” Eli says, nearly spitting out each word. He points at the door with a trembling arm, his green eyes glistening as if they’re about to light on fire. “Out!”

“Fine!” I give a slight shriek, spinning on my foot, and stumble to the side and knock a vase over. It shatters against the ground. “I’m so sorry,” I shout. I stomp my shoe on the pieces, grinding them into the tile. “I’m so fucking sorry!”

Then, I march out of the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I bang on the sides of the elevator as I go back down, and I stride past Kim without even a look in her direction, despite the fact that she calls my name. I make it to my car and sit down before I burst into tears.

I was in big, big trouble.
What’s wrong with me?
I wonder. I wanted to give Eli a piece of my mind, but not like that. I wanted to elicit an emotion out of him, but not like that. I wanted to tell him about why I needed him, about how much he means to me, and why I can’t just walk away. And I certainly hadn’t wanted to bash him in front of his staff members, and especially not like I did.

Why had I been so emotional? Why hadn’t I thought about what I was doing?
What the hell is wrong with me?

I pick up my phone with shaking fingers and call Larisa. There was hardly a ring before it answered. “Miss Jennings?” Larisa says. “Are you okay?”

“Larisa, I’m so sorry,” I say. I’m still sobbing, and my words come out as a moan, my words running over each other. “Buttercup died, and Ruby’s Jewelry is done for. That’s it. It’s all over.” I’m about to take headache medicine when I realize I took some right before I walked into Marnvell Jewelers. “And I hurt Eli.”

Two days later I had a call from Jonah to visit his office, and his tone wasn’t cheerful. I went, my feet dragging. I knew I must have looked bad because Larisa kept suggesting all morning that she take me to the doctor’s office. I told her no. I had made a mess of things, and I had to clean it up, no matter what that meant, and I wasn’t going to give myself an excuse. But I had thought Larisa was just over exaggerating about my appearance. When Jonah answers my knock on his door, the anger on his face switches over to horror so fast I start to wonder how bad I actually look.

“Ruby?” Jonah says. He’s a tall, handsome man—but despite his younger age—he’s got some gray showing on the sides of his otherwise jet black hair. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, glancing down at myself, as I try to remember what I wore. I had managed to dress in a decent green turtleneck, but I had jeans and sneakers on, no jewelry, I hadn’t applied any makeup, and my hair was just pulled into a messy ponytail. I’m carrying a water bottle in one hand, and my leather purse in the other, not even one of my nice purses, and I kind of wish I’d worn a hoody so I could just hide my head.

Jonah leads me to the seat in front of his desk and hands me a box of tissues. “I take it you know why I called you?”

“I assume I’ve been sued?” I say.

Jonah nods, still watching me carefully. “For harassment and business interruption.” Jonah sits into his seat. “And one vase.”

I cringe. “How much?”

“A quarter of a million,” Jonah says softly. “And some stock shares of the company. And I don’t know if I can lower it by as much. You interrupted a very expensive meeting.”

I hang my head. “I screwed up pretty bad.”

Sighing, Jonah reaches out and takes my hand. “So what happened?”

I tell Jonah everything I can remember, a pile of tissues collecting in front of me on the desk as I speak. Jonah’s face is a mirror of Eli’s impassive expression until I finish talking. Then, Jonah’s eyes close, and he leans back with a sigh.

“I think between losing Chargene Jewelers and Buttercup dying, I just didn’t handle the breakup well,” I say.

Jonah lifts his head, his brow coming together. “Buttercup died? When?”

“Friday, after Eli dropped me off at home,” I say.

“Of course,” Jonah mutters. He shakes his head and puts a hand over mine. “I’m so sorry, Ruby.”

“And I just don’t feel good,” I say.

Jonah frowns. “Don’t feel good how?”

“I’ve got a headache, and I feel dizzy,” I say. “And now I’m super emotional.”

“Just today? Or has this been going on for a while?” Jonah asks.

I shrug, unsure of why Jonah is so curious about my health. “I don’t know, the headaches have been maybe two weeks or three?” I say. “A month at most. Dizziness is recent. I must not be taking enough vitamins or something. And I think the raging emotions are just from the stress.”

Jonah’s eyes fixate on my face. “Ruby,” he says, his tone more urgent, “maybe you should see a doctor.”

“Larisa said the same thing. Maybe I’ll make an appointment for next week,” I say. I check my little notecard to see if I could take more medicine. I had started to lose track, so Larisa had suggested marking down times.

“I wonder if you should do a walk-in clinic,” Jonah says.

I shake my head. “I’m fine. I probably just need to sleep, and to get through the stress.”

Jonah watches my face for a bit. “I’d really encourage you to see a doctor. I’ve never seen you like this. And you’ve been lacking energy for a while now, and you’d mentioned headaches for about a month.”

“I’m fine,” I say.

“On a work-related note, I recommend you have Larisa get you a list of everyone who was in that meeting,” Jonah says, “and write them an apology letter. No return address, and you might want to have someone read over the letters when you’re done before you send them out.”

I nod, cringing at the implication that I wasn’t in a position to do anything without supervision. “Okay.”

There’s a pause as Jonah helps me to my feet. “Also, you should take at least two weeks off. Just stay home and rest. You’ve been under a lot of stress, and now grief. And, please consider going to see a doctor? I’m really worried about you, Ruby.”

I sigh, fighting not to cry again. “I’m just a messed up piece of shit right now.”

Jonah gives me a sad smile while he wraps one arm around me, giving me a side hug. “Hang in there. It’ll be okay. You’ll get through this, and Ruby’s Jewelry will get through this. Just get some rest.”

“Okay. Thanks, Jonah,” I say. I don’t really believe him, but I know Jonah’s trying, and I give him a small smile as I leave.

***

I take Jonah’s suggestion and promptly inform my staff that I’ll be out of the office and not contactable for the next two weeks except through Larisa. I can’t believe I’m taking two weeks off of work. I haven’t taken even an entire week off for vacation or illness since I’d started the business. However, Larisa agrees with Jonah’s recommendation and reminds me that my business is no longer a baby. Ruby’s Jewelry will walk on her own, and even if there’s a rough patch, she’ll do fine.

I also take Jonah and Larisa’s suggestions and finally call my general practitioner’s office to schedule a doctor’s appointment. When the receptionist answers the phone, I forget why I called, and I listen wordlessly to the greeting from the girl on the other end of the phone as I search my brain.

A moment of silence hangs on the phone line as the greeting ends. “Hello?” the girl says.

My memory comes back to me. “Hi, yes, I need to make an appointment,” I say.

“I’ve got a slot next Monday at nine in the morning. How does that work?”

“That’s fine.”

“And what’s this appointment regarding?” the receptionist asks.

I debate a number of answers. “I have a headache, and I’ve just been…off. I feel off.”

“Is this the worst headache of your life?”

“No,” I say. “Just persistent. It might not even be related. I’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“Okay. Well, if the pain gets really bad, you should go to the ER,” the receptionist says, but she sounds less concerned and more on autopilot. “Can I have your name?”

“Ruby Jennings.”

There’s some tapping of a keyboard on the other side. “Alright, Ms. Jennings, I’ve got you in the system for Monday at nine in the morning,” the receptionist says.

“Thanks,” I say. I hang up and turn my attention to the notecards sprawled on the table to start writing out apology letters.

              Much to my frustration, I’m having difficulty writing. Even sipping on a hot green tea to try and relax, I can’t seem to get my words down right, either because they’re in the wrong order or because I spell them wrong, and a couple of times I just flat out write the same word multiple times. Even Eli’s letter I can’t get right, everything blurring while I stare at the page—although I blame that on the tears that keep starting up.

By the time I finish my turkey sandwich for lunch, there are crumpled pieces of paper all over the coffee table and the floor, as well as some tissues, and I’ve gone through almost an entire set of cards. As soon as Mrs. King, my maid and weekday dinner chef, is finished cleaning the kitchen, I ask her to write the letters for me.

              “Do you mind? I just can’t concentrate,” I say.

              “I don’t mind at all,” Mrs. King says.

Relieved, I dictate the letters to her. I’m glad for her help; Mrs. King makes a few suggestions, and when the letters are done, they’re better than what I had started with. I thought about making Eli’s more personal, but with Mrs. King helping me write them, I decide to let it be honest but leave out any mention of our close relationship. Mrs. King then addresses all of the letters for me and slips the small gold pins with a ruby in the middle into each envelope. I created the pins just for this apology.

              “Do you want me to mail these?” Mrs. King asks. “I assume tracked and insured?”

              “Not yet, but thank you, Mrs. King,” I say. “You can go home. I’ll just have leftovers from lunch for dinner.”

              Mrs. King’s warm brown eyes observe me for a long time. “Are you sure you’re okay, Miss Jennings? Anything else I can get for you?”

              “I’m fine, but thank you.”

              “Do you want me to call your mom for you?”

              I’ve been debating calling her for a while. I finally shake my head no; I’m afraid I’ll just turn into a blubbering mess as soon as I hear her voice, and I need to be able to finish what I started.

“I’ll give her a call later,” I say. “Thanks.”

              “Alright. Just let me know,” Mrs. King says. She tucks an afghan blanket around my shoulders before she stands, grabbing her long brown coat and purse that hang on the coat rack by the front door. “Please don’t hesitate to call me if you still feel sick later, if you need a ride anywhere, or just some company. Anything at all, just let me know.”

              “Okay. Thank you again, Mrs. King.”

              “You’re welcome, Miss Jennings. I hope you feel better soon, and I’m sorry about Buttercup.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Mrs. King gives me a small, sympathetic smile before leaving my penthouse.

              I stare over the letters lying on the coffee table. Despite Jonah’s advice, I want to hand-deliver the letters and pins. I feel terrible physically, but I also feel terrible for what I did, and I know it’s the right thing to do. A small part of me is hoping to see Eli one last time. Even if he keeps me shut out, I just want to see his face and apologize for saying things just to hurt him. I didn’t want to hurt him. I never did. I was just hurting too much, and too stressed, and too unwell feeling, and I’d taken it all out on him.

After I finish my green tea, I rise up and fix up my hair, pulling my loose strands of curls into a ponytail again. I slip on black slacks instead of my sweatpants and find a simple red sweater. Putting on my black jacket, I glance in the mirror and then decide against makeup. I just want to go, apologize, and leave. I won’t be out more than an hour I estimate. And that’s if they even let me into the building, let alone if I can meet with everyone.

              More than likely, they’ll have a security guard posted to keep me out of the place,
I think.

              I head out of my home and then remember I need my purse and the letters. I find an empty box and place all the letters into the box and depart, locking the door behind me. Instead of driving, however, I call a cab. I sip at a water bottle in my hands, my hands starting to shake when we arrive at Marnvell Jewelers. I didn’t think I was that worried, but maybe I was a lot more nervous than I realize.

              “You okay, ma’am?” the cab driver asks me when we’re stopped.

              “Yes, thanks.” I stuff money into his hand and then head out, walking slowly towards the corporate building.

As soon as I enter, Kim’s eyes narrow on me, and I give her a small smile, as I step up to the front desk. Kim’s manicured hands are resting lightly on her phone, as if she’s prepared to call the cops. After my last visit, I don’t blame her. I’m still surprised there isn’t a security guard waiting for me by her desk.

              “Can I help you, Miss Jennings?” Kim says, her tone sharp.

              “I brought these for Mr. Richardson and the folks that were in the meeting I interrupted,” I say. I gesture to the box of letters I have. “It doesn’t fix anything, I know, but I feel awful about my actions the other day.” I reach into the box and hand Kim a letter addressed to her. “This one is for you.”

              Kim eyes me doubtfully and opens the letter. Her eyes go wide, and I can tell that despite how hard she’s trying to stay mad at me, she likes the pin. She takes it out carefully and looks it over.

“Is this one of your pieces?” Kim asks after a long pause.

              I nod my head. “I designed this just for my apology.”

              “It’s very pretty.” Kim’s eyes flicker over my shoulder. “I can’t take this though,” she says stiffly.

              “You can give it away then,” I say gently. “It’s yours. I’m very sorry for being so rude to you. I don’t suppose there’s a way I can deliver these personally? Or is it better if I just leave the box with you?”

              “Miss Jennings?” a deep, all-too-familiar voice says behind me.

              My heart takes a leap in surprise, and I turn slowly. Eli is standing there, handsome as ever in another one of his pale gray suits. He’s one too many steps back from me, clearly keeping some distance, his broad shoulders up a little as if he’s tensing.

              “Hi Mr. Richardson,” I say. My voice almost comes out as a squeak. “I came to apologize, to you and the other staff members.”

              Eli’s eyes are hard on my face. Then, they drop to the box in my hands quizzically. I reach in and pull out the letter addressed to him and hold it out to him.

              “This doesn’t make what I did right,” I say. “But I’m really sorry.”