Chase Me If You Can(89)
I shake my head and scowl when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Hair styled, makeup perfect, a dress that shows off my curves and the nip of my waist. I wasted my entire morning trying to look extra nice for a man who couldn’t even read a goddamn email.
I haven’t spoken to my mother since the day I lost my temper on her, but somehow, it’s still her snide voice in my head screaming I told you this would happen.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to come to Houston right now.”
“Sloane, please.” Wes’s voice cracks, raw emotion pouring over the line. “The last thing I was trying to do was screw things up for you. I can fix this.”
“It’s not just the rules.” I shake my head, wiping tears away with sharp, jerky motions. “I told you this wasn’t your decision. I told you why I didn’t want to submit the photo. I trusted you.”
“I know. It’s just…” He takes a long breath. “Not reading the rules is my bad, and I’m going to call them and explain that. But that photo is stunning. The concept, the composition, the technical pieces. It belongs on that cover. You belong on that cover. I get why you’re pissed at me, and I deserve that, but I was trying to help,” he insists, something desperate creeping into his voice. “Please, Sloane.”
Unbelievable. Even now, when I’ve been disqualified because of him, Wes is still trying to tell me he knows best. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I’m the idiot who started sleeping with him and let lust alter my perception. Underneath it all, he’s the same guy he’s always been.
“Yeah, well.” I let out a harsh, bitter laugh, the soundtrack of a dream crumbling. “That’s not happening now, is it? One photo per photographer. They were very clear.” I pause and then, through clenched teeth, ask the question I already know the answer to. “How many photos did you submit for yourself, Wes? More than one?”
“I haven’t sent mine in yet. I have a few narrowed down and was going to ask you to help me decide tonight when you got in.” He hesitates, and then in a whisper-soft voice pleads, “Please get on the plane. We can talk about this when you get here.”
I don’t care that he’s practically begging, desperation tightening his words. It’s too little, and it’s way too late. “You’re out of your mind if you think that’s happening after what you just cost me.”
“I can fix it,” Wes repeats. “I’ll call Carter Walsh right now and tell him it’s entirely my fault. Just…please don’t shut me out.”
I almost cave, the way his voice cracks a battering ram against my freshly re-guarded heart. Then I think about the parade of men and endless tears pouring down my mom’s face every time one of them left for good. It was never the first time they made her cry.
This is the first time I’ve cried over Wes, and I’ll be damned if it’s not the last.
“That’s just it.” I strip all the emotion out of my voice. Tears might still be pouring down my cheeks, but I learned a long time ago how to fall apart behind closed doors only after doing what needs to be done. “There’s nothing else to say. You think you’re above the rules. You’ve always thought you were above them. Wild Wes strikes again. I refuse to get caught in the crossfire of your shitty choices.”
“If you’re not getting on that plane, I’ll come to you.” Keys jingle softly in the background, a sound far too merry for the way each word scrapes out of him like broken glass. “Whatever it takes to make this right, I’ll do it. You’re too important to me. Making this right is too important to me.”
“You knew how much this contest meant to me. You knew how badly I wanted to win entirely on my own merit. I didn’t want your help. I didn’t need your help.” I let out a shuddering breath and add, “I don’t need you.”
Wes’s breath catches like I’ve hit him. “I’m not saying I didn’t fuck up. I did. But we can work through this. What we have, it’s worth fighting for.”
It’s the right thing to say, but really, they’re just words. Through the haze of tears, I stare down at the dress I was so excited for him to see me in. Now it’s just a reminder that this whole thing started because Wes was somewhere he shouldn’t have been, doing things he shouldn’t have done.
He’s always been Wild Wes. I’m the fool for believing he could be anything else.
“This is never going to work. You clearly don’t respect me—”
“That’s not true,” he cuts in, sharp with frustration. “I respect the hell out of you.”
I shake my head, exhaustion starting to override the hard edge of anger. I’ve always known it would come to this. “Then why did you go behind my back?”
The line is silent for so long that I don’t think Wes is going to answer before he finally says in a tight, carefully controlled voice, “I’d really like to have this conversation face-to-face. If you don’t want to come to Houston, say the word, and I’m on the next flight to Colorado.”
“I can’t do this,” I whisper, which isn’t an answer, but it might as well be. “I have too much going on with my family and my business to be with someone I can’t trust.”
“I see.” The flat words dig the knife in deeper. I’ve never heard Wes so devoid of emotion before. “You might not trust me, but I’m a man of my word. I’ll call Carter. I will fix this.”