The Love Hater: Chapter 25

My ears are ringing from the breath-stealing orgasms as I wilt against the cool sheets.

Sullivan leans into my touch and I caress his hair. His eyes are closed, and I smile and admire how beautiful he is. All dark hair, and a strong jaw, like it was cut from glass. And those brilliant blue eyes that are like staring into the ocean under a midday sun.

He turns his face into my palm, kissing it with a deep sigh. But our moment is over before it has a chance to bloom. He opens his eyes, meeting mine for the briefest flash, and the pure relief on his face from moments ago is already replaced by terse lines between his pinched brows.

I wait for a kiss. A word. A rare smile from him.

Nothing.

“Daddy?” a small voice calls out.

Sullivan’s eyes pop wide. “Shit!” He pulls out of me and scrabbles off the bed at breakneck speed.

“Daddy’s coming, Sweetheart,” he calls, yanking his pants on.

His expression is one of pure panic as he races from the room.

A moment later, his soft, loving voice carries from the hallway. “Hey, what are you doing up? Let’s get you back to bed, okay?”

His voice moves further away, joined by a sweet, tired murmur from Molly.

I look around the room wondering what to do. I climb out of the bed and am gathering up my clothes when Sullivan walks back in.

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“She’s fine.” He scrubs a hand through his disheveled hair.

I hold my clothes in front of me, covering myself, even though he still hasn’t looked directly at me.

“I didn’t know what I should do⁠—”

“You should go.”

“Oh.”

His shoulders are stiff, his forearms rippling with corded muscles as he keeps his gaze fixed to the floor by my feet.

“Tate,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion.

My stomach rolls as the temperature in the room plummets, the atmosphere changing in an instant.

“You need to go.” He sucks in a breath. “And you need to forget about what just happened.”

“Are you serious?” I splutter.

I grip my clothes tighter against me and try to breathe. Try to process what he’s doing right now. I’m naked in his bedroom. My body is still warm from where he was inside it moments ago.

He glances to the side, toward his bedroom door, his face cast in shadows. But I see the rigid planes of his grimace. The tightening of his jaw.

“Molly will get confused if she wakes up again and you’re still here this late.”

He’s just concerned about Molly. Of course he is. It would be weird for her to see me in here like this.

“It’s okay. I understand. I’ll get dressed.”

I feel his eyes on me as I pull my panties and bra back on.

“I’m sorry. Tonight was… it was a mistake,” he tries to say it softly, but the edge is still there. Sharp jagged edges that slice into me like razor blades.

Regret.

“Wow…” I breathe. “It’s like that… I get it.”

“Tate.”

“It’s fine. I get it. This was a fuck. Nothing more. Shame you didn’t make that clearer before we did it.” I seethe.

I rush to pull my dress on and zip it up. My face burns with humiliation. If I’d known that’s what this was to him, I’d have never…

Tears threaten my eyes, and I blink as fast as I can praying I can hold them back long enough to get away from him.

“Don’t make this more awkward than it needs to be,” he warns.

“Awkward?” I scoff. “God, you’re so full of yourself.”

I push past him and tear out of the door.

He spins to stride after me.

“Watch the vase!” he snaps, panic mixing with something else in his tone as I enter the living area.

But he needn’t worry about his precious floors getting scratched by me stepping the broken shards into them. I’m not like him. I don’t damage things for the sake of it. For my own perverse pleasure.

I sidestep the mess and reach down, swiping up my purse and shoes from where I left them.

“Tate?”

I turn. He’s stopped at the end of the hallway on the other side of the living area, not even bothering to try and catch up to me.

I pull my shoes on. The two of us stare at each other across the room, broken white china strewn like shrapnel between our feet.

The aftermath of destruction.

Irreparable.

“What?” I snap.

I fight to keep my voice steady, so it doesn’t betray my emotions. Doesn’t show the way that humiliation and shame are coursing through me, telling me what an idiot I am.

I will not cry in front of him.

He stares at me like he wants to say something but won’t allow himself to.

Instead, his eyes glaze over with the cool professionalism I see him use all the time when he’s working. He stands there in just his suit pants with his broad chest, lightly touched by silky dark hair, on show. The chest that was heaving with exertion as he fucked me minutes ago. The chest that was grinding out husky praises and delivering groaned rasps of my name as he told me how good I felt, how much he desired me.

All lies to get what he wanted.

Warm wetness trickles down my inner thigh and I gulp down a sob.

He clears his throat.

“Cliff will take you home.”

“Monumental fucking prick!” Ashley hisses.

“Can we talk about something else please?”

I wipe the counter, preparing for the early morning rush. I arrived ten minutes ago. Ashley took one look at my face and asked me what was wrong, and it all came pouring out.

How Sullivan made me feel so sexy. How he hummed my song as he made me come, like he’d been listening… noticing.

How he spouted off lie after lie to make me believe he actually felt something, before callously throwing me out. I would never have done it if I’d known he just wanted a one-night stand.

I’m not stupid, I didn’t expect a proposal or anything. But I didn’t expect to be leaving before I could even use the bathroom to clean away the mess he’d left behind.

I swallow around the thick lump in my throat. No one’s ever come inside me before. And I gave that first to Sullivan Beaufort, like a pathetic idiot. All because I was caught up in the moment and he was looking at me like I was… like it meant something.

Everything felt so real.

I’m so stupid.

“He’s early today. Let’s pray it’s his conscience keeping him up all night. Bastard,” Ashley snarls as the familiar black town car pulls up outside.

My stomach’s in my feet as Cliff exits and holds the rear door open. Sullivan appears, all black suit, crisp white shirt, and dark hair shining in the morning light. He’s a devil in disguise. All those harsh edges clothed in the finest fabrics, looking like a wet dream. But I’ve seen beneath the flashy exterior now. And nothing about it is pretty.

Sullivan’s cool blue eyes pierce through the glass window and across the room like he’s only inches away. I stare back, unable to breathe as he locks eyes with me.

“If the jerk comes in here, he better be prepared,” Ashley says.

He strides toward the door like he’s on a mission, his eyes penetrating mine and rendering me unable to move. I suck in a deep breath, preparing to give him hell. Fighting the memory of those eyes holding mine as he towered over me and made me come harder than I ever have. Those same eyes that flared with molten desire as he came inside me, filling me so deeply that I still have part of him inside me now.

I hate him.

Stepping forward, I curl my hands into fists against the countertop. But Sullivan’s gaze breaks away and he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket and looks at the screen.

Then he pivots, storming toward next door without looking back.

“Oh no, he didn’t! He doesn’t get to ignore you.” Ashley tugs the cloth from my hand that I’ve got in a death grip. “Go tell that asshole you aren’t going to be treated like this.”

“I will,” I agree, my resolve strengthening.

I’ve thought about nothing else since Cliff took me home last night. I can’t work for Sullivan anymore. Not after what happened. And as angry as I am at him for how he’s made me feel, I’m angriest for Molly. For how he’s let his own selfish actions affect her. She’s the one who will suffer most in all of this. She isn’t going to understand why I suddenly stopped coming over.

The thought hurts me more than anything Sullivan can possibly do to me.

I rip my apron off and toss it on the counter.

“I won’t be long.”

“Give him hell, girl,” Ashley says.

I storm next door, painting a polite smile on my face as the security officer inside the store lets me inside with a smile. The staff recognize me now. Sullivan even gave me a staff ID, one with a better picture on it than Cara took.

Riding the staff elevator up to his level, I take slow, deep breaths to calm my racing heart. I need to say what I’ve come to, then I’m walking out of here with my head held high.

Cara’s handbag is on her empty desk as I stomp past. But there’s no sign of her or any other staff.

Sullivan’s office door is closed, and the blinds are shut. I don’t knock. The bastard’s lucky I don’t boot the door down as way of an entrance.

He’s sitting, leaning over his desk, one hand over his mouth, the other holding his cell phone to his ear. His eyes are red-rimmed and glassy.

I stall on the threshold as his throat contracts with a strained swallow and he ends his call without saying a word to the person on the other end.

“What’s wrong?” My voice comes out far too soft. Far too caring. But the ashen color of his face suggests whatever the call was, it was bad news.

“Nothing.” He blinks, his expression morphing back into his usual terse one with practiced ease.

I stare at him for a beat. He’s lying. I shouldn’t be surprised. It seems that’s all he does.

“You’re here to discuss last night, I presume?” he says smoothly, slipping into business mode like I’m nothing more than a client he needs to manage.

“I’m here to hand in my resignation.”

That gets his attention.

“No.”

So simple. So confident. Like he has control.

“Yes.”

“No,” he snarls.

“Yes!” I step inside his office. “Do you seriously expect me to work for you after you used me like that? You don’t respect me⁠—”

“I do.”

I snort. “You don’t. You don’t care about my feelings⁠—”

“I do.” His voice is so deep, so sure of himself.

So fucking arrogant.

“Stop talking!” I snap. “You’re a liar! You wouldn’t throw me out like trash if any of that were true. At least admit it. You’re nothing but a selfish jerk with charm. And I fell for it.”

He stares at me, his nostrils flaring as he flattens his hands on top of his desk like he’s fighting to remain calm. “I’m sorry, Tate.”

I walk over to his desk, wanting to make him see what a terrible bullshitter he is, show him I can see right through him.

It all happens so fast. I’m not paying attention, too intent on glaring at him. I slam my hands down on his desk and bring one straight down on top of a letter opener, catching it at an awkward angle.

“Shit!” I yelp as white-hot fire races up my arm.

My finger throbs, bright red blood dripping from it and dropping onto the desk.

“Jesus!” Sullivan barks.

He flies out of his chair. His eyes widen as more blood runs down my finger and onto my hand.

He jabs the desk phone. “Cara! Call an ambulance!” he barks before rounding the desk. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, Baby.”

With one giant sweep of his arm, he sends everything on his desk crashing to the floor, then lifts me up to sit on top of it.

“Tate,” he hisses, taking my hand between his and surveying the bleeding cut. “Fuck.”

He lifts my finger to his mouth and slides it past his lips, sucking it gently. His warm tongue swirls over it, cleaning off the blood, before holding it inside his mouth.

“What are you doing? It’s just a cut.”

He pulls my finger out, grunting something, before sliding it back in and against his tongue again. He yanks his tie free, then slides my finger out again so he can wrap the silver silk around it.

“What’s happened?” Cara appears in the open doorway, her eyes bouncing off the mess on the floor before locking onto us.

Sullivan doesn’t look her way. His attention is fixed on wrapping my finger with his tie.

“Miss Miller cut herself. She’s a hemophiliac. Where’s the damn ambulance?”

“I’ll go and call it.”

“You haven’t fucking called it?” Sullivan roars, snapping his face toward her.

She withers under his death glare. “I didn’t know. I came to see what was happ⁠—”

“You’re fired!” he snaps. “Get your stuff and get the hell out.”

“Sullivan,” I say.

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his jaw so tense that his teeth are probably being ground away to nothing.

“It’s okay,” I say, placing my uninjured hand to his cheek and turning his face to mine.

Wild, panicked blue eyes meet mine.

“I’m not a hemophiliac. And it’s just a cut. See?”

I unwrap the silver silk from my finger and show him my finger. It’s bloodied, but the flow is already easing, showing just a small cut on the tip.

He puffs out a ragged breath, studying my finger with a frown. His lower lip has a smudge of blood on it.

“I saw your medication when it fell out of your bag.”

“It was my father’s.”

Sullivan flicks his attention toward a sniveling Cara.

“You can go, Cara. We’ll discuss this later.”

She flees, and as awful as she’s been to me, I feel sorry for her. Being on the receiving end of Sullivan’s wrath is not a place I’d wish upon anyone.

“Your father?” he asks, holding his tie back against my finger to stem the remaining bleeding.

“Yes. It’s why he lost his job at the engineering firm. He got injured and almost died. They fired him saying he was unfit to perform his job. I hired him a lawyer. He’s fighting it.”

“You paid for a lawyer yourself?”

“Yes.”

He blows out a breath. “Jesus, Tate. You should have told me. I’d have helped you.”

“What?”

“I’d have helped you,” he repeats. “Got him the best lawyer. Torn his old company to shreds, if that’s what you wanted.”

I stare at him.

I came in here because of the way he treated me last night. That hasn’t suddenly been made all better because he got concerned over a cut and is talking like this.

“It’s not your problem.”

“It’s affecting you, so it is my problem,” he all but growls.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

He’s going to give me whiplash, acting like he did last night, then going wild with concern this morning, and saying things like this.

“Keep it there,” he instructs, ignoring me and placing my hand over his tie on my finger.

He walks over to a cabinet and opens a drawer, coming back with a first aid kit. He places it on the desk and opens it.

“Let me see,” he instructs softly.

I remove his tie and hold my finger up. His brow furrows and he curses quietly like the sight of the small cut upsets him as he inspects it.

“It won’t need stitches. It’s not that deep,” he says.

“I know.”

He arches a brow at me, his eyes meeting mine momentarily, before he gets an antiseptic wipe and takes his time cleaning the cut. Once he’s done he unwraps a band-aid and secures it on my skin.

“Teddy bears?”

His eyes flick to mine, the grim line of his mouth softening as he packs the kit away.

“They’re Molly’s. And they’re explorer bears.”

I scan his profile, before looking back at the band-aid. The tiny bears are wearing clothes and carrying compasses.

“Uh-huh,” I murmur.

Sullivan’s jaw clenches and he clears his throat. “I’m sorry about last night. I’ve never… no one’s ever been at the house with me like that since Molly came along.”

Something about his tone and difficulty in getting the words out makes me believe he’s being honest.

“And I’d have understood if that’s what you told me. But you didn’t. You threw me out afterward, saying it meant nothing.”

I turn away, pretending to look around his office, instead of at him. I came here to give him a piece of my mind. Yet here I am again, weakening the moment he’s nice to me. So desperate to cling onto something that isn’t there. To believe the glimpses of the man I thought he is, are real.

They aren’t.

I slide off his desk. Coming here was pointless. It’s time to walk out and not look back.

“I made a mistake. It meant everything,” he says to my back.

I freeze halfway across the room at his choked confession.

“Tate,” he urges. “Look at me.”

If I do as he asks, that could be it. I’ll be sucked into his gaze, never to return.

He exhales slowly when I don’t turn around.

“Molly’s mother is an addict who left her on my doorstep in a peaches delivery box. A fucking box, Tate.”

I move slowly, braving a glance at him over my shoulder first. He’s standing in front of his desk, the room around him chaos where he threw everything off his desk to help me.

His eyes have an emotional sheen to them I’ve never seen before.

“She was three months old. And it’s been just me and her ever since.”

“I thought Claudia⁠—”

“She’s not Molly’s mother. We were engaged. And that ended the night Molly came into my life.”

“She didn’t want to stick around?” I turn to face him, my heart clenching at the way his entire body seems to have lost its fight.

“She wasn’t sure.”

“But now she is? Is that why she came back?”

His face hardens. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t give second chances where my daughter is concerned.”

I stare at him, unsure where this sudden barrage of openness has come from.

“Molly isn’t baggage, Tate. I won’t have her being seen as a catch to being with me. She’s everything to me. She’s the reason I’m still here. After my brother, I⁠—”

“You wondered how you’d keep going,” I say.

He nods. “You understand.”

“After my mother died I knew my father needed someone to make sure he was careful. Make sure he took his medication. His need for me stopped my grief from taking everything from me.” I give Sullivan a weak smile.

He walks over to me slowly, like he’s concerned I might still run out.

“I should never have treated you like I did last night. I panicked when Molly woke up.”

I look into his open gaze. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”

His eyes pinch and he presses his lips together as his eyes roam over my face. “I’ve given you no reason to trust me. But I’m telling you the truth. I wanted last night to happen. I wanted you. And even though forgetting it would be easier; I know I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that. Not if it means you walking out of here and never coming back. There’s something between us. You can’t deny it. Not after how we were together last night. You can’t fake that kind of connection.”

He takes my hands, lifting them to his lips.

Warm breath skates over my fingertips as he gently kisses the teddy bear Band-Aid.

“I can’t let you walk out of here hating me.”

My throat’s too dry to speak easily, so it comes out as an uneven whisper.

“I don’t hate you.”

“Thank you⁠—”

“I did twenty minutes ago.”

Sullivan’s mouth softens. “I hated myself twenty minutes ago too.”

“And now?”

He brings my finger to his lips again.

“That depends on whether you’ll let me make it up to you.”

His eyes warm as he runs the tip of his nose down my fingers and presses a soft kiss into my palm.

“Keep talking.”