Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59360 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“No, you haven’t.” And that speaks volumes right there. “Brick, you just went to mating games in Sweden.”
“It was for show. There’s no one but you. You know that.”
“You said you would do whatever it takes to make me happy.”
“Yes, and I will.”
“I’m happy in Brooklyn.” The words must drop like a bomb because Brick flinches. “Your apartment was a prison to me. You literally locked me in there. That’s not something I’m going to forget with a little redecorating or whatever you’re suggesting.”
He holds my gaze with the intensity of a vow or swearing. “I’ll move to Brooklyn. I need you, Madi.”
I shake my head. “I need to be with my friends right now. People who aren’t ashamed of who I am. If being your mate means I’m not your equal, I want no part of it.”
He sucks in a breath.
“Brick, I need you to let me go.”
“Never,” he growls. The passion in his voice is a satisfying interrupt to his woodenness. He’s starting to lose control.
I put my hand on his chest to soothe his wolf. His chest is burning hot now. “I don’t mean forever. I mean right now.”
He catches my wrist and pulls my hand up to his face.
I curve my hand around his cheek, and my heart double-thumps at the tenderness of it. The Big Bad Boss letting me in. Showing me vulnerability. Accepting my caress. “I’m all in with you,” I whisper.
His chest quakes, like a dam of relief just broke.
“But not like this. You need to figure things out with your pack. If you can make it work with a human as a mate, I’m yours. If not…”
“I’ll work it out.” Brick’s voice is a rough croak.
I hold his gaze, showing my trust. Showing that I’m not angry. I’m just done. “Good. Let me know when you have.”
My phone, which is plugged into the charger near my feet, starts buzzing with an incoming call. Neither of us move.
Brick’s jaw works. His breath is rough. Finally, he says, “You should get that.”
“Yeah.” I reach for the phone and look at the screen. I don’t recognize the number.
But it’s time to start my new life–the old one has shattered.
I swipe to accept the call. “This is Madi.”
“Madison Evans?” An unfamiliar male voice asks.
I swear Brick’s chest grows bigger, like he’s prepared to defend me–through the invisible cellular waves–from any threat on the other side.
“Yes?”
“This is Edgar Lewis, personal counsel for Ms. Eleanor Harrington. I believe you two are acquainted?”
I glance at Brick, who can of course hear everything. “Yes.”
“Ms. Harrington suffered a stroke and is being cared for in a private wing of Mount Sinai Hospital. She would very much like to see you.”
Goosebumps run over my arms. “Oh.”
“May I send a car for you?”
Brick frowns.
“Right now?” I ask, then I’m annoyed with myself. Just because they’re rich and powerful doesn’t mean I can’t have boundaries. As I just practiced with Brick.
“Today, if possible. Ms. Harrington is quite anxious to have a conversation with you.”
“Deathbed confession,” Brick mutters, flicking a brow. “I’ll take you.”
I shake my head at him. To the attorney, I say, “I just landed from an overseas flight, but you can send a car to my residence in a couple of hours.”
“Thank you, Ms. Evans. I will have the driver call you when he arrives.” We end the call, and I stare at Brick. “You think she’s dying?”
“She thinks she’s dying.” After a pause, he says, “I’d like to go with you, Madi. You were emotional after you found out who she is to you.”
“No. Thank you, Brick, but I’m going to do this one on my own. You focus on your pack. Figure out whether I’m your official mate or not.”
“You are,” he swears.
“Make me believe it.” I scoot past him to get off the sleeping platform, and he allows me to go.
“I will Madi.” His voice is somber.
My heart is breaking.
This isn’t a break-up. This isn’t a break-up. I remind myself. This is a re-calibration. This is a chance to fix what doesn’t work.
But what if it can’t be fixed? A voice whispers in my ear, and I find my way out of the jet and into the cold, miserable New York day.
Brick
I keep myself stoic, safely depositing Madi in her apartment and ordering a security detail to guard her twenty-four/seven.
The moment I get back to my penthouse, I tear the place apart. I upend the teal corduroy sofa. Smash the glass of the framed Worhol hanging on my exposed brick wall. In the kitchen, I find crushing the metal-legged bar stools to be particularly satisfying.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My mate is in Brooklyn instead of with me. Why did I let her go?
This feels like my parents’ marriage all over again. I don’t want Madi to be my Saturday lover. Someone I steal frantic physical moments with just to keep my wolf from going mad.