"Excuse me?"
"You do want this. And you want him, too. And you're not playing smart about either one of them."
"I--what?"
"Take what you want, Hannah. You want to be part of this firm, then do it."
"How?"
"I've already told you. Money's on the table. Use it. Pay me back a grand a month. Bring in a killer client and take it out of your share. Get your ass up to Dallas and tell your mother flat out how you feel. Threaten a lawsuit. All viable options. You say you want it, but you're not doing it. And you're making excuses for why not."
"Because--"
"Not because you feel bad about borrowing my money. You and I both know I can afford it. It's because of what you just said--you don't want to do it without him. I don't blame you. I don't want to do it without Selma."
"So--"
But once again, he wouldn't let her get a word in. "Fortunately, you're brilliant at arguing. It's why I want you as a partner."
"I am good," she said. "But that's the problem. Matthew doesn't think he's good enough for me. He thinks I'm some intellectual icon and he's a gutter rat. It's ridiculous, but it's in his head."
"So you convince him."
"What if I can't?"
"Then I guess you're out of options. So I suggest you try really hard."
Chapter Fifteen
It was one in the morning by the time Hannah got her courage up, but she didn't care. She stood on his front porch and pounded on the front door, alternating her violent knocks with equally harsh stabs at his doorbell.
Finally, a light flipped on inside, and she took one step back, waiting for the door to open. As soon as it did, she rushed inside, the finger that was on the doorbell now punching like a drill press against his chest.
"Was it all just a game to you? The time we spent together? Everything we said? Everything we did?"
"Hi, Hannah," he said sleepily. "What the hell?"
"You heard me." She shoved him with her palms. "Wake up and tell me. Were we just some game you played?"
He scrubbed his hands over his face, then looked at her with such conviction it made her take a step back. "No. Never a game."
"Then what?"
"A fantasy," he said. "For both of us."
He sighed, then dragged his hands through his hair before flopping down onto the couch and nodding for her to do the same. She stayed standing.
"You're still living in that fantasy land if you think we can work," he said. "Your stepfather had it right. You're champagne and caviar, and I'm beer and barbecue."
"I like beer and barbecue," she said, wishing she could get inside his head and make him understand.
"Who doesn't? But only for a while. Not forever. You have a good life. You're going to do good things. Important things."
"Dammit, Matthew, you have the thickest head. Don't you see? I will do those things. But it won't be right unless you're there to hold my hand. You're the person who makes me whole. The person who helps me to see--and to be--who I really am. I wasn't looking for you, but I found you. And now I need you."
"You don't," he said, then he stood and pulled her close, kissing her with such fierce passion that she was certain that when they broke apart he would tell her it was all a joke, and of course he was staying with her.
But when he stepped back, all he did was nod toward the door and say, "I think it's time for you to go."