Her heart stuttered under all that testosterone in the air, and then her lungs all but stopped working. Holy mother of God. The word “handsome” was far too tame for this man. In ten years, Cade West had become so much … more. More everything. More dark. More broad. More man.
He was all sex. So raw. Like a live wire. An exposed nerve.
And suddenly, with his dark black jacket and silver tie, behind that enormous desk, with the city as background behind him, he looked as intimidating as the grim reaper to her. Her pulse went crazy as she forced herself to stretch out a hand in greeting.
He hung up his cell phone, his stare strangely vacant when he looked directly at her from behind his desk. “My answer is no.”
“Excuse me?” His eyes—a very pale gray that made his pupils seem blacker than normal—struck her with piercing force. Surprised by the weakness in her knees, Ivy lowered her arm and slowly took a chair across from his desk, disappointed to discover he was still a dickhead. “But, sir, I haven’t yet told you what I’m here for.”
“My answer is no. There’s the door.”
Her startled gaze slid down the length of his long, blunt finger and to where it pointed, then she returned her attention to his impassive face, now bent to survey an open folder.
She dragged in a shaky breath and racked her brain for her usual opening. “Mr. West, I’m here on behalf of the Lincoln Heights Breast Cancer Foundation. We’re a fully volunteer, nonprofit organization aiming to facilitate early detection and prevention of breast cancer as well as prompt treatment to those with the diagnosis.”
His broad, jacket-clad shoulders had stiffened as soon as the word “cancer” had come out of her mouth, but his attention remained on his file.
“Mr. West, we could do so much with your donation. There are so many women fighting this disease—”
“It’s their fight. It’s no longer mine.”
Alarmed at the lack of emotion in his voice, Ivy fumbled to recapture her train of thought. “But, you see, your wife isn’t the only victim of this—”
His head shot up, and his voice dropped to an awfully threatening whisper. “Don’t you dare talk about her. Don’t you dare.”
Ivy’s heart stopped. Fear curled inside her stomach at his tone, the beginnings of life in his eyes. But what stirred to life wasn’t merry or even welcome. It was anger. A whole shitload of it.
She tried to keep her voice soft, but she was utterly confused when she felt the same urge she’d felt ten years ago when she’d seen him in the hospital. She wanted to … she didn’t even know, but she curled her fingers into her palms. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. West.”
“You have no idea what I lost.”
There was something both pained and sexual in the way he looked at her, the way he pinned her down on the spot with that colorless gray gaze, like a predator pinned its prey, or its mate, so he could fuck her. Her body responded to the unspoken need in his eyes, and she found that she could barely get any words past her dry throat. “People lose their loved ones every day to this disease. You could save lives with whatever you could give. Any donation is most welcome.”
The mask of impassiveness had completely fallen off his face, and the look he now gave her was utterly savage. Anger and pain twisted his expression until Ivy’s insides hurt just witnessing his torment. “It’s bullshit,” he said, his lips curling into a sneer. “Everything. It doesn’t work. Chemo, operations, radiation, prayers. When your number comes up you better just hold on tight and pray it takes you fast. Save yourself a lot of fucking misery. Now there’s the damned door—and I’d take it as a personal favor if you walked your ass right through it.”
Ivy stiffened in her seat.
If the man had just physically assaulted her, she wouldn’t have felt more personally affronted than she felt this very second by his callous words. She didn’t even know how to respond to him. Never in her life had she met someone so lacking in mercy before—especially when talking about cancer.
Ivy clenched her teeth and stared unseeingly down at her lap, unable to look at him. His words had ripped something open inside her and she was sure that any second now, her anger would turn into something far, far less manageable.
Her mother’s smiling face flickered before her. Her friends’ hopeful faces, and their shattered ones when they found out they had it. She thought of all the people she’d tried to help, and how she would never, ever, repeat this man’s words to any of them.
“Some of us are actually happy to be alive, Mr. West,” she said in outraged breathlessness, her chest rising and falling with every shallow, furious breath.
And when he remained glaring at her like he loathed her with his entire being, Ivy stood on stiff legs, spun around, and flipped him the finger as she walked away, not caring how much he was hurting anymore, how many millions and billions he had, not caring about anything except getting the hell out of there.
Away from his death wish—before it started sounding good to her, too.
* * *
Cade scowled after her, fuming so hard he almost felt steam coming out of his ears. He glared at the door with such violence he almost expected to burn two holes through the wood.
His fists trembling with the urge to hit something, he grabbed the receiver on his desk and punched in an extension, snapping threateningly to his assistant, “Bring back that woman you foolishly allowed in here—and be grateful you still have a job after today, Mrs. Shears!”
He hung up before she could even offer an explanation. The woman had been with him for too long and liked to think she knew better than him. Hadn’t he clearly stipulated to never, ever give an appointment to anyone from a money-sucking charity?
Pacing behind his desk, he glared out the window to the view of the Windy City, shaking inside.
He was a dog.
He was not only a dog, but he acted like a dog aching to be put to death: rabid all the time, verbally pissing on anything he felt like. He was especially pissy on every twelfth day of the month, because on that day, Laura had died of cancer. Now the cancer was in Cade’s soul.
He’d had millions at the time. And nothing could save her. Nothing.
He’d known she was sick when they married. They didn’t even consummate their vows. She’d been his childhood sweetheart, and when she got diagnosed he’d married her, even before he finished grad school. Their marriage hadn’t lasted two months.