As I get out of the car, I pick up my phone to start a voice text to Jase—my need to tell him what I think of him real and raw—but when I look up, I freeze.

Someone’s inside.

Paul.

What the hell?

It only takes me a few seconds to spot his car parked on the opposite side of the street. And only a few seconds more for my fury to form rage, because there’s only one reason he might be here and that’s to wreak havoc and cause trouble.

My pulse kicks up, a slow, steady dread as I shove open the door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He smirks, leaning lazily against the counter like he owns the place. “Oopsie. I must have forgotten to turn in this one extra key I had back to you.”

“Convenient.” I set my phone down.

“Perhaps. Or maybe I just knew it might come in handy.” His voice lowers a notch. “I came to collect what’s owed to me.”

“Nothing is owed to you.”

“Yeah, right.” His gaze sharpens. “This whole fucking place is because of me. What I don’t get is what is he to you? This Jase prick? Your rebellion against me?”

My breath hitches. My body flushes hot, then cold. “No,” I whisper, my voice breaking under the weight of my own admission. “He’s my everything.”

Saying it out loud nearly destroys me. My heart hurts, eviscerated from watching Jase spiral and knowing there’s nothing I can do. Knowing that if he can’t let me even know about that part of his life without reacting like this, then there never will be anything more between us.

Paul watches me, something close to amusement in his expression. “What? Trouble in paradise?” He laughs. “Like I fucking care.”

“You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong here. You need to go. Now isn’t the time.”

“I seem to think that now is the perfect time,” he corrects, crossing his arms over his chest. “I want my payout.”

“Dream the fuck on.”

His smirk widens. “Remember when I had you sign that lease paperwork with me? That we wanted it to be in your name?”

A cold chill slides down my spine. “What did you do?”

“I own fifty percent of this company.” His grin is menacing. “You agreed to it. I have your signature.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Paul lifts a brow. “Think what you will. You were the one who didn’t read the paperwork. You signed it. That’s on you.”

I struggle to think rationally while scolding myself for trusting blindly. Funny how life repeats itself. Flustered and overwhelmed, it’s like I finally hear what Paul is saying. “Wait. Legal paperwork, signed without a witness? You can’t prove it was me. There wasn’t a notary here. For all I know, you signed it for me.”