Love Rents A Room
Chapter 189: Need To Talk

Chapter 189: Need To Talk

Joanne let out a slow sigh as she watched him make himself comfortable. He had removed his coat and draped it neatly over the arm of the couch, then leaned back, spreading his arms lazily along the cushions like he belonged there.

And of course, he looked unfairly good doing it.

That off-white sweater hugged him just right, and the tailored pants did nothing to dim the quiet power in his posture. Regal. Effortlessly majestic. Noble in the way only the dangerously untouchable could be.

Butterflies stirred in her lower abdomen.

She tugged at the sash of her robe, knotting it tighter, and then took the armchair opposite him. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, but the soft robe parted at the center, exposing just enough thigh to be called accidental, yet intentional.

Judging by the way his gaze dropped, then swept slowly up the length of her legs, it was working.

Oh, this would be interesting.

"So," she said, coolly, "what is it you wanted to talk about?"

Jeffrey paused. He looked at her. Not just looked... really looked. His eyes lingered on the damp strands of her hair, trailed across her face, hovered at her lips a beat too long, then slid down her neck, over the soft dip of her exposed cleavage, and landed again on her thighs.

"You’ve lost weight," he said at last. His voice was low, nearly tender. "Are you not eating well?"

Joanne flinched. The carefully constructed mask of indifference cracked at the edges.

The question was too gentle. Too familiar. Too much like him.

She turned her face away, hiding the sudden sting in her eyes.

"You don’t have to care about that, Mr. Winchester," she said sharply. Her voice wavered despite the edge. How dare he pretend to care? After what he did, after all he didn’t do, was he really here acting like some long-lost friend?

Jeffrey exhaled a long breath. "Look at me."

She didn’t. She wouldn’t. He had no right to ask.

"You sent back the camera," he said next, his voice rough, almost breaking. "Did you forget what that camera meant to us?"

Her throat closed.

Still, she didn’t look at him. But even through the stillness of the room, she could smell him—feel him. His scent, familiar and infuriating, wrapped around her like a noose. She hated how much she missed it.

"Did you ever remember what that camera meant to us?" she asked quietly, bitterly.

He was the one who had pretended he didn’t know her. The one who hadn’t had the courage to tell her who he really was. And when his polished past came knocking—when Heather returned—he had told her to stay out.

And he did ride off into the sunset with Heather. Or maybe just into silence.

"I remember," he said, voice thick. "It was a promise. A promise that~"

"A promise you broke the moment you asked me to stay out!" Joanne snapped, her voice rising with the heat of months left unspoken. Her eyes blazed, nostrils flaring as she finally met his gaze.

Jeffrey’s voice was calm—calmer than he felt. He forced himself to stay composed, even as his fingers curled tightly around the corners of the armrest.

"You’re angry..." His voice trailed off, softer now, thick with the weight of her pain.

At me...

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. Her fury said everything.

Joanne leaned forward, her voice trembling but steady enough to wound. "You showed your back to me, Jeffrey! You stood between me and Heather, and you showed your back to me! Me! You told me to stay out. You told me to leave. So that’s what I’m doing."

She turned her face away. But the hurt in her eyes had already betrayed her. She didn’t want to cry. Not in front of him.

"Jo..." Jeffrey stood. "We need to talk."

"There’s nothing left to say," she snapped, rising to her feet. "You made it clear. Heather comes first. Five years ago, and now... She always comes first. She’s the mother of your child—fine. I’m not blaming you. I just want you to leave me alone."

She crossed the room, ignoring the way his presence still hummed like static in the air. At the table, she poured herself another glass of wine. Swirling it, she drained it in one long, bitter gulp.

Then, without warning, she felt warmth—him—at the curve of her neck.

"Go back to your girlfriend, Jeffrey," she said, eyes closed, voice cracking just slightly. "I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. Like a cat with nine lives. I always land on my feet... Poor Heather needs you. Go fuck her."

Jeffrey took a sharp breath and stepped back. The silence between them was thick and pulsing.

Then her phone lit up.

She glanced at it—anything to escape the heat in the room. It was a message from William Belford. Another video link. Probably another one of his ridiculous, adorable animal clips. She almost smiled. Maybe a dolphin. Maybe a panda doing something stupidly endearing.

"It’s William? You’re texting each other now?"

Jeffrey’s voice came from behind her. Too close.

Joanne scoffed and walked away, sipping her wine. Seriously? He had Heather and still had the gall to question who she texted?

She said nothing. She and William were just friends, and he was her client. That was their relationship. But she didn’t want to tell Jeffrey. She didn’t owe him an explanation.

Suddenly...

*Clink*

The wine glass slipped from her hand, shattered on the floor.

Jeffrey had grabbed her—not roughly, but with purpose. His hand took her phone, tossed it to the table. And then, before she could react, he swept her into his arms.

"Jeffrey... what the hell?" she gasped, stunned.

He didn’t answer. He carried her into the bedroom. The door shut. The lights went off.

"Jeffrey!" she shouted as he set her down on the bed—not violently, but firmly. She scrambled to sit up, but the plush bed bounced under her, making it hard to find her footing.

The robe had loosened from the sudden movement.

"What are you doing?!" she shouted, breathless with disbelief.

But Jeffrey said nothing. She heard a noise—his belt unbuckling.

What was he doing?

"Jeffrey..." she said, her voice trembling. "You’re scaring me..."