CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
RAY
I watch Wynter from the comfort of my office.
The CCTV feed flickers slightly as I zoom in, adjusting the angle until she fills the screen. She’s leaning over the bar, her hair falling forward as she shows Joel something on her phone. He laughs, leaning in closer, and something tight and ugly twists in my chest.
I don’t sleep much anymore. Not since Anika left this world. A couple hours here and there, if I’m lucky. The rest of the time I spend here, working, watching, keeping everything moving. It’s easier at night. Quieter. There’s time to think, without all the other interruptions that daytime brings.
At least, that’s the idea.
But right now, I’m not working.
I’m watching her.
And despite everything I told myself—despite convincing myself I could bring Wynter back here and keep things simple—something dark and possessive coils in my gut at the sight of her with him.
I remember overhearing Joel once, telling Holly how much he liked Wynter. And I remember exactly what I did after.
I went straight upstairs and slept with her.
It was petty and stupid. A moment of jealousy when all I could think about was keeping her to myself. I couldn’t stand the thought of him having her.
And clearly, not much has changed.
Wynter’s hand drifts absently over the curve of her stomach and I zoom in again without thinking. The image sharpens.
She’s glowing. Even now, when she’s tired and pale, there’s something about her that pulls me in. The sight of my child growing inside her does something to me I can’t quite explain.
Something dangerous. Possessive.
Mine.
The thought lands hard.
I shove my chair back abruptly, breaking away from the screen. I drag a hand over my face, take a steadying breath, then head down to the casino.
“No one likes thrill sports for a first date,” Wynter is saying as I approach. “Honestly, Joel, you need to stop picking women who look like they might jump out of a plane for fun.” She laughs softly.
Joel grins, leaning casually against the bar. “I’m just trying to keep things interesting.”
“Try normal,” she shoots back. “Dinner. Drinks. Maybe a walk. You don’t need a near-death experience to impress someone.”
Her laugh lingers in the air. It shouldn’t get to me, but it does. I curl my fingers into my palms closing the distance between us. Joel immediately spots me and his posture straightens. He takes a subtle step back which makes Wynter glance back over her shoulder.
Her expression changes when she sees me, like she’s bracing herself for whatever I’m about to say. And of course, I oblige by being a dick.
“Maybe we should go over the dress code for this place,” I say dryly.
Her hand instinctively pulls her dressing gown tighter around her.
Shit, why can’t I just be nice?
“Early morning visits in your nightwear for free hot chocolate isn’t exactly appropriate.”
Joel jumps in quickly. “It’s fine. Next time, just call down and I’ll bring it up to the apartment.”
I arch a brow at him. “Or,” I say, my tone clipped, “I’ll buy a tub and keep it upstairs.”
Joel nods once, reading the room, then moves away, giving us space.
Wynter watches him go before turning back to me. “You’re still wearing the same clothes,” she says, studying me. “That means you either slept in them or you didn’t sleep at all.”
I drop onto the stool beside her. “I don’t need much sleep.”
She huffs out a quiet breath. “I used to think that too. A few hours here and there.” She shrugs lightly. “Then I had a breakdown, so apparently that’s not the healthiest approach.”
I glance at her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You should,” she mutters. There’s a small pause before she lifts her mug slightly. “I like Joel’s hot chocolate,” she adds. “That’s why I came down.”
I study her for a second. “Is that all you like?” I ask, my tone quieter. There’s more behind the question than I intended, it’s obvious and I immediately regret it.
A small smile curves her lips. “Ray,” she says lightly, “I’m nearly six months pregnant with your baby. Who exactly is looking at me right now and thinking relationship material?”
I shrug, keeping my expression neutral. “Some men like that.”
She raises a brow. “Well, feel free to point them out.”
I don’t smile, because I don’t like the idea of anyone else even looking in her direction.
“What about you?” she asks suddenly, her cheeks colouring slightly. “Are you seeing anyone?” I shake my head. “Were you?” she presses, then winces slightly. “Sorry. None of my business.”
I glance across the bar, catching Joel’s eye for a split second. He told her.
Of course, he did.
“It didn’t last,” I say flatly. “Barely anything worth mentioning.”
Her gaze lingers on me for a moment, as if she’s deciding whether to believe that.
Neither of us speaks.
But the tension sits there . . .
Thick.
Unresolved.
WYNTER
We’re halfway through breakfast when Ray slides the black card across the table towards me. The gold lettering catches the light. I don’t even touch it.
“I don’t work for you,” I say flatly.
“Nope.”
I glance up at him. “So, why do I need that?”
Instead of answering, he pulls out a second card and slides it over. This one is a credit card. “Because I want you to have them.”
I lean back slightly, folding my arms. “No, thank you.”
His jaw tightens, just a fraction. “You’ll need things for the baby,” he says.
“And I’ll buy them,” I reply. “I saved while I worked for you. I’m not completely broke, and I’ll get a job.”
“You’re not well enough for a job, Wynter,” he says, his tone shifting, firmer now. “And you’re pregnant.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” I mutter. “I would’ve completely forgotten otherwise.”
He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “God, I missed your sarcasm.”
“Funny,” I say, taking a sip of my tea.
“I’m serious,” he presses. “You’re not working right now.”
“I’ll go back to the chip shop,” I shrug. “They’ll take me on again.”
“Absolutely not,” he snaps, sharper than before. “Your boss was a sleaze.”
I raise a brow. “And?”
“And I’m not having you around someone like that.”
I let out a short laugh. “You realise you’re not my boss anymore, right? You don’t get to decide what I do.”
He drags a hand over his face, clearly trying to rein himself in. “I don’t want an argument,” he mutters, “I just want to take care of you and the baby.”
There it is again. Control dressed up as concern. “And I appreciate that,” I say, softening slightly. “I do. But I don’t need it.” His gaze flicks up to mine. “I just need a bit of time,” I continue. “To get back on my feet. And then I’ll be out of your hair.”
Something unreadable flashes across his face. “We can do this properly,” I add. “Like normal people. You’ll have contact.”
He lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “Let’s talk about that another time,” he cuts in. “Before we say something we can’t take back.”
I watch him for a moment. He’s shutting it down and any hope of us having an adult conversation about contact, leaves me. There’s no way he’s ever going to be reasonable about this.
“I don’t want us fighting,” he adds, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Although, I have to admit, I kind of like this version of you. You’ve found that bite again.”
“Well,” I shrug, “you can’t fire me anymore, so I don’t have to pretend to like you.”
His smirk deepens slightly. “I thought we could go out today,” he says, shifting gears. “I’m planning on redecorating this place. Thought I’d get a woman’s opinion for once.”
I narrow my eyes slightly. “Dangerous move.”
“I’ve already got a designer,” he continues. “We’re meeting her at ten. And Vinn and Sofia are joining us for lunch.”
“I was planning a day on the couch,” I say, picking up my toast. “Doing absolutely nothing.” He smiles, but it’s tight, he’s not going to let me wallow for a second longer.
I sigh. “But since you clearly need my opinion,” I add, gesturing around us, “I’ll start now by saying, get a new designer.
” His brow lifts. “This place is like living inside a showroom,” I continue.
“All beige and glass and no soul. It needs colour. Life. Something that doesn’t feel like you’re afraid to touch it. ”
He studies me, then pushes to his feet. “Tell her that yourself, at ten,” he says, shrugging.
It’s been a while since I’ve been in any kind of social situation, and standing beside Ray now, I’m painfully aware of it.
My fingers knot together in front of me as we wait for his designer to arrive. I try to relax, to look like I belong here, but the moment she walks in, that illusion shatters.
She’s flawless.
Designer from head to toe, not a hair out of place. Even the tiny diamond studs in her ears catch the light just right.
Tiffany’s.
I know because I’ve stood outside their shop on Bond Street more times than I care to admit, staring at those exact earrings like they were something magical.
“Alison,” Ray greets, standing smoothly.
He leans in, kissing each of her cheeks, and she lights up like he’s just done her a personal favour.
“Ray,” she gushes, her voice all sugar and polish. “I was so pleased when you called.”
I immediately feel like a third wheel. She doesn’t even glance at me before sliding into the seat opposite him, her entire focus fixed on Ray.
“I’d just finished approving the most gorgeous wallpaper design,” she continues. “Deep tones, very moody. It would look incredible in your bedroom. It’s very sophisticated, sexy.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Ray, however, doesn’t react the way she expects. “Actually,” he says, leaning back slightly, “Wynter will be approving the décor this time.”
Her gaze finally flicks to me. Yeah, bitch, I’m right here. She gives me a quick, dismissive, once-over. Then she turns back to him, her smile snapping back into place. “Of course,” she says brightly. “How exciting.”
Her tone says the opposite.
“So,” she continues, turning back to me now, her head tilting slightly, “what do you have in mind?”