Chapter 16
The clothes are Owen’s, and they are about four inches too long and hang off me like a child trying to wear adult clothes, but they smell like him.
I roll up the sweatpants and tighten the string around the waist, doing the same to the long sleeves of the crewneck shirt he gave me. It’s soft and hangs loosely. Next, I throw on the large sweatshirt, grateful he left it for me as I don’t have a bra anymore.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I notice I have a few scratches on my face but nothing serious. The wound on my arm appears much better, feeling more like a burn than a bullet wound now.
I take a deep breath and slowly make my way back to the living room.
Owen’s in the kitchen, cooking. It smells like bacon and eggs and spices and coffee.
My stomach rumbles of its own accord, and my mouth waters.
“Smells amazing,” I say, falling onto the couch and pulling my legs under me.
“It is,” he shoots back without facing me.
“Ever the egotist.”
“It’s not ego if it’s fact.” He twirls around, holding two plates. Steam rises from both of them.
He places the plate in my lap.
I smile. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” He plops down on a brown, matching leather chair across from me.
He’s silent while I eat, but I can’t seem to hold in my questions any longer.
“What the hell, Owen? Why do you have people trying to murder you?”
He wrinkles his nose and looks like this is the last thing he wants to answer, but he doesn’t deny me.
“The companies I recently acquired had some nefarious business dealings. When I bought the companies, I terminated those dealings, cutting off the financial ties. Some dangerous people got a little pissed.”
This confirms what I already suspected. “What good does it do them to have you dead, though?”
Owen shrugs. “Revenge?”
“So why don’t you have private security? Why haven’t you contacted the authorities? Seems like common sense to do those things.”
Owen sighs. “I had my suspicions about them wanting me dead, but that was truly the first attempt. You’re right.
I need to hire someone.” He pauses and looks away from me.
His following words are hushed. “I didn’t contact the authorities like I should have because even though I feel like I did the right thing by acquiring these companies and ending those business deals, they could arrest me for the past deeds of those companies, and I could lose everything. ”
“You really think they could convict you for someone else’s business deals just because you acquired the company?”
“It took a few months after the acquisitions to end the business ties with the underground crime syndicates. They could use that against me.”
I take a deep breath. This got way more complicated, and all I can think about is how unfair all of this is—how bad people can get away with doing bad things, but if you try to stop it you could be the one to go to jail instead.
What a fucking mess.
I don’t respond to Owen and realize I’m blankly staring at him.
“I understand if this isn’t what you signed up for. I understand if you want to leave,” he says.
It’s exactly what I signed up for, but I don’t know if I can do what I’m supposed to. Not anymore.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to leave.”
My response surprises even me. I do want to run, but I find I don’t want to abandon him.
“Really?” he asks, and I can’t help but hear the sliver of hope in his voice.
“But you’re going to listen to me and do exactly what I say.”
The fucker has the audacity to smirk.
“You’re going to hire a private security team and private investigators. You’re going to protect yourself at all costs, and you’re going to find out exactly who is trying to kill you. When you find out, we’re going to put them behind bars. Do you understand?”
I don’t think about how my knowledge and presence are suspicious, or maybe I don’t care anymore.
Owen looks at me with an expression I can’t seem to read. “Why do I get the impression you’ve done this before?”
Because I have, but I can’t let him know that. “Because after my dad died and I found out who was behind it all, I made sure they couldn’t get to me.” That part is true, but it was only with the CIA’s help that I was able to do it.
“You're kind of terrifying, you know that?” he asks with an undercurrent of amusement again.
“You don’t want to see the monster I will become if you don’t listen to me.”
He raises a brow.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Owen laughs, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll hire private security and investigators. Or rather, I’ll have my personal assistant do it.” He winks.
I roll my eyes, but I smile, too. “Fine. I’ll start tomorrow morning.”
“Until then, you’ll stay here,” he says, rising from the chair and walking over to me.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight until we have better security in place.”
I huff. “If I recall correctly, I’m the one who got you out of that mess and saved your ass. I can take care of myself.”
He sighs. “I know you can. We’ve been over this already. Humor me, Miss Riley. It will soothe my anxiety to know you’re safe.”
I search his eyes. The humor and amusement are gone. There’s only concern remaining, maybe even a little fear.
“Fine.” I concede.
He smiles, big enough that his dimple appears, and I have the stupid urge to keep it there.
“You have to tell Dec,” Ella pleads with me over the phone while I roam the desolate woods behind Owen’s cabin. I caved and called to tell her everything.
“I can’t, Ella. Not yet. I need more evidence than the whistleblower. If I don’t have more, then I risk pulling Regenerative Industries under and, with them, everything Owen’s worked so hard for.”
“This is a fucking mess, Nova.”
“I know. To be honest, I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what the right thing is to do. I’m supposed to put Owen behind bars, but I’m not so sure he’s the villain in all this.”
She sighs heavily. “Eagan has some info on the second victim. Rape cases. Ten of them. All settled behind the scenes.”
“Shit.”
There’s a long silence while I pace back and forth. My steps are silent beneath the soft bed of pine needles. The smell reminds me of Owen, and my stomach flips at the thought.
Get a grip.
“I’ll give you until the gala, and then I’m going to tell Dec if you haven’t,” Ella says finally.
She’s right. I should tell him. He can help. He’s not just my boss. He’s my friend. So why am I afraid to say anything to him?
“Fine,” I answer at last. “You’re right. I’ll gather what I have, and I’ll tell him.”
“I know you don’t want to know what I think, but I’m gonna tell you anyway. I think you're falling for this guy, and that makes your judgment a little cloudy. I don’t mean that as a criticism. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
I don’t mean to get defensive, but I’m so on edge that I snap. “So you think I should just get the evidence I came for and turn him in and leave the rest?”
Ella takes a deep breath. “No, Nova. I didn’t say that. I want you to be careful. This is too big for one person to handle. You’re attached to him, and I get it. I kind of am, too, knowing what I know now. But you can’t save everyone, and you can’t do it alone.”
“I don’t want to do it alone,” I whisper back.
“Tell Dec.”
I sigh. “I will.”
I find Owen in the kitchen again. He has his shirt off. Of course. Music blares from a speaker in the corner of the kitchen, and he hums along.
He doesn’t notice me right away, and I pull myself up onto the island counter and pluck a blueberry from the bowl and pop it in my mouth. The muscles in his back ripple as he stirs something and moves along with the music.
When he finally turns and notices me, he jumps and clutches his chest. “Fuck, Nora,” he says, breathless.
I can’t help the ruthless smile. “Didn’t want to disturb your hard work.”
He watches my mouth and drops his hand. His gaze narrows. “Or you wanted to enjoy the view for a little while longer.”
I roll my eyes. “Why would I have to sneak a peek when you willingly flaunt yourself every second of every day?” He gapes at me, and I laugh. “Two can play this game, Mr. Mills.”
He shakes his head, putting down the spoon that appears to be covered in tomato sauce. “Once again, you surprise me, Miss Riley.”
Shrugging, I pop another blueberry in my mouth. I go to jump off the counter, but he stops me.
“How’s the arm?” he asks, serious now.
“Fine.”
He walks to the island, picks up a small tin, and hands it to me. “My grandmother makes it. Helps with healing.”
Staring at the container, I twist the lid off. The smell hits me—honey and beeswax and flowers. It’s divine.
“Let me help you,” he says, reaching for my arm.
I must be in some sort of shock because I do without objection.
He pulls my arm out of my sleeve, careful not to expose my chest. Unwrapping the gauze bandage, he dips his long fingers in the balm.
The smell of it grows more intense, and I subconsciously inhale deeper. Owen pauses at the sound of my breath.
I halt breathing altogether.
He waits only a moment before carefully applying the balm. I’m surprised at the softness of it. It's soothing, and I almost groan in relief.
He carefully wraps my arm with a clean bandage and helps me pull my arm back through the oversized sleeve of his shirt.
When he’s done, he looks at me. I meet his gaze and suddenly realize how close he is. He’s pressed against the counter between my legs, and somehow, even sitting on the counter, I still find myself angling my head upward to meet his eyes.
He doesn’t move, and I don’t make him. I know he’d move away if I asked. I know I should tell him to move away, but I find my lips can’t form the words.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
I swallow. “For what?”
“For getting you into this mess. I never wanted to put anyone in danger, least of all you.”
“I’m not the one in danger, Mr. Mills. You are. I just happened to save your ass, and I’ll likely have to do it again. Over and over and over—”
He cuts me off by placing a finger on my lips, and I freeze. His finger feels rough against my skin, and it makes me shiver.
He doesn’t move his finger as he smirks. “I have no doubt, Miss Riley, but regardless, I am truly sorry and understand if you want to resign.”
He drops his hand, his face turning serious now.
I cock my head to the side and regard him. “And miss all the fun?”
A hint of a smile turns his lips up as he finally takes a step back. “You’ll be the death of me.”
He has no idea.
Jumping down from the counter, I grab the spoon next to the stove. I dip it into the tomato sauce and blow on it before popping it in my mouth.
Owen watches me with curiosity, raising a brow when I turn and face him.
“This is really good,” I mumble, taking another spoonful.
He smiles, the dimple returning. “Of course it is.”
Rolling my eyes, I make my way to the couch, letting him finish dinner.
I stare out the window, knowing I should call Declan. Knowing I need help. Knowing I’m stupidly falling for this guy. But somehow I can’t get myself to pick up the phone.