Chapter 3
brEAKING: LOCAL WOMAN DISCOVERS HER NEMESIS ENJOYS MAKING HER BLOOD BOIL, AND SHE’S … KIND OF INTO IT? #PLOTTWISTALERT
DAKOTA
Moving day.
No two words had ever sounded more ominous.
I could practically see Axel Pierce twirling an invisible mustache, savoring my impending misery like a fine wine.
Living with him? I’d rather sleep on a bed of nails.
No. Scratch that. I’d rather sleep on a bed of nails in a room full of screaming toddlers while someone played bagpipes directly into my ear.
Last night, I’d hunched over my laptop until three in the morning, the blue light burning my retinas as I desperately searched for a way out of this PR nightmare.
My fingers had flown across the keyboard like they were trying to escape my hands as I researched every scandal from the past decade, hunting for an alternative solution.
I’d even started drafting a public apology before remembering Rebecca’s warning she’d given us before she left: “Many times, an apology becomes a bigger scandal than the original event.”
The irony wasn’t lost on me. One accidental post, a single vindictive moment of weakness, and now I was being sentenced to live with the very man I’d been avoiding for years.
The universe was definitely lounging on a cosmic couch right now, watching me flounder with a giant bowl of buttered popcorn and a smirk.
After my night of research yielded nothing but bloodshot eyes, I’d moved to the next phase of what had to be grief: acceptance. I could do this. I had to. Besides, how bad could living with Axel Pierce actually be?
Don’t answer that, brain.
If Axel and I could form a truce, things might go smoother. Yesterday, he’d rejected my apology with the emotional warmth of an iceberg, but I couldn’t blame him.
Could I? Could I?????
No. I was the one that got us into this mess. The least I could do was be nice to him, so the next time I saw him, I was going to approach him with another heartfelt apology, this one sincere and not rushed. I’d promise to do whatever it took to make this right. Surely, he’d accept that.
We’d both had a night to digest this impossible situation, so today, calmer heads would prevail and all that. Maybe he’d accept a temporary ceasefire, at least until we got ourselves out of this mess.
The alternative—continuing our yearslong tradition of verbal throat-slashing—would make the next … however long even more unbearable.
My doorbell rang, the cheerful ding-dong sounding more like a funeral dirge: dun, dun, dun!!!!
I took a deep breath, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my oversized sweater. You’ve got this, Dakota.
And it would help, having Scarlett here with me today. She and I’d become best work friends at my old marketing job and stayed close friends since. I’d called and asked her to help with some boxes, and she’d graciously agreed. Maybe she’d have insights about Axel.
While I hadn’t spent much time with him in years, Scarlett had started dating Jace, Knox and Axel’s friend, so perhaps she’d spent more time with him. Perhaps she might have picked up something useful. Some magical idea that would get Axel Pierce to stop being so pissed at me.
I swung open the door and physically recoiled.
“Thought you could use the hands,” Scarlett explained, gesturing toward the unexpected crowd behind her.
A lot of people stood in the hallway outside my apartment.
My brother’s four friends, the ones who’d been there the night of his arrest: Blake, with his arm wrapped possessively around his fiancée, Tessa; Jace, his hand placed at the small of Scarlett’s back; Ryker, my brother’s criminal attorney, working on his parole hearings; a woman I’d never seen before; and, because the universe clearly wasn’t done tormenting me, Axel Pierce.
His blue gaze hit me like a slap, sending heat racing through my body. Not just heat, but electricity. The kind that made every nerve ending stand at attention. God, why did he have to look at me like that? Like he was cataloging every detail, filing it away for later examination.
Damn him for being so criminally gorgeous.
Those ridiculous muscles pushed against his Henley like they had somewhere important to be, decorated with tattoos that I absolutely had not spent way too much time fantasizing about years ago.
Dark hair, smoldering eyes that should come with a warning label, and stubble that probably violated several public decency laws.
When he walked into a room, every woman’s brain short-circuited. Including mine, unfortunately.
“This is Faith,” Scarlett said, motioning toward the unfamiliar woman, “Blake’s sister. Faith, this is Dakota.”
The woman offered a forced smile. Something about her screamed wounded bird, though whether from shyness or deeper pain, I couldn’t tell. But I recognized that look. The careful wariness of someone who’d been hurt before and wasn’t eager for a repeat performance.
“Come in,” I said, stepping back and opening the door wider. The group flowed into my small home like water breaching a dam while the heat of Axel glided over my skin as he passed. “I appreciate you all helping, but truly, I don’t have enough to warrant this many people.”
“It’ll go faster this way,” Axel said curtly. But there was something in his tone, a roughness that suggested he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.
His gaze swept around my living room, taking in the peeling paint, the water stains on the ceiling, the ancient carpet worn thin in high-traffic areas. He let out a low whistle. “Wow. Your place is—”
“Cosmetically challenged but affordable,” I finished, narrowing my eyes to slits.
“That’s one way to put it.” His mouth quirked.
My spine straightened. Sure, the walls had seen better days, the countertops were stained, the cabinets were dinged and dented, and the linoleum floor was curling up at the edges like it was trying to escape, but pointing it out was just plain rude.
“It’s functional.” I lifted my chin. “Not all of us can live in penthouses with marble countertops and toilets that probably play Mozart when you sit on them.”
“Handel actually,” he deadpanned, and for a second—just a second—I saw a flash of the old Axel.
The one who used to make me laugh. But then the humor vanished, replaced by something darker.
“Thought you had a social media empire.” His eyes locked with mine.
“At least that’s what you show online. Successful businesswoman and all that. ”
Okay … apparently, his animosity had only intensified overnight. And now we had several people watching our exchange like it was center court at Wimbledon. If he thought that would make me back down, he had another thing coming.
“First of all,” I said, keeping my voice deliberately calm, even as my toes curled in frustration, “success is relative. Second, it’s my job to exude professionalism online. Image is everything and all that. And third—”
“Three bullet points? Should I get a pen and paper?” Axel interrupted.
Do not smack Axel Pierce. Do not smack Axel Pierce. Do not think about what that mouth could do. Focus, Dakota.
“I poured all my earnings into my parents’ business to save it.” My voice was miraculously steady despite the volcano of emotions threatening to erupt.
Something flickered across his face. A shadow of surprise, perhaps even something like respect, but it vanished so quickly, I might have imagined it.
“Where do you want us to start?” Scarlett asked, her hand on my arm, pulling me from my Axel-induced haze.
Because that’s what this man did to me. He trapped me in a fog of unwanted feelings, all swirling together like a lethal cocktail.
The Long Island iced tea of emotions: potent, confusing, and guaranteed to leave you with a hangover.
“Um.” I blinked, forcing myself to focus on anything but how Axel’s jeans hung perfectly on his hips. “Those boxes, those boxes, and those boxes are marked for my bedroom.”
“We don’t have room for all of those.” Axel’s tone was flat.
“I need my clothes.”
“Pack less. I’m sure you’ll survive. Pick the three boxes that are most important to you.”
“Three?” My voice rose despite my best efforts. “That’s basically living out of a suitcase.”
“Exactly.” Something rolled across his features. “We’re going to sell this godforsaken story to the public as quickly as possible so we can both move on with our lives.”
Heat crept up my spine. “In the meantime, I need clothes to wear. Toiletries. I need my equipment for my social media business.”
“If you won’t pick three, I will.”
He stepped toward my stack of boxes with purpose, but I stepped in front of him, blocking his path, my palm landing on his chest before I thought better of it. Just to stop him, nothing more, but the solid heat of him made me freeze for half a second too long.
His attention dropped to my hand, then snapped back to my face. “Careful, Sunshine.”
“Dude,” Blake said, breaking whatever spell had fallen over us, “why did you call us all over here to help her move if she’s only bringing three boxes?”
“I didn’t call you guys.” Axel’s jaw clenched as he stepped back from me like I’d burned him. “Scarlett did.”
“Right,” Scarlett shot back, “because we’re moving her into your house. Moving implies lots of boxes, lots of things.”
“Axel,” I cut in, my words a question but my tone razor-sharp, “can I talk to you?”
Of course he wanted to say no. I could see it in his stubbornness and those cobalt specks of anger swirling through his irises. Maybe he even wanted to tell me to go to hell, but his buddies were practically boring holes into his skull with glowers, and we both knew he was trapped.
Did I wait for his official answer? Nope.
I turned on my heel and stalked toward my bedroom, my heart doing some ridiculous victory dance when I heard his heavy footsteps following behind me.
Make no mistake. The sound was reluctant.
Angry. Which both thrilled me that I won, yet also made nerves take flight at the prospect of being alone with him.
Once inside my bedroom, I shut the door firmly and turned to face him, crossing my arms over my chest. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick, with him standing there, taking up all the oxygen.
His gaze swept over my room, taking in the rumpled bed, the fairy lights strung across the headboard, the stack of romance novels on my nightstand.
Then his eyes landed on something that made my face burst into flames: the bright purple vibrator I’d forgotten to put away, sitting boldly on my bedside table like a neon sign screaming, DAKOTA HAS NEEDS.
His eyebrows shot up, and when his gaze found mine again, it was molten. “Interesting decor choice.”
“Don’t start,” I hissed, snatching a paperback from the pile and dropping it over the offending object like that could erase it from existence. I thought only one woman was coming today, and it was to grab the boxes out front. Not in here.
“Start what?” Axel challenged. “Talking? Or Picturing?” The way he said it, the way his eyes traveled over me like he was imagining exactly what that picture entailed, made my whole body flush hot.
“Look.” I softened my voice. “I know I apologized yesterday, but after we’ve both had a night to think about this, I want to do it again.”
Axel crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring my stance. I tried—and failed spectacularly—not to notice how his forearms flexed with the movement, tattoos shifting like living art, designed specifically to drive women insane.
Shame his entire vibe had gone subzero. He’d transformed into a literal iceberg. And not the sexy, mysterious kind. More like the kind that would’ve looked at the Titanic and thought, Great. Now I have to deal with THIS disaster.
“You done?” Two words. Curt and clipped.
I curled my fingers into my palms. “I’ve apologized. Twice now.”
“Slow clap.” His sarcasm might have been cute, if I didn’t picture my fist colliding with his teeth over it.
I closed the distance between us in three furious strides, my finger jabbing toward his chest. “Let the record show that you’re the one being unreasonable here.
I can’t physically go back into a time machine and undo that post. I know you’re angry about that, but this?
” I motioned between us. “This is extra, even for you, and if you think I’ll tolerate it because I made one mistake, you have another thing coming, Axel Pierce. ”
He had the audacity to cock his head, and his eyes dropped to where my finger pressed against his chest. “You’re touching me, Sunshine. Again.”
But I didn’t move my hand. Couldn’t.
He caught my wrist, his thumb pressing against my racing pulse. “You should know better than to play with fire.”
His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, his eyes going dark. Then he released me like I was radioactive, stepping back.
“You’re unbelievable,” I breathed. Wow. Great comeback, Dakota. Bet that’ll make him shake in his designer shoes.
“So are you, Sunshine.” His eyes met mine again, and something fundamentally shifted in the air between us. Something that made my skin feel too tight and my heart race for all the wrong reasons. “Now let’s get your shit so you can move in and we can get this whole thing over with.”
Fantastic. Nothing said good life choices quite like moving into the lair of a man who called me Sunshine like it was a curse word.
What could possibly go wrong?