Chapter 14 #2
She thought I felt bad about Cillian, but I didn’t.
What I felt was responsible for his widow.
I turned my attention back to the bar, but she wasn’t done yet.
“No one liked the guy anyway,” she said slowly. “Cillian. Not Max. Not my father. Not Sean. Rita. No one. He was reckless. And Valentina?” She lifted her glass to her lips. “She was an alcoholic before her husband died. People just like to pretend it started after.”
That earned her a glance.
She caught it, smiling slightly. “What? You know it’s true.”
“Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into this,” I said.
She shrugged. “I just pay attention. You should too. If I can notice, I wonder who else can.”
She didn’t bother saying anything else before leaving to go find Max.
The second Rosalie disappeared from my view, I immediately started searching. It was almost embarrassing how quickly my eyes scanned the crowded room, past men I was obligated to greet and women I didn’t have the patience for, just to find Valentina.
She was standing near the edge of the party wearing a black dress that hugged her just right, her hair a couple inches shorter than before, lips curved in amusement at something someone was saying.
It wasn’t anything special—the dress or the new haircut—but something about the way she wore it made it hard to look away. Maybe it was because I knew exactly what she was trying to do. Or maybe it was because she wasn’t even being subtle about it.
She liked attention, and she was certainly getting some from the man standing only a foot away from her.
I recognized him vaguely. Mid-level exec type with a ring on his finger.
He had a wife at home waiting up for him, oblivious.
But then maybe that was the draw. Valentina always did have a way of making men forget their obligations.
She laughed softly, as if whatever he was saying was actually interesting. I doubted it was. Men like him weren’t interesting—they just knew how to flash a credit card and say exactly what women like her wanted to hear. And she was eating it up, leaning closer, letting him feel important.
She lifted her glass to her lips again, just enough to make it look like she was drinking without actually finishing it.
The glass was full enough to look like water, but the small sip she took made me think it was something else entirely.
She wanted people to think she was behaving. Wanted Max to see the glass and think she was playing nice. But I knew better. Even if Max was fooled—and that was doubtful—I wasn’t. The way her eyes glanced around the room gave her away.
I should’ve left it at that. I should’ve finished my water, made a round of forced conversation, and disappeared for the night. Instead I found myself watching her more closely than I’d ever admit.
After an hour, I finally pushed off the bar and started toward her before I could think twice about it.
I wasn’t sure what I intended to say. Wasn’t sure why I even wanted to say anything at all.
But I was moving, and stopping would’ve looked stranger than continuing.
I didn’t want her to think I was watching her. I had no business doing so.
She saw me before I reached her. She smirked. “I was waiting for you to show up.”
“And here I thought you preferred it when I wasn’t around.”
“I do. But it’s like when a headache suddenly goes away—you don’t notice the relief until it comes back.”
My lip twitched.
I glanced at the man she’d just walked away from—a poor excuse for company, but then again, her taste in men had never been her strong suit.
I ignored her comment and looked at the drink she was holding. “That your first?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you make piss-poor decisions.”
“You and everyone else.”
I reached for her glass. “Let me try it.”
“It’s just water,” she complained as she pulled it back slightly. “And there’s only a little bit left.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve been sipping on that little bit for the past hour.”
“Observant,” she said as she narrowed her gaze. “You watching me?”
She knew I was.
Her smirk deepened. It irritated me. Then she tipped the glass back and swallowed the last of it. “Oops,” she said, unsurprised. “Guess you’ll never know.”
I huffed out a short laugh and grabbed onto her wrist before she could step away.
Her body went still. Not in fear—Valentina didn’t scare easily—but something else. Awareness. Of me. Of my hand gripping her arm.
I moved her closer to me, just enough for me to smell her breath. “Vodka.”
She held my gaze.
“Smart, aren’t you?” I dragged my thumb over her wrist. “What happened to behaving?”
Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t step away.
I was disappointed in her. I’d thought she was serious about staying sober. Guess not.
“Hurry—go tell Max before I can get away.”
“You think I’d do that to you?”
“I wouldn’t exactly put it past you.”
“I’m the only person in this room who seems to care about your better interests. Your judgment of my intentions is misplaced.”
“Hmm. You care for me, lawyer?”
“No,” I lied.
She looked up at me. “Sounded like it.”
I turned back to her, lowering my voice. “You’re sloppy.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not even trying to be discreet.” I stepped in even closer. “Drinking in a room full of people who have every reason to watch you? You might as well have handed Max the bottle yourself.”
She rolled her eyes dramatically as if I were a parent ridiculing her. “Max isn’t even looking,” she said like it was the perfect argument.
It wasn’t.
“He doesn’t have to,” I shot back. “You think no one’s gonna mention this? You think people don’t talk?”
“I can handle myself.”
“No, you can’t.”
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”
No, but I remember you asking for my help.
“You never do. That’s why you’re in this position in the first place.” I clenched my jaw. “Jesus, Valentina. This isn’t a joke. You want your money? You want Max off your back? Then stop handing him reasons to keep you on a leash.”
She needed to leave before Max noticed. Before anyone with loose lips caught on and turned this into a problem she couldn’t talk her way out of. The last thing I wanted was to get dragged into another one of Valentina’s messes.
She shifted her weight onto one heel and looked around nervously.
Something had changed in her. It was as if the realization had finally settled.
Took her long enough. Maybe she’d finally caught up with her own bad decisions, or maybe she’d just realized she couldn’t charm her way out of every situation.
Either way, it was about damn time she started figuring it out.
She wasn’t drunk. Not yet. But she was at least tipsy, and that was bad enough.
Her tongue was loose, her judgment even looser, and she was only now considering the consequences.
Always jumping first, thinking later. Valentina never seemed to realize cleaning up her chaos was ten times harder than avoiding it in the first place.
She never thought about the consequences. I had to do that for her.
And that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t my job, wasn’t my place, wasn’t my business. And yet here I was, doing exactly that. Again. Because apparently, the only thing harder than avoiding Valentina was ignoring her entirely.
“Would you like a ride home?” I threw the question out, careful to keep my voice disinterested. “Before he sets you all the way back to day one?”
I watched her process it. She didn’t want to take my offer, but she knew it was in her best interests. That was Valentina, always acting like accepting help was doing the other person a favor, as if she wasn’t the one constantly needing it.
“Fine,” she finally said dramatically, as if agreeing to leave with me was some major sacrifice.
She knocked her shoulder into mine on the way out, hard enough to make a point. I let her have it, mostly because I was distracted by the view. Her dress was open down the back, low enough that I could trace the dip in her spine all the way to where the fabric finally met skin.
She’d done that on purpose. Just another move in whatever twisted game she was playing—one I was getting dangerously close to joining.
I shouldn’t have looked. I shouldn’t have wondered what it would feel like to put my hand there; to feel her tense under my palm, maybe even hear that quick intake of breath she’d make if I pressed just a little too hard.
I shouldn’t have imagined how easy it would be to slip my hand further down and grip the curve of her hip, pull her back against me until that smug attitude of hers finally cracked.
But I did.
I let my eyes linger a moment longer than they should’ve. Too long, considering we were in public. Considering who she was—who I was supposed to be.
The problem was, Valentina knew exactly what she was doing, and even though I knew better, I was starting not to care.
Her left shoe always seemed to scuff just a little more than the right, probably from leaning her weight on it when she got nervous or defensive. She walked too fast for someone who barely reached my shoulder. Too confidently, like she needed to prove something even now, when no one was watching.
When we stepped outside, I held the door open for her. She didn’t thank me; I didn’t expect her to. Gratitude wasn’t exactly in her vocabulary, especially not toward me.
We reached my car, and she stopped beside the passenger door, waiting.
Probably expected me to open it for her—something I wasn’t planning on doing.
But then she turned her head slightly, shooting me a look that was equal parts challenging and amused, and fuck, suddenly I found myself pulling the door open anyway.
Without a word, she slid into the seat. The fabric of her dress shifted and tugged higher against her thigh. I looked away, slamming the door shut harder than necessary.
This woman was going to ruin me, and I was about to let her.
Valentina didn’t direct me where to go. She knew I already knew what street she lived on.
“You didn’t have to step in,” she said suddenly.
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
Because you’re reckless. Because you’re stubborn. Because someone needs to stop you from destroying yourself, and for some godforsaken reason, that someone always ends up being me.
But instead of voicing any of that, I simply said, “Because Max would have my ass if something happened to you.”
“Oh, right. Of course. You’re just following orders.” She finally turned to look at me. “You know,” she continued when I didn’t answer, “it wouldn’t kill you to admit you care.”
I shot her a sideways glance. “And why would I do that?”
“Because then maybe you’d be honest with yourself for once,” she said lightly, settling back into the seat. She tilted her head, a small smirk tugging at the edge of her lips. “And honesty is supposed to be good for the soul or whatever.”
“I see,” I said slowly. “Maybe I’ll try it out whenever you do.”
She looked at me sideways, staring up through those dark lashes of hers. When she looked at me like that, it felt like I was carrying her whole world on my shoulders. She looked at me like she was hopeful—of what, I wasn’t sure.
“You should have something better to do on a Friday night than keeping me out of trouble.”
“You should have something better to do than getting into it.”
“Why? Seems to bring you out of your shell.”
“You bring out a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
I didn’t know how to even begin answering that. She didn’t give me room to think things through like I normally would. I wasn’t sure I could even think at all when she shifted closer to me—close enough that I could smell that damn perfume of hers.
It pissed me off that I noticed.
She lowered her voice. “Like anger?”
No. Anger was too easy. What she pulled from me was complicated—something I didn’t even want to put a name to. Frustration, maybe. The kind that lingered in the back of my mind, turning into fantasies I had no business entertaining. Like how her lips would feel parted under mine.
She thought she had me figured out. Probably assumed she pissed me off and that was it. But my problem wasn’t anger—it was wanting something I shouldn’t want. Wanting someone who would inevitably drag chaos back into my life.
I glanced at her, noticing how her dress had slid up her thigh even further. “Like irritation.”
She let out a soft hum, resting her chin in her palm as she looked at me. “I think you like being irritated by me.”
“I think you talk too much.”
Her smirk widened. “You’re looking at my dress a lot for someone who supposedly doesn’t like me.”
“And you’re wearing it a certain way for someone who supposedly doesn’t care what I think.”
She grinned. “I always care what men think. That’s why I get what I want.”
“And what is it you think you want from me?”
She shrugged, tilting her head. “Haven’t decided yet.”
Haven’t decided yet. Of course she hadn’t.
“You could always give me a suggestion or two,” she added.
“I’m sure you’ve got plenty of your own.”
I pulled up to her building and left the engine running. Normally, I’d be halfway down the block by now, but something held me there—some hesitation I couldn’t shake off.
“You sure you don’t want to come inside?” she asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “I promise I don’t bite.”
Heat crawled up my neck, and I swallowed hard.
“Relax. I’m just kidding.”
Before I could even process that, she leaned in, brushing her lips against my cheek. Soft, quick, but the kiss burned through me like a shot of something I hadn’t felt in years.
“Try not to look so tortured next time,” she whispered before stepping out of the car without another word, not bothering with a “thank you” or a “good night.” She never did.
I waited until she’d disappeared inside before finally breathing out, sinking back against the seat. And then I did something I never did. Something I spent every waking moment consciously avoiding. I reached up and flipped down the mirror.
I didn’t look myself in the eye—I couldn’t do that without dredging up memories I’d rather keep buried. Instead I focused on the red stain on my cheek. Her lipstick.
She’d said “next time.”
There shouldn’t be a next time. There couldn’t be. Because if there was, I wasn’t sure I’d have the strength to turn down the invitation.