Chapter 11 The Pawn
THE PAWN
QUINTON
Sophie reclines in one of the plush armchairs in her suite, her designer sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose as the December sun seeps through the blinds.
My sister likes to act innocent and nonchalant. It’s her ideal role. She’s spent decades mastering it. But this week, she’s playing a different character—the goddamn instigator. I stand before her, seething, my fists clenching at my sides as I struggle to maintain my composure.
"You know how I feel about Cavanaugh," I hiss. "You had no right to invite him. I specifically told you to keep this holiday quiet."
“Quinny, darling, I truly don't understand what the big deal is. Damon's a family friend.” Sophie tilts her head, her perfectly painted lips curving into an infuriatingly serene smile. "Perhaps this has more to do with Emery than you?”
Sophie is a fantastic performer, but over the years, I’ve learned enough about her theatrics to recognize the manipulative undercurrents in her words.
"And so what if it does?" I growl. "You still should’ve listened to me. You had no right to bring him here.”
She shrugs. "I'm just being a concerned sister, Quin. After all, you never really tell me anything. I have to look out for you somehow."
"I am a grown man," I say, my voice low and intense. "I don’t need you to look out for me.”
She leans forward, placing her mimosa glass delicately on the side table.
“The last time I stayed out of your business, Q, you got your fucking heart broken. Twice. I refuse to see that happen again.” She adjusts her sunglasses.
“What better way to gauge a woman’s intentions than to put both contenders in the same arena? ”
My jaw tenses. “It’s not a competition—”
“Friend.” The word rolls off her tongue like poison. “That’s what she calls you. A friend.” Her brow perks up beneath the rims of her sunglasses. “We both know you don’t see her as just a friend. I’m not blind, Q. But you? You might be.”
"You have no idea what you’re talking about," I retort, my frustration bubbling.
Sophie's gaze narrows, her facade slipping for a moment, revealing a flicker of genuine concern. "Don’t be delusional, Quinton. Not again. I may have overstepped, but I did it for you.”
I remain silent, aggravated. And it’s perhaps because I know she’s correct. I know there’s a smidgen of truth in her words. I saw it in Emery’s eyes last night. They burned with something toxic, something I don’t ignite within her.
Sophie sighs, relenting slightly. "New Year's Eve is only six days away, Quinton. This week will fly by. Observe and learn. Use this time to your advantage.” The sound of tires on snow echoes from outside, and she snaps her head to the window, gaze flicking down to the driveway. “Oh… Well, this is interesting.” I follow her sight line, brows knitted together as Damon exits the SUV…with a woman. “Maybe I was wrong,” she mutters. “Maybe there’s nothing to worry about, after all.” Sophie stands up, polishing off her mimosa. “Shall we go greet our new guests?”
Bastard.
He’s always known how to start a cold war.
I descend the grand staircase into the foyer, Sophie waltzing behind me.
As we reach the bottom of the stairs, my gaze lands on Cavanaugh standing in the entryway with a woman on his arm.
My jaw tenses involuntarily. The poor girl, Damon’s unwitting pawn for the week, is a striking brunette with long legs and pouty lips.
A perfect choice. He knows exactly who she looks like.
“Sophie, you look as enchanting as ever,” Damon says sweetly before turning toward me, smirking as he introduces his guest. "This is Maya. Maya, these are our hosts for the week, Quinton and Sophie Marquis.” Maya gives us both a shy smile.
Damon slings his arm around her shoulder, leaning into her ear and whispering something in Spanish.
Maya’s cheeks flush and she giggles. “Maya’s from Spain. She doesn’t speak much English.”
Maya and I stare at each other briefly, and I can see the flicker of curiosity in her eyes. She's no fool. Energy is a universal language. And she can certainly sense the tension in the room.
I nod politely, hiding my irritation. "A pleasure to meet you, Maya."
“Well, we have a lovely week planned,” Sophie addresses Damon and Maya. “I’ll get Marsha to print you a copy of the itinerary. Today, we’ll be joined by the world-class ceramic artist, Pierre Rahul.” She gives Maya a deceivingly friendly wink. “I hope you’re ready to get your hands dirty.”
Damon translates softly into Maya’s ear, and she expels a coy laugh. It’s infuriating how effortlessly he can charm anyone, especially when it serves his purpose. But maybe she’s being paid to laugh. Or perhaps she’s simply clueless. Either way, it’s unfortunate.
As I'm about to make my exit, Emery emerges from the sitting room. I rein in a grin as she adjusts the burgundy smock around her waist, the bulky shape in no way concealing her mountainous curves.
Emery’s green eyes widen, and everyone falls silent as she steps into the entryway and sees Damon with Maya. I watch her carefully, knowing that this moment will reveal more than I care to see.
Emery conceals her jealousy well, but there’s a subtle shift in her posture.
Damon taunts her with a sly smile. "Emery, you remember Maya, don't you?" He cocks his head. “I believe you met. Last night?”
That’s why she looks familiar. Well played, Cavanaugh.
Emery shoots Damon a polite smile, but there’s a dangerous sort of anger simmering under her skin. "Of course, Maya.” She offers a handshake. “I’m sorry, I almost didn’t recognize you with your mouth closed.”
I blink at Emery’s brazen comment, and she shrugs as Maya’s gaze flickers between her and Damon. Damon chuckles and translates, and I’m unsure whether he twisted Emery’s words or not, but Maya covers her mouth and laughs.
“I prefer open to closed,” Maya says, tossing Emery a knowing wink. “More fun, I think.”
“Agreed,” Emery says, tight-lipped. She glances up at me. “The studio is all ready to go. Pierre is waiting for us.”
“Why don’t you ladies go ahead,” I say, glancing at Cavanaugh. “Damon and I need to have a quick word.”
Sophie casts me a skeptical look before reluctantly ushering Maya and Emery toward the studio. The three women disappear into the corridor, and as soon as they're out of earshot, Damon turns his attention on me, glaring.
"This place is nice," he hums, glancing around. “I’m surprised Charles agreed to a venue change.” He cocks his scheming head. “I much prefer the villa in London. Good thing Sophie didn’t screen my calls and gave me the updated address.”
My jaw clenches. "You’re pathetic, Cavanaugh. Following us here? It simply reeks of desperation. A man should know when to stand down.”
Damon smirks, his lips curving up with blinding arrogance. "You’re calling me pathetic?" He snorts. “Emery and I have one little disagreement and you pounce on the opportunity to whisk her away. Hide her from me. Isn’t that more pathetic?”
I take a step closer, lowering my voice to a dangerous growl. "I am not the one who wished to run away, Cavanaugh. Unlike you, I don’t find pleasure in controlling my women."
His expression hardens. "Don’t fool yourself, Quinton. You know she’s not yours.” He glances down the hall with a cocky grin. “And she knows it too. Or she will.”
I grit my teeth. “What’s your plan here, Cavanaugh? Do you honestly think Emery will play into your games?” I scoff. “It’ll take more than another woman to lure Emery back into your arms.”
Damon smirks. “Then you don’t know Emery.”
I mirror his arrogance and whisper, “Oh, but I do, Cavanaugh. I really do.”
Damon's smile fades, and for a brief moment, our complicated history sits heavy on my shoulders. "It appears we’re back where we started,” he spits, venomous. "May the best man win.”
I’m knocked in the gut with a sickening sensation of deja-vu, and a tinge of fear ripples through me. Why? Why must it be like this? Why can’t it be simple? Why can’t I, for once, get a happy fucking ending? Why must there always be fucking trials? Goddamn hurdles?
“We better join them,” Damon taunts, turning on his heel. “Can’t leave the ladies waiting, can we?”
“After you.”
With fists anchored at my sides, I trail behind Damon, cursing the series of events that led me here. What a cruel cycle to repeat. To relive. He’s one to bring a gun to a knife fight. I know this. I know to expect the vilest of tactics.
I’ve never been a great strategist. Not in business. Not in love. And he knows that. He knows where I am weak. He knows there are lines I don’t willingly cross. Lines he has no qualms about speeding over, leaving dust in his wake.
“You are late.” Pierre glares at me and Damon as we enter the brightly lit studio. “Take your seats, please. We will begin.”
With a forced mask of contentment, I sit down beside Emery as Damon joins Maya’s side.
The strong scent of clay permeates the studio, the room filled with the soft hum of the pottery wheel.
As the lesson begins, I find myself unable to rip my focus away from Emery.
Her hair cascades down her shoulders as she listens intently to Pierre’s instructions.
I swallow hard when I notice her wandering gaze. With a dirty hand, Damon flicks the tip of Maya’s nose and they laugh. To my dismay, Emery's jaw tightens almost instantly.
I lean closer to Emery and whisper, my pulse quickening. "Does it bother you, seeing him with Maya?"
Emery's gaze flickers to mine, her eyes dark with emotion. "Is it that obvious?” She releases a labored breath as she glances down at the mound of lumpy clay on her wheel. “God, what is wrong with me?” She smacks the clay. “I hate this! It’s not working!”
I can sense her frustration, her confusion. And unfortunately, I can also sense her desire. It’s there. Lingering behind walls of betrayal. It hurts me. Pains me, really. But I understand. I understand addiction. I understand the human brain. Her brain. The highs. The lows. She’s chasing them all.
Damon's eyes lock onto ours for a moment, and a wicked smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He's reveling in her discomfort, enjoying watching his plan unfold. I grit my teeth. Shameless. So fucking shameless. But it works.
“Let me help you.” I slide my stool behind Emery’s and place my hands over hers. “Together, we can make it work.” Emery’s spine shivers as our fingers touch the cool, wet clay. “Close your eyes, darling. Don’t think. Just feel.”
Emery's breath hitches, and for a moment, she seems to forget about the world around us. I guide her hands, our fingers moving in perfect harmony as we mold the shapeless clay into something beautiful.
The sensation of touching her is electrifying, the chemistry between us strong enough to create new elements, new breakthroughs. What we have isn’t toxic. It’s pure. Maybe too pure for her to even comprehend.
As we work together, the tension in Emery's shoulders eases, and she relaxes into my chest. I attempt to stay in the moment, but I can feel him staring. Damon’s frustration grows as he watches us from across the room.
His fake smile falters, and he starts to work the clay with Maya more forcefully, trying to regain Emery's lost attention.
I lean closer to Emery, my tone deep, seductive. "See? It’s easy, darling. You’re a natural.” My lips feather against her lobe. “We both know you’re so very good with your hands.”
She smiles and squirms slightly in her seat. “As are you, Doctor.” Her eyelids flutter open, voice breathy as she glances up at me. “Maybe you can give me a private lesson…tonight.”
“It would be my pleasure,” I rasp. “I’m all yours, darling.”
Unable to contain his jealousy any longer, Damon slams his fist on the table. He draws the attention of everyone in the room, his face red and seething.
Emery's gaze shifts to him, and her body tenses all over again. The destructive battle between her past and her future continues. How long will this war last? Days? Weeks? Months? God forbid, years?
“We’re done here,” Damon states, abruptly standing up. He holds out his hand, a silent command for Maya to follow him. He aggressively links his fingers through hers. “Don’t disturb us. We’ll be,” his sharp gaze meets Emery’s, “busy.”
Emery’s lip twitches. “So will we.”
For a second, I resonate with Maya. Perhaps we’re both pawns. But then Emery smiles at me, so genuine and calm, and I’m determined to be a king.
Her king.