38. Ariella
THIRTY-EIGHT
ARIELLA
YOU KNOW THAT THE PAN DULCE SHE GOT WAS THE CONCHA WITH THE PINK SUGAR (IF THIS MADE NO SENSE, YOU NEED A MEXICAN FRIEND IN YOUR LIFE HAHA)
The pale pink box of pan dulce balanced precariously on my arm as I dug into my pocket, trying to find the apartment keys. I needed these sweet breads more than air this morning to try and revive me because I certainly hadn’t gotten any sleep last night. How could I when fantasies of Dalton bursting through the door, bare-chested with gray sweats hanging low on his toned thighs, kept running through my mind?
Or maybe he’d be wearing nothing but boxer-briefs. Either way, he’d burst through the door, hard on clearly visible, chest heaving as he glared at me with smoldering eyes.
I didn’t even know what smoldering eyes were, but he’d have them as he watched me lying there on that cloud of a bed, hand buried down in my underwear, fingers working in and out of my pussy, just like he had on the phone. We’d locked eyes, stuck in that trance we both seemed to get pulled into whenever we were together .
Then he’d walk over, each step sending my adrenaline spiking higher and higher, his large hand reaching out to replace mine…
“Ms. Contreras?”
I let out a yelp, nearly sending the box flying. My heart slammed against my ribs as I spun on my heel to see who the hell was behind me.
“Mr. Langley?” I asked, utterly confused. “What are you doing here?”
He had to know his son wasn’t home—he did own the team for god’s sake. I looked around the small hallway outside Dalton’s apartment like the answer would pop out somewhere.
Am I still dreaming? Because now we’re in a nightmare.
His laugh was low and practiced, the kind meant to disarm someone, but instead, it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. “I could ask you the same question, Ms. Contreras. I don’t know that it will bode well for your job if you’re breaking into a player’s apartment while they are away.” He smiled as if it were a joke, but his eyes shone with something darker.
Everything this man said to me from the moment I’d met him felt like a thinly-veiled threat, as if my reply was what would determine his response—and my future at the Desperados.
I forced a casual shrug, digging my hand back into my bag, rooting around for the damn key because something told me I’d need the proof that this wasn’t a breaking-and-entering situation. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not. I live here now,” I said, sighing in relief when I felt cold metal against my fingertips.
His eyes narrowed, his mouth forming more of a grimace as he watched me dangle my key to the apartment. “Live here?” he repeated, tone sharp. “Well, it seems like my son must trust you deeply, to let you move into his space so quickly after meeting.” He closed the distance between us, standing close enough to feel like he was looming over me.
Maybe it would have been intimidating if I hadn’t yelled at grown men with egos for years now. Still, my back stiffened, and my body sensed something was off. I didn’t think he would hurt me, not physically, at least, but the glint in his eye made me wary.
“Yeah, Dalton and I trust each other. I haven’t given him any reason not to,” I replied, slipping my hand back into my purse and opening up the camera to record our conversation.
Something about this felt…wrong.
His gaze flickered to my hand before settling back on me. “Trust is a delicate thing. Dalton has always been eager to please, to earn approval. He has a habit of attaching himself to people who may not always have his best interests at heart.”
My stomach turned. “What are you implying, Mr. Langley?”
His lips curled into a thin smile, powdery cologne suffocating me as he took another step toward me. “Dalton doesn’t need someone interfering with his focus, with my plans for him,” Vincent continued, his mask of politeness cracking enough to reveal the narcissistic ass beneath. “ You’re not going to become a distraction, are you, Ms. Contreras?”
I was point two seconds away from firing back and saying whatever the professional version of, “I’d like to shove my foot up your ass,” was, but his next words threw me off balance entirely.
“I’m sure we can make this work, Ariella. Come to an arrangement that works for all of us. Emma did.” His voice dropped into a smooth, almost flirtatious tone. “She and I had a unique…understanding.”
What the fuck?
He’d manipulated Dalton’s ex. Used her to control him. And worse, his creepy-ass tone made me think the unspoken insinuation was that his relationship with Emma had crossed a line—a deeply disturbing one.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to spell it out for me, Mr. Langley,” I bit out, trying to hide the barely contained rage bubbling inside. “What exactly are you proposing?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “We don’t have to have the same arrangement as Emma and me. Though I’m not opposed.” He dragged his eyes down my body, making bile rise in my throat. I should throw up on his expensive shoes to teach him a lesson. “I know you’re ambitious, Ariella. I have connections my son doesn’t have. I can make all of your dreams come true. You don’t even have to work hard to reach those milestones. I can just place you there, so long as you help keep Dalton where I want.”
His father wasn’t just an asshole—he was a puppeteer, pulling strings and dangling the illusion of love and approval to keep his son under control. And now he was attempting to do something similar with me, but the asshole should have done his research on who he was propositioning because the last fucking thing I wanted was a handout from a skeezy old white man.
I didn’t want to throw up on him any more. Now I wanted to knee him in the balls and watch him writhe in pain at my feet.
“Dalton is a grown man, Mr. Langley. He doesn’t need anyone else’s approval to make his decisions. Not mine, and definitely not yours. He deserves to have people around him who care about what he wants, who do things with his best interests in mind. Clearly, you’re not one of them, but I am.”
His face twisted up in a sneer, but before he could respond, the door behind me clicked open, and Ricky’s voice broke the tension. “Ari? What’s taking you so long?”
Vincent’s eyes flicked to Ricky, who stood in the doorway sans shirt, and he pulled his arm out of my path. His smile had returned, but was colder now. “Ah, I see. A man already in the apartment while my son is away. I suppose that’s one way to keep yourself entertained, Ms. Contreras,” he said, turning and walking toward the door across the hall. “Nice talking to you.”
It took a second for his words to register.
“Hey, that’s not what’s happening,” I snapped, but he’d already disappeared inside. The door clicked sounded like a gunshot in the quiet hallway.
I stared after him, my hands trembling with anger and disgust. My brother leaned against the frame, his brows furrowed. “What the hell was that about?”
For a second, I considered not telling him, but after last night, we’d promised to turn a new leaf in our sibling relationship. “I’m pretty sure my boyfriend’s dad just tried to bribe me,” I said, stepping past him into the apartment.
He trailed behind me into the kitchen. “As in, the man who owns the team you work for?”
“The one and the fucking same.”
We locked eyes, concern shining in his. “What are you going to do?”
I toyed with the hem of Dalton’s shirt, mind whirling with what’d just happened. “Not a damn clue.”