Chapter Three #2
Fire dancing has given me so much in the past year— confidence, strength, passion. When I dance, I pour myself into every move. Knowing Aiden saw me like that makes me feel raw. Vulnerable. And I hate it.
“Can we talk tomorrow? I’m busy and I…”
My voice trails off as he holds up the newspaper. I stare at it, confused. Then, slowly, I realize what I’m staring at. My lips part, flap uselessly as I try to form words.
Him. Me. Our bodies way too close. And a sordid headline that leaves me hollow.
“What…” So many thoughts rush through my mind I grow dizzy. My hand clamps down so tight on the doorframe I might get splinters. “That’s not possible.”
“Unfortunately, it is.”
Aiden’s grim voice breaks through my shock. I tear my eyes away from the grainy photo of us by the lake and focus on him.
“I had nothing to do with—”
“I know that, Seraphina.” He glances over his shoulder. “Now let me in before one of the photographers lurking downstairs snaps a photo of us.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“Now.”
He barks the word like an order, but he doesn’t push his way past me.
I register that as I step back and finally let him pass before I close the door and slam the dead bolt into place.
I keep staring at the door for far too long.
But I need this moment before I face him.
Need to get a grip on my racing thoughts, on my pounding heart, on the fear rising up inside me.
Why the hell did I ever agree to dance last night? My life was good. Really good. A job I loved, a boss I respected and, yes, found attractive, but always from a safe distance. I’d found my way back to dancing. Jessica and I are becoming friends. I see my parents every—
My head snaps up and I push off the door.
“I need to call my parents.”
I’m halfway across the room when Aiden grabs my arm and stops me.
“We need to talk first.”
I whirl around, resisting the urge to shove him away with both hands. This is his fault, too.
“Who took the photo?”
“One of the event photographers. Once they realized who I was, they decided to follow me thinking I was meeting a new lover.” He scowls at the paper in his hands. “My best guess is he asked for your name and put two and two together. But he’s no longer employed.”
My jaw drops. “You had him fired?”
“His job was to photograph the event, not pretend to be a paparazzo. The Gardens agreed with me.”
He’s got a point. But if he hadn’t followed me, if he had just stayed in his VIP booth sipping hundred-dollar cocktails, none of this would have happened.
“Why the hell did you come after me last night?”
I’m risking the future of my job with my tone.
But I’m so angry, stripped bare in front of a man I never wanted to be vulnerable in front of.
So damn afraid I can barely see straight.
Memories of Brett rear up, his face twisted into a mask of such burning anger I can still taste the fear from all those years ago.
But I’m not going to cave this time. I will start over from scratch if I have to.
I whirl and jab a finger at Aiden.
“I’m allowed to have a life outside of work, and if you’re going to tell me I can’t work for you and dance then you can just shove one of your seven-figure contracts up your—”
“Stop.”
He barks out the one word with the same ferocity he’s used when dealing with cranky clients. My first inclination is to back down, apologize. So I straighten my shoulders, raise my chin and meet his gaze head-on.
“As I said last night, this has nothing to do with your dancing.” Aiden runs a hand through his hair.
“For God’s sake, Seraphina, it’s a well-known fact I spent several years picking pockets in New York before John found me.
Do you really think I’d judge you for something as mundane as learning how to dance? ”
“Maybe not you, but your clients—”
“My clients,” he grounds out, “can go to hell if they have a problem with it, especially since I counted at least seven of them in attendance last night thoroughly enjoying the festivities.”
My anger drains away as I deflate.
“When you said we have a problem… I thought…”
“I was surprised last night. I wasn’t at my most eloquent.”
“So why did you come after me?”
One long, slow blink. His tell. I’ve seen him in enough conferences and on enough phone calls to know he’s going to lie, or at the very least only share half the truth.
“I was shocked.”
“Shocked?” I repeat.
“Yes, Seraphina, shocked.” My six-hundred-square-foot studio apartment shrinks as he takes a step closer. “My prim, proper assistant twirling a stick that’s on fire around her head like it couldn’t suddenly combust and kill her? Yes,” he repeats, his voice hardening, “I was shocked.”
I roll my eyes. I had the same conversation with my father when I first started dabbling in fire dancing.
“It won’t randomly combust. I use controlled fuel application to the wick ends—”
“Not my point,” Aiden snaps. “How would you feel if you had seen me last night walking around on stilts?”
I try to keep a straight face. Try and fail epically as a snort of laughter escapes.
Aiden’s eyebrows draw together. “What,” he asks through gritted teeth, “is so damned funny?”
“You on stilts.” I can’t resist a small smirk.
A growl sounds low in his throat. “Regardless of the reason why I followed you, we’re in trouble.”
He holds up the newspaper. My amusement disappears, replaced by cold reality.
“Randolph called me this morning.”
I cross my arms over my waist. “Oh.”
“Exactly.” Aiden holds up the newspaper. I look away. “He was already on me about…commitment.”
He spits the word out like it’s poison.
“Commitment? What are you talking about?”
“Randolph’s open to the New Field deal. But he had concerns about my stability.”
Irritated, I look back at him. “What? You’re the most stable person I know.”
Something flickers across his face. “Thank you.”
“You’ve made him millions. How can he accuse you of not being stable?”
“Because he’s running for the US Senate. It’s not just about money. It’s about image, perception.”
The crinkle of paper in his hand draws both of our gazes downward to the newspaper in his clenched hand. Slowly, he lays it on the ornate end table my mother gave me when I moved in. He stares down at the matted photo, his body so still I wonder if he’s even breathing.
“It matters now.”
My chest tightens. Despite everything that’s happened the past twelve hours, I hate that he’s facing this challenge.
Yes, he may conduct his personal life in a way I don’t understand.
But he’s one of the smartest men I know, a wizard with numbers and finances.
I know what it’s like to have your best qualities stripped away, to be examined under someone else’s microscope and be found wanting.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hawke.”
Slowly, he turns his head to look at me. A shiver works its way down my spine at the determined glint in his eyes.
“Thank you.”
He glances back down at the paper, his earlier melancholy gone. In its place is quiet determination and cold resolve.
“I did manage to pacify Randolph.”
My shoulders sag in relief. Given that Brett ended up in prison, some might find it odd that I’ve come to care so much about helping prisoners at a private jail.
But after learning the full scope of what’s going on at New Field Penitentiary, after reviewing countless testimonies and photos of the abuse that’s occurred behind those walls, I’ve come to care about the project almost as much as Aiden.
“Good.”
He looks at me then, the slight smile on his face contrasting sharply with the dark look in his eyes.
“You may not think so after I tell you what mollified him.”
Warning bells clang in my head.
“What?”
“I told him we were engaged.”