Chapter 1 #2
“Shut up, the adults are talking,” Garrett growled, glaring at Miles. His expression softened when he faced me. “You’re sure he’s safe?”
“Physically, yes.” I took a deep breath.
“Again, I’m right here.”
“I wish you weren’t,” I muttered.
Garrett, who’d been watching both of us like a tennis match, spoke. “If you’re sure you’ll be alright, then I think I should go.”
“No!” I protested, grabbing his arm. This evening was salvageable. It had to be. “He’s going. Right now.”
“No, I’m not,” Miles said, gesturing to the washing machine humming in the background.
“My clothes will be about fifteen more minutes. Unless you want me walking through your very nice neighborhood in nothing but these.” He gestured to his boxer briefs.
“Though it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been barely clothed in public. Right, Vonnie?”
My cheeks burned. Garrett’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ll go check the perimeter and text you if I run into anything or anyone suspicious,” he offered, already buttoning his shirt.
“You don’t have to—” I started.
“It’s fine, Devonna.” The use of my full name was like a door closing. “Call me when... whatever this is... is resolved.”
The polite dismissal stung more than I expected. Our arrangement might be uncomplicated, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t valuable. Especially on days like today when I needed the release.
“Okay, I’ll text you,” I whispered.
He nodded, one professional to another, and left without another word.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the human hurricane who’d blown back into my life without warning. I turned slowly, arms crossed over my chest, and fixed Miles with a glare that had made grown men and bridezillas alike burst into tears.
“Damn it, Miles. You have exactly sixty seconds to explain why I shouldn’t call the actual police, starting now.”
Miles attempted to sit up straighter, wincing as he did. I refused to feel sympathy. The tattoos across his torso shifted with the movement.
“Mikhail Dimitrov loaned me money years ago, and I’ve been trying to pay him back, but I don’t make much at the nonprofit.
That hasn’t mattered because I’ve been…well, I’ve been helping Mikhail with some things on the side,” he began, his usual snark giving way to something more serious.
“I wanted out. He didn’t like that. I offered to pay him back the full debt and interest in installments over time, but he suggested an alternative arrangement.
Marry his daughter Irina, and he’d clear the debt. ”
“Fifty seconds,” I prompted.
“Right. Well, I refused. He was insistent. His goons suspended me upside down over his balcony. Thirty-two floors up. I panicked and said I was already engaged.” He spread his hands as if to say, ‘What would you have done?’
“To me,” I clarified. “You specifically said you were engaged to me.”
Something flickered across his face too quickly to read. “You were the only name I could think of under pressure.”
The admission shouldn’t have affected me. It didn’t affect me. “Forty seconds.”
“His guys roughed me up. I needed somewhere to lie low, and...” He gestured vaguely around my apartment. “I know you hate surprises, but showing up at your fancy office seemed worse.”
“Thirty seconds,” I said, though I was beginning to get a sinking feeling about where this was heading.
“Mikhail thinks we’re engaged. He’s going to keep checking. If he finds out I lied...” He trailed off, letting the implication hang.
“But you said you think he already knows because his goons saw me with Garrett.”
“I can explain that away. But if you don’t help me with this, he might fit me for cement shoes and send me swimming in the Hudson River.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“It becomes a you problem if he decides you’re involved,” Miles countered. “The Peacock isn’t exactly known for his measured responses or careful target selection.”
A chill ran through me that had nothing to do with my partially unbuttoned blouse. “Twenty seconds.”
Miles shifted, and I caught sight of another tattoo on his inner arm. A tiny, perfect rendering of a wedding cake.
“I need your help, Von—Devonna,” he corrected himself. “Just until I can pay him back or figure something out. It sounded like he’d be willing to give me time to pay back the debt while we plan the wedding. It’ll be a temporary engagement. On paper only.”
“Ten seconds.”
“You’re the only person I know who’s smarter than Mikhail,” he breathed, the calculated charm dropping away for just a moment. “And I’m out of options.”
The washing machine buzzed loudly in the silence that followed, making us both jump.
“Perfect timing,” Miles said, struggling to stand. “Mind if I use your dryer?”
I stared at this man, who had crashed back into my life like a meteor, threatening to extinction-event everything I’d built.
The rational part of me—the part that had created Devonna Onai, respected wedding planner and partner at Knot Your Average Wedding—knew exactly what to do.
Call security. Call the police. Hell, call The Peacock himself and clear up this ridiculous misunderstanding.
But there was another part of me. A part I’d locked away eight years, seven months, and twelve days ago. A part that looked at Miles—battered, bruised, and still somehow charming Miles—and remembered how it felt to be the woman who had once loved him.
That part needed to stay buried.
“No,” I said finally.
“No dryer? That’s cold. Literally.”
“No, I’m not helping you.” I reached for the front door and pulled it open. “Get your clothes and get out.”
For the first time since I’d walked in, genuine surprise registered on his face. “You’re kicking me out?”
“Yes.”
“With Mikhail’s men potentially waiting?”
“Your poor planning isn’t my emergency.”
Miles looked at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough. I just thought...” He trailed off, then shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll get my clothes.”
He limped slightly as he moved toward the laundry nook, and I forced myself to ignore the pang of... something... as I watched him go. This wasn’t the same charming, reckless boy I’d fallen for at nineteen. This was a man who still thought he could use me to fix his problems, just like last time.
And I wasn’t the same na?ve girl who would burn down her life to keep him warm.
He returned a few minutes later with damp clothes bundled under one arm, still in his boxer briefs. “Mind if I...” He gestured vaguely toward my bathroom.
“Two minutes,” I said, glancing pointedly at my watch.
While he dressed, I poured myself a generous measure of the whisky he’d been drinking and fired off a text to Garrett.
I’m sorry about tonight. He’s leaving. Rain check?
The response came almost immediately.
No problem. Complicated exes happen. Didn’t see anyone on my way out. Call when the dust settles.
I wasn’t sure whether I was relieved or disappointed by his easy acceptance.
Miles emerged from the bathroom looking marginally more put together, though his expensive shirt was wrinkled and still spotted with what I chose to believe was wine rather than blood. The bruises on his face stood out starkly now against his pallor.
“Thanks for the use of your washing machine,” he said, attempting a smile that pulled at his split lip. “And the whisky. And the chips. Quality snacks, as always.”
“Don’t mention it,” I replied coldly. “Seriously. To anyone. Ever. Get out, Miles.”
He paused at the door, the ghost of his old smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for dropping in unannounced.”
“No, you’re not.”
“You’re right, I’m not.” The smile widened slightly, transforming his battered face into something almost familiar. “But I am sorry about interrupting your evening with Bruce Banner back there.”
“His name is Garrett.”
“I’m sure he’s very nice,” Miles said, in a tone that conveyed the opposite. “Very... stable.”
“Get out, Miles,” I repeated, holding the door wider.
He stepped into the hallway, then turned back. “You know, you’ve changed, Vonnie.”
“That was the point.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Not all of it, I hope.” Then he was gone, limping toward the elevator.
I closed the door and leaned against it, sliding down to sit on the floor.
My perfectly planned evening ruined. My carefully constructed life momentarily shaken but still standing.
And the absolute worst bit? A tiny, traitorous part of me was already wondering what would happen if The Peacock did come looking.
That part needed to be silenced immediately. Preferably with what remained of the whisky.
Because the last time I let Miles Houston into my life, I’d nearly lost everything. I’d spent the last several years rebuilding myself into someone who would never make that mistake again.
I glanced at the half-eaten chip bag on my coffee table and took another sip of whisky. Deliberately, I turned away. Whatever trouble Miles was in, it wasn’t my problem. Not anymore.
The washing machine hummed in the background, completing its final rinse cycle even though there were no more clothes to clean.
Some messes, it seemed, couldn’t be washed away so easily.