Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Greer
I know before I open my eyes that Sam is standing over me, just like Remi and Kai had the nights before.
I keep them closed for a while longer, basking in the delicious soreness that comes after great sex.
Okay, more-than-great sex. One-hundred-out-of-ten sex.
The kind of sex you know you’ll never have again.
I definitely won’t, either, because what human man is going to fuck me with shadow tentacles ever again?
“Greer.” Sam’s voice is followed by a gentle brush of fingers against my cheek. “Open those eyes for me.”
The action is sweet, like someone who actually cares for me.
My breath stills, and my lids finally flutter open before I blink at the dim light.
I’m still in his room, and he’s exactly where I knew he’d be: standing over me.
His hands are in his pockets, and he’s fully dressed—which is a damn shame, considering his body is sinful.
I sit up and look down to find I’m dressed as well, which is good because I’d rather not go with him naked. The future may not be able to see me, but clothes are good in most scenarios.
“You dressed me?”
Sam snaps his fingers and holds out my jacket. It’s another sweet gesture, one to show me how he did it.
I narrow my eyes and fully observe him. Out of the three Nephilim I’ve spent the last couple of days with, he’s the last one I expected to be sweet.
It’s a bit disconcerting, especially with how broody he looks right now—like the man I first saw at the bar.
His features are drawn hard, and his shoulders are stiff, making him seem taller.
The shadows that gave me so much pleasure before are a dull glow around his body but still as black as night.
“I thought I couldn’t feel cold in these dream-things, whatever they are.”
He stands and waits, not saying anything.
My lips turn down in confusion at his coldness, so I take the jacket and put it on.
I guess sweet Sam is gone and now he’s all business.
He points to the white slippers on the floor that he got for me, too.
I slide my feet in, looking back at him and his outstretched hand.
“Come, we have much to see.”
“You could at least say please,” I grumble.
He clenches his jaw, the veins in his neck straining with the action before his eyes soften a bit. “Please, Greer. I don’t mean to be rude, but like I said, we have much to see. So, please, take my hand.”
I blow out a breath and nod, placing my palm in his warm one. He grips it tight, and the room around us transforms into another place.
It’s a modern house, sleek and masculine with pink feminine touches that seamlessly blend into the whites and grays of the open-concept floor plan.
A living area to the left is decorated with holiday trim, but it’s not tacky.
It’s minimalist and more natural with a neutral color palette and pops of metallic accents.
White lights hang on a large fake tree that’s perfect in size and shape, and well-wrapped gifts are placed around the skirt.
Sam tugs me toward the room, and I study it closer, finding it cold and lacking something, though I don’t know what.
There’s a fire roaring in the hearth, but it’s gas, so no logs snap or pop.
I stare at the tree and see it’s covered in expensive-looking ornaments, like the ones Avery’s family has and the ones my mom splurged to buy instead of using my handmaid ones.
There are no family ornaments or strings of cranberry or popcorn.
“I know; I’m going to send a gift basket to personally apologize. I’ll call Greer now, tell her to go in person with the best pies in town. It won’t make up for what they’ve been through over the holidays, but it’s something.”
The steady timbre of Mr. Cross’s voice and my name has me walking toward a different room.
Sam lets me pull away from him, and I stop when I enter a dining room.
An older woman who I recognize as Mr. Cross’s wife sits at the head of the table with a glass of white wine in her hand.
Mr. Cross stands and paces next to the table, his cell near his ear.
He looks upset, more upset than I’ve ever seen him.
“You said Tim didn’t go to Carole’s yet, correct?” He pauses. “Thank you, Avery. I’m glad to hear it. Yes, it can wait till after the new year.”
The back of my neck prickles at the shock of him speaking to Avery on the phone. Did she forward Holly’s angry email? She wouldn’t do that, would she? But why would Mr. Cross be angry? He’s never been one for the holidays, either.
I step closer to the kitchen table, Sam’s presence still next to me.
“Yes, you, too. And take off until after the New Year, spend time with your new fiancé. Greer will be fine with it, trust me,” he says in an annoyed tone, one he’s never used for me before. “Merry Christmas.”
He hangs up the phone as my hands grip the top of the high-backed chair in front of me. Mr. Cross sits down near his wife, and she places her hand over his.
“Relax, Jacob. If your blood pressure goes too high, you know what will happen.”
He sets the phone on the table and kisses the back of his wife’s hand. It’s sweet—adorable, really.
I’ve only met his wife a few times, but she never seemed to like me much. I’ve never witnessed him being so loving with anyone. He’s the man I learned to be a corporate shark from—him and his business partner, Marley.
“Sorry. I’m just shocked that Greer would go to Garland without approval before Christmas. I wouldn’t have even known had she not sent me her email this morning with her report.”
I think of the email sitting in an open document, the one I couldn’t send because there was no internet connection. It’s a reminder that this hasn’t happened yet. But it will…
“I told you, that girl is too harsh,” his wife says. “She has no heart.”
Okay, I was right—she doesn’t like me. But no heart?
My heart beats in my chest as if to say, I’m here, I’m beating!
Mr. Cross sighs. “I don’t know if that’s true. But what she does have is drive and initiative, I’ll give her that. It’s something I admire in my employees and have always appreciated in her.”
“But does she represent the kind of business you want to lead? She told the person under her to serve an eviction days before Christmas. I know he was delayed in doing it, but his wife just had a baby. Then Greer went to evaluate a property that is heading that direction without your consent. People who have hearts don’t do that sort of thing.
Good employees don’t do that sort of thing. ”
“I think she thought I would be proud of her. That is how her email sounded. She’s been wanting a promotion, and I had planned to give it to her. But after this?”
Mr. Cross moves to pick his phone back up, but his wife stops him. “Oh no, you don’t. It’s Christmas; you’re not working any more today.”
He kisses his wife’s knuckles. “I’ll send an email to Greer to let her know she’s to visit Holly and her husband and apologize for her actions if she has any hope of keeping her job.
I’m going to tell her to take leave till after the New Year as well so I can figure out how best to move forward with her. Then I’m all yours, sweet pea.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
“Greer.”
Sam’s voice startles me, and I turn to meet him. His gaze is solemn as he holds his hand out for me again.
“We’re not done yet,” he adds.
I swallow hard, my brain too caught up on what I heard to think about saying no, so I put my hand in his.
The scenery around us shifts again, but I don’t take in the sights.
My thoughts shift instead to Tim’s wife saying Mr. Cross was nicer than me.
I didn’t think she was right, but now I’m seeing him in a whole new light.
Have I been mistaken about what kind of businessman he was all this time?
Flashes of every time I’ve seen him in action, the lessons he taught me and the seminars he suggested I go to fly through my mind. They were all to make me the best asset manager I could be, teach me to be the kind of person who could one day maybe even run Northlight. Or at least I thought.
If he’s going to give me a warning or fire me over doing the job I thought was expected of me, something I did thinking Mr. Cross would be proud of me for, then what am I even doing?
All the years I’ve spent working sixty-plus hours a week would have been for nothing.
The bridges I’ve burnt, the people I’ve hurt, the way I’ve hurt myself in the process—what would it be for?
I’d be back to where I started with nothing to show for my life.
And what would I even say to the people I’ve hurt?
Sorry, I was an asshole Ice Queen; mind giving me a second chance?
On top of that, I’d be jobless, fired from the best firm in Colorado.
Nobody would hire me after that. I’d have nothing.
My heart rate speeds up, and my hands turn clammy. What would my life even look like if this happened? Would I walk around like Ebenezer in A Christmas Carol yelling “Bah! Humbug!” at everyone?
Sam squeezes my hand, bringing me back from my spiral, and I finally take in where we’re standing.
We’re in a type of modern home like Mr. Cross’s, but the further I walk inside, I see it’s like the style of my condo now.
Simple clean lines, high ceilings, everything white and gray—and like Mr. Cross’s place, I find it’s missing something, a feeling.
Sam lets go of my hand and places it on my back, gently steering me toward what appears to be a great room.
A big gas fireplace is roaring, but there’s not a Christmas decoration to be found anywhere.
The furniture is sleek and expensive, too.
In fact, the entire room looks to have been taken out of a Restoration Hardware catalog.
It’s beautiful but soulless. Is this what my current condo looks like, too?
Didn’t I like this only a few days ago?