CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Ella
B reezing through my apartment before leaving for work on Friday morning, I open the front door and trip over a ginormous box.
“Son. Of. A. Bitch.” I peel myself off the hallway carpet.
Glancing up and down the corridor, I twist around and look for a label on the box. Surely someone left this at the wrong apartment. I’m not expecting anything.
Or is it for my dad? More of his secrets that will get him into trouble.
I don’t see any shipping labels on the box. In fact, it’s in rather pristine condition. Like, no way did this go through the postal system.
It’s also not taped shut. Just folded closed. My heart swells, thinking it’s a box of puppies or kittens. I yank open a flap, disappointed when I don’t see any sweet furry faces looking up at me and crying out for love.
After the last few days, I can use some puppy kisses or kitten cuddles.
The box is packed with clothes.
The colors and the fabrics register, along with the scent.
Mine.
These are my clothes.
The ones I left at Wesley’s house.
Shaking, I pick through them with mixed feelings of dread, reminding me of what I went through. I ran off, leaving all of these behind on the battlefield.
A door opens a few apartments away, and I bolt around, ready to scream, expecting to see Wesley strolling toward me. But the neighbor with his Yorkie leaving for their morning walk waves to me.
This box means that Wesley knows Dad and I are back from Australia. That he knows I’m here. And got into the building. My heart pounds thinking he was probably standing at our door just moments earlier. In the back of my head, I knew it was only a matter of time. Closing the flap, a thick envelope catches my eyes. Touching it, dread fills my heart. It’s thick.
I lift the box and bring it into my bedroom. My father can’t see this. He can’t know Wesley was here. He’ll tell Balor and a war will break out.
The envelope, like the box, isn’t sealed, and I see it’s stuffed with a wad of notebook pages torn out from a book filled with Wesley’s handwriting.
Bile rises in my throat. I can’t read this. I won’t read a word. He’s either apologizing again or threatening me. I want to burn these pages along with the clothes that will only remind me of the person Wesley abused.
I shove everything into my closet and close the door.
When I get back into the living room and open the front door again, a tall man in a suit stands there and I scream.
“Ella, it’s me,” Trace gently grips my upper arms. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry.” I nearly puke, my nerves are shot. “I’m running late.”
“What’s wrong?” He glances around and whispers into my ear. “Is someone in the apartment? Just nod, you don’t have to say anything else.”
“No, no. I’m here by myself,” I say.
Then again, I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything anymore.
“Do you have everything?” He spins around, seeing my work bag and purse on the floor.
“I do.” I quickly lift them and press it all against my chest.
Trace stays silent on the ride to Astoria, and I do breathing exercises to calm down.
In the driveway of the townhouse, he says, “I have a meeting with one of the other O’Rourke brothers. I’ll be back to drive you both to the command center afterward. The boss knows.”
Nodding, I get out and use my key to enter through the kitchen like I normally do.
Since yesterday, Balor’s been distant.
My heart breaks when he stays in bed after I wake him up and doesn’t give me my usual show.
God, I’m addicted to seeing him naked.
He doesn’t even mention the money I spent at the store yesterday. It’s like he doesn’t care.
I consider mentioning the box Wes dropped off, but I’d only do it to get a reaction and make myself feel better.
Instead, I close the bedroom door and amble down the stairs, feeling sorry for myself. The sight of a stunning blonde at the front door knocks me from my pity party.
Shocked, I open the door. “Yes?”
“I’m here to see Balor.” The bombshell stands on the front steps, staring at the green goop stain on my shirt from Balor’s morning smoothie.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up immediately and my instinct is to push this woman down the eight concrete steps she and her high heels climbed to reach the front door.
What if she’s a sexy assassin?
For one, Balor doesn’t have an appointment right now. Not here. He never takes appointments at his house. And from what I gathered, not many people know he even lives here. We leave out of the back kitchen door, and the Rivian has tinted windows.
Taking matters into my own hands, I step outside, and close the door behind me. I immediately regret it because it’s chilly.
“What’s this about?” I ask with my arms folded.
Her perfect forehead wrinkles. “He’s expecting me. ”
“Is he now?” I quake in her perfect appearance.
Long, ice-blonde hair, hazel eyes, strong cheekbones, and makeup so striking yet so subtle you’d think she wakes up with rose-glow cheeks and bronze shimmer swept across her almond eyelids.
She’s gorgeous and smells nice, and that’s when it hits me like a freight train. She’s got to be an escort.
How could Balor do this to me? He hired someone to show up while I’m here working? And what am I supposed to do while he’s with her? Wait for him to...finish?
God, that visual makes me so dizzy that I grip the banister feeling sick.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“Yes.” No, I’m not all right.
I’ve fallen for my boss. He’s mafia and doesn’t do relationships. Only escorts. And I’m staring at a woman he’s paying to fuck. In his bed. Where I just woke him up. In sheets I roll around in when he’s in the shower.
Don’t get me started about how I secretly sniff his pillows.
“Sheesh you’re freezing, let’s get you inside.” She reaches for the doorknob. “Shoot, it’s locked.”
“What?” I spin around. “Oh shit.”
“Who are you?” the woman asks.
“I’m his assistant.” I ring the bell, cringing that Balor is going to find me with his date locked out of the house.
“Are you sure? And you don’t have a key?”
“I didn’t think I needed one,” I say tartly. “He’s not expecting guests.”
“I’m not a guest . I’m here to work. I’m Balor’s—”
The door swings open, and my heart sinks seeing Balor with wet hair. Water droplets dot every inch of his amazing naked body wrapped in a towel.
“What the hell is going on? Oh hey, Jillian.” Balor’s tune changes seeing her . “I thought you were coming on Monday?”
He knows her. She’s got to be one of his usual sex workers.
All the tension from Wes dropping off my clothes, being in my building, and outside my door when I was showering catches up to me. Seeing Balor’s bare chest looking at this woman has everything spinning.
I don’t know what happens next because everything goes black.