Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
LITTLE FOX
Azariel
“You don’t know it yet but your heart always belonged to me.” — A
L eaning back in the absurdly expensive red office chair, the kind that had cost more than most of my employees’ monthly rent, I had one hand resting lazily on the armrest while the other held my phone in place. The sleek black desk in front of me was spotless, save for a single glass of vodka, untouched.
My secretary had brought it a while ago, and I had yet to taste it.
“Hellooooooo,” sounded from my phone, and I sighed, thinking that maybe now was a good time to down the glass of alcohol.
On the screen of my phone, Raiza’s face filled the frame, her jet-black hair styled to perfection and that mischievous smile she wore like a crown, as if daring anyone to deny her beauty. My baby sister had just turned 21, and she was effortlessly stunning, and a spoiled brat in every sense of the word. She wielded her charm like a weapon when it came to me and Dad. Mom was the only one who was immune—she and Raiza were too alike, both with an arrogance that was impossible to ignore. None of us had a humble bone in our bodies, though.
“Aza,” she purred, her tone sweet but laced with the kind of menace that made me inwardly groan. “You’re not even listening to me, are you?”
“I’m listening,” I replied dryly, though my bored expression clearly said, I’d rather be doing anything else. But the truth was, I always listened to whatever nonsense she had to say. There was never a dull moment with Raiza, and even if she suddenly became the most boring person alive, I’d still have listened to her. I wasn’t proud of it, but the little hellion had had my soul wrapped around her tiny finger since the day she made her dramatic entrance into the world. Honestly, she was like Mom and the blue-haired sin all rolled up into one—the three of them had taken my breath away the moment I first laid eyes on them. They still did to that day. Mom soothed the pain. Raiza made everything less dull. And my little fox added color to my black.
Raiza narrowed her honey-brown eyes, leaning closer to the camera. “You’re impossible sometimes. You know that, right?”
So, I had been told.
“And yet, here you are,” I countered, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
The brat huffed, crossing her arms over her designer black sweater as if she were preparing to lecture me. “You’re lucky I love you so much, big brother. Otherwise, I wouldn’t put up with this cold-hearted grumpy routine.”
Cold-hearted grumpy routine? That was something Aunt Mila or our cousin Ella would have said. Unfeeling bastard or cruel son of a bitch? Now that was more my sister’s style.
I snorted, my smirk growing. “And you’re lucky I let you get away with being an insufferable brat.”
Her pretty grin turned wicked, and she tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Please. You’d let me get away with murder—and help me decompose the body. Don’t act tough, Aza. We both know I’ve got you wrapped around my little finger.” She lifted her tiny pinky, adorned with a gold ring—a gift from Dad last Christmas, given to all of us.
I didn’t respond immediately, just leaned back further in the chair, the light catching the tattoos on my forearm and fingers. Raiza wasn’t wrong, but I’d be damned if I let her see that she had won that absurd argument.
Instead, I finally took a slow sip of my vodka and muttered, “What do you want, Raiza?”
The last time she had called, she had spent three solid hours ranting—excuse me, bitching—because, and I quote, “Dad is being so judgmental and unreasonable. He burnt all my clothes.” Three hours. I still had a headache from it, and I was pretty sure I had lost a year of my life somewhere around hour two. In Dad’s defense, Raiza had a talent for pushing his buttons when she was bored, and nothing did the trick quite like boys and way too revealing clothes. Dad had been on the verge of a heart attack since Raiza entered puberty, and even then that she was a grown woman, he still treated her like his little princess. We all did. Hell, I was the one who had given Dad the idea of burning all her clothes.
My sister leaned back in her black love seat, throwing one arm over the cushion like she was auditioning for the lead role in some trashy reality show society seemed to adore. With an exaggerated sigh, she said, “Aunt Mila keeps sending me romance books and trying to set me up. She knows I can’t stand that parasite, some call love! I’m starting to think she’s doing it just to mess with me. She even brought that golden retriever of hers, you know, the bodyguard slash undercover hitman. And besides, he’s a single dad with a brat.” She said with a frown, but there was a flicker in her eyes that made me wonder if she was telling herself more than she was willing to admit.
I rolled my eyes, already regretting picking up the call. “Aunt Mila is the best out of all of us,” I said flatly. “You know damn well everything she does comes from a place of love, so suck it up.”
Raiza narrowed her eyes at the screen, ready to fire back, but I had had enough of her theatrics, so I cut her off.
“And before you start whining, let me remind you—Aunt Mila is the sweetest person in our family. I’d do anything for you, Rai, but hurting Aunt Mila’s feelings?” I shook my head, my voice firm. “Not happening. Ever. So, take the damn books with a smile.”
Raiza groaned, smacking her lips in frustration. “Oh, shut it. I would never hurt aunty.” My sister whispered, her voice softening as a rare vulnerability slipped through, but just as quickly, she recovered, and the fire returned. “Even though she’s like a walking Hallmark movie.”
That she was.
I raised an eyebrow. “Exactly. Now suck it up, brat.”
Raiza glanced off-screen, her expression softening instantly. “I had to go. My baby needed me,” she said with a sweetness that was borderline unnerving.
I raised an eyebrow. “The panther?”
“Hades,” she corrected, rolling her eyes like I had forgotten the name of her treasured child. “Yes, my heir. He was hungry, and I didn’t want him chewing on my shoes again. You knew how he got when it was feeding time.”
I shook my head, muttering, “I regretted giving you that animal already.”
She grinned, leaning closer to the camera as if to make her next words even more intimate. “Nonsense. You knew you loved him and me.”
I didn’t respond, but my eyes said enough. When words failed me, my family read my gaze. That was all they needed.
Before hanging up, my sister sweetly added, “I would bury a body for you, Aza.”
“Good,” I replied, my voice deadpan. “Because I’d kill and dismember the Pope himself for you.”
I would.
I had killed for her, and I would again in a heartbeat.
With that dark but normal goodbye, I hung up the video call.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, the hands ticking past the time of my next scheduled meeting. My newest talent was late. The woman couldn’t be on time to save her life.
My jaw tightened, annoyance curling through me. Punctuality was a basic expectation, not a favor. But that was the thing about her, she never ceased to surprise me. When I thought she’d do something, she went the other route. Like now, this was her dream, yet she couldn’t be bothered to be on time.
With a sigh, I pushed myself up from the chair, the leather creaking softly, and I strode toward the glass windows. The skyline of New York City stretched before me, a mosaic of steel and light, but its beauty did little to soothe my irritation. I clasped my hands behind my back, the tattoos on my knuckles faintly visible as I stared out at the city, trying to refocus my thoughts.
Then, I heard the faint sound of the double doors to my office creaking open.
My chest tightened instantly, the irritation forgotten as an entirely different feeling gripped me. I didn’t turn, not yet. I didn’t need to. My body knew before my mind caught up.
It was her.
The woman who had been a menace to my thoughts for years, ever since she was a little girl with ridiculous, colorful headbands perched on her dark hair and eyes that always said far too much. Eyes that saw too much.
My grip tightened behind my back, the organ in my chest betraying me with an unwelcome squeeze. I kept my gaze fixed on the city, my expression carefully composed. But the air in the room felt heavier now, charged, as if the past and present had collided.
They had.
She was finally here.
I exhaled slowly before finally turning around.
I froze the moment my eyes landed on her, irritation immediately giving way to two things far more complicated—and far more annoying. Obsession. Admiration.
Her blue hair, of all things, had been pulled into a low bun that looked like it took five seconds and zero care. Practical, boring. Typical. Not her. My eyes trailed down to her outfit, and I tried hard to suppress a groan. Baggy jeans and a black blazer that might as well have been thrown on at the last minute with nothing underneath. No bra. No shirt. Fuck this woman.
Tempting. Too goddamn tempting for a business meeting.
I shouldn’t have expected anything less from Poe Vaeda Nicolasi James.
But fuck if she wasn’t sin, wrapped in a lovely blue package.
Even then, standing there looking like she had rolled out of bed and barely tried to get her shit together, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The girl who used to hide behind her father and blush if anyone looked at her too long had blossomed into a woman who could wreck a man’s heart without even realizing it with a flick of her delicate wrist.
And yet, there she was, in an outfit that screamed I don’t care. It irritated me almost as much as it amused me.
My gaze dropped to her feet, and there were black combat boots. Combat boots. To a meeting at my publishing house. I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
Of course, she would have shown up like that, like she was immune to every unspoken rule of professionalism. How things had changed. She had been such a stickler to rules before, and slowly she had transformed into the woman who stood before me. I didn’t know how to feel about that. I wanted my lovely and delicate rose back, yet this version made something inside me scream for me.
That only made me more annoyed. Or, at least, that was what I told myself.
Then she did something that made my chest ache. She damn well blushed. And when she blushed, it was the kind of soft, unguarded pink that crept across her cheeks and made her look… Well, sweet. Too damn sweet and pretty.
My chest betrayed me with a single, traitorous skip of my heart.
I scowled, trying to drown out the unwelcome fluttering in my chest. Crossing my arms, I narrowed my eyes at her and said, in my coldest, most gruff voice, “You’re late.”
The pretty blush deepened, and she stammered a low apology. Damn her for being so disarmingly… her. And damn my own heart for being a little bitch.
Hers.
I felt the tension in the air pressing down on me, her silence crawling under my skin. The look on her face told me all I needed to know… me being there was something she wasn’t expecting. Good.
Her eyes trailed me up and down. I clenched my jaw, the weight of her stare doing things to me I didn’t want to acknowledge. Not being able to take her silence any longer, I gave in and broke the silence.
“Take a seat,” I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I intended.
She blinked, the softness in her eyes dimming as if I had flipped a switch. Without a word, she moved to the chair across from me and sat down, quiet and composed. I saw it, the subtle shift in her. The softness and excitement were gone, replaced by a guarded coolness that made her look like she was suiting up for war.
I did that to her.
My chest tightened in a way I didn’t like, but I pushed it down, locking it away to deal with later.
Once, I would’ve advised her to keep her guard up. It was better for her to think of me as an enemy. Because that was all I was capable of being. But that had changed. Yes, I craved her fight, but I also wanted that sweetness that used to soften all my hard edges when we were kids.
“Take a seat, Miss Nicolasi,” I repeated.
“It’s James.” Poe sat stiffly, her back straight and her hands clasped in her lap, but her eyes were anything but docile. They narrowed slightly. “It’s James.”
I tried to suppress a smile. “Alright. Miss James.”
I knew how her mother’s maiden name was what she used to publish under. Not wanting her father’s fame to be the reason behind her success.
“What is going on?” Her voice was cool, matching the sudden frost in her demeanor. “Since when do you own this publishing house?” she asked, her tone clipped.
I raised a brow at her, leaning back in my chair, the picture of unaffected calm. “A month.”
“A month?” She scoffed, her lips tightening into a thin line before she continued. “And why am I here in your office instead of with the team that was supposed to work with me like I was told?”
Her words were a calculated jab, sharp and precise, sending a thrill down my spine. I liked it. I liked it a fuck of a lot.
“You’re here with me because I said so,” I said flatly, my voice calm but firm. “This is how things are going to work. You’ll be working with me directly. The rest of the team can handle everyone else.”
Her brows shot up, disbelief written all over her gorgeous face. “That wasn’t part of the deal I signed.”
I knew. I had drafted the contract myself.
I shrugged. “The deal changed.”
Her glare could have melted steel, and for a second, I almost—almost—felt guilty. But then I reminded myself why I was doing this. Why I had to do this. Even if it meant making her hate me all over again. Not like she ever stopped.
Annoyed, Poe stood up abruptly, the sudden movement making a stray strand of blue hair slip from her tight bun, falling and sticking to the tip of her nose. The sight of her trying to brush it away with a frustrated frown caught me off guard, and for a second, she looked… adorable.
She straightened, clearly trying to regain her composure, and leveled a look at me. “What’s your game, Azariel?” she asked, her voice sharp with barely concealed irritation.
Amused, I leaned back in my chair, taking a deliberate sip of my vodka, my gaze never leaving hers. The grin that spread across my face was predatory, a wolf’s smile that felt both dangerous and darkly amused. “Stay and find out, little fox,” I said smoothly.
I saw it then—a flash of something soft in her eyes before she masked it, just for a second. The reaction was subtle, but it was enough to make my heart pound faster.
I leaned forward just slightly, letting the moment linger before my next words fell from my lips like a challenge. “Or are you afraid?”
Poe’s jaw tightened, her chin lifting in defiance as she fired back, her eyes cold and sharp. “I wasn’t the one who was afraid, little prince. Now, if we can talk about business, I would appreciate it. If not, then there’s nothing else to say.”
The words landed like a shot, the nickname little prince echoing in my mind.
Without uttering another word, I pushed the contract towards her and waited as she looked at it before signing. Tsk. Tsk. Too damn trusting, this one. She could have been signing away her life and didn’t even realize it. I felt like spanking that ass for being that reckless and naive.
“Don’t you want to read it more thoroughly and have a lawyer look at it?”
“I don’t trust you, Azariel, but I do trust that aunty Kadra will have your heart if you ever deceive or take advantage of me.”
Smart girl.
I bit my lips to keep myself from smiling.
“Have an awful day, Mr. Solonik,” she sassed.
Before I could reply, she stood and turned on her heel, her figure retreating with quick, decisive steps, leaving me alone in the office.
The door clicked shut behind her, but the weight of her words lingered. Little prince. The nickname. The novel she got it from. It nagged at me, gnawing at the edge of my thoughts, forcing me to think back to the times I hurt her ego and her heart.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the door for a long moment, a small, almost imperceptible frown tugging at my lips. Poe Nicolasi had always been a wild card. I never knew what to expect—and for her to face me head-on and not back down wasn’t it.
But fuck if I didn’t enjoy it.