Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
TO LOVE, TO HATE, TO CURSE
Poe
“Roses are red, violets are blue, love is a headache, and so are you.” – A
T he next day, I stepped into Blackthorn Publishing, the Valentine’s Day-themed donuts I got from a too damn cute bakery a few blocks from here— carefully balanced in a carton box with heart-shaped stickers all over it and paused in the lobby for a moment like I did last time I was here. God, I love this place. Not too fond of their cult leader but love their sense of decoration. I love how different it is compared to everywhere else in the city where there’s the usual and boring Valentine’s Day frenzy— balloons, hearts, stupid cupid, and an overload of red and pink.
Not this place, though.
My favorite decoration? The tiny black paper cupids with their brains hanging outside their heads, swaying from the receptionist’s black garland. It’s honestly genius and so creative. Who knew Cupid could look so... twisted? It’s like they took the idea of love and killed it. Good.
I took a moment longer to pause in the center of the lobby, taking in the decor, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. This is the kind of holiday decor I can get behind. It’s dark, moody, and just a little bit petty. Just my style.
I can’t help but wonder whose idea this was. I really don’t want to give Azariel any credit, but, let’s face it, this feels like something that coldhearted jerk would pull off. He has this talent for making everything seem so deliberate—even the tacky stuff. There’s no sugary sweetness here, just a raw, almost haunting celebration of the day, one that only he could pull off. Dammit. Now I’m kind of impressed. And I hate that.
“Liar.”
I blinked and glanced behind me. Nothing. Great. Now I’m hearing voices. Hearing voices is a sign of schizophrenia, right? Do I need to Google this, or should I just wait until it’s time for my inevitable intervention?
“You’re so full of it. Admit it.”
The damn voice in my head is relentless, like it has nothing better to do than roast me. I swear, at times I think it’s my asshole cat. I shake my head, trying to get out of my head and ignore the bitchy voice.
“I’m still here, and you’re still full of shit.”
I sighed and took a deep breath through my nose.
“I’m not full of it. I can’t stand the man. He’s a cold, arrogant, walking tattooed glacier with a penchant for making people feel like garbage.”
“So, you like the tattoos? Can’t blame you. And yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that. But deep down? We both know you’re absolutely whipped, and you know it. It’s kind of pathetic.”
Oh, wow. My thoughts woke up today and chose violence.
“I am not whipped.” I gritted my teeth. “I can’t stand him.” This time, I said it aloud like a mad woman.
“LIAR.”
“Ugh, fuck off.”
I took another deep breath, focusing on the lobby and trying to ignore the voice in my head. The last thing I need is someone walking in and thinking I’m one step away from a straitjacket and an all-inclusive stay at the nearest mental institution.
Deep down, I knew it was true, but I refused to admit it. I won’t admit that I get a sense of comfort in the darkness that coats this lobby, how the gothic vibe feels like something I pulled out of my own twisted dreams. I won’t admit that I admire Azariel and everything he’s built on his own without anyone else’s help or money. But most of all, I won’t admit that in a world obsessed with hearts and flowers, his world will always stand apart. Take this lobby, for example. It’s a reminder—like I need one—that there’s beauty in the shadows. It reminds me that love isn’t always soft whispers and sweet gestures. Sometimes it’s fire and ice. And Azariel? He’s the embodiment of that.
Huh…
That thought feels like a breakthrough. Because I’ve never really believed in the kind of love you see in books or movies. But maybe the kind that grows in darkness… maybe that one lasts.
With a final glance at the decorations, I headed toward the elevator, completely ignoring the rude receptionist from last time, and took it up to Azariel’s floor, the boxes of donuts in hand.
Once there, I couldn’t resist. As I walked down the hallway to Azariel’s office, I passed by the small clusters of employees working in the open-planned spaces, each absorbed in their daily tasks. Without a second thought, I approached the nearest desk, where a gorgeous woman with dark, curly hair was typing furiously on her computer.
This was the perfect opportunity to mess with my new boss a little. I mean, what’s better than injecting a little sweetness into his cold, sterile work environment? It’s basically a guaranteed way to annoy the life out of Azariel, and honestly, I’m here for everything that cracks that cold facade a little.
“Hi,” I said with a grin, holding up the box of donuts. “Valentine’s Day treat. From the boss himself.”
Her eyes flickered up in surprise, then narrowed suspiciously. “Those,” she points at the donuts, “are from the boss? Our… boss? The one with the permanent scowl?”
I nodded, keeping the grin plastered on my face. “Yup.”
She stared at me for a moment, as if waiting for me to burst into laughter or reveal it’s all a joke. But when I don’t, her skepticism melts, replaced by something close to awe. “That’s… so sweet of him. Wow.”
“Oh, yes. He’s a gem.” I moved the box toward her, silently daring her not to take one. “Go ahead, help yourself with his kindness.”
She reached for one like it’s a gift from God himself, her fingers hovering over the assortment like she’s trying to pick the perfect one. Finally, she grabbed a heart-shaped chocolate donut with crumbled Oreos on top, inspecting it like she can’t believe it’s actually from her boss. “I can’t believe this is from him,” she mutters, looking like she’s about to faint in disbelief.
“Yeah,” I said, my face straight as an arrow. “He’s a real sweetheart underneath all that grumpy, world-destroying exterior.”
Then, I leaned in closer, lowering my voice just enough for her to feel like we’re sharing the world’s juiciest secret. She leaned in, her curiosity piqued—perfect. “Between you and me? He’s obsessed with holidays. Loves getting gifts. You know, especially on Valentine’s Day.”
Her eyes widened, like she’s about to dash out the door and buy him the most obnoxious card she can find. “He does?”
“Oh, yeah,” I practically purred, enjoying this way too much. “The man thrives on it. But don’t tell him I told you. He’ll deny it and then make you feel like you’re the one who just ate a whole cake without permission.”
“Yes. So, remember that for the next holiday.” I winked and she laughed. “Enjoy your treat. Make sure to thank him later.”
“Oh, I will.” she replied chirpier than before. I winked at her before moving down the hall to the next desk.
The donuts go quickly, and by the time I reach the last office, I couldn’t help but grin. The atmosphere here seemed so sterile and professional, and now has softened just a little, the smiles exchanged over sugary treats almost enough to break through the walls everyone keeps so carefully in place. It’s working. By the time the day ends, Azariel’s work environment will change from sterile and cold to well… happy and pleasant.
As I reached the last door, Azariel’s office, I paused, taking a deep breath. The playful thrill of handing out the donuts faded slightly, replaced by the cold weight of what awaits me behind this door. My stomach turns, I can already feel his eyes on me, assessing, trying to decipher my weaknesses to use it against me. Come on, Poe. You can do this. Don’t let him get to you.
After taking a few deep breaths, I pushed the door open, and there he was—the handsome Devil, leaning against his desk, as composed as ever dressed in a black suit that makes him look like a villain straight out of any popular enemies-to-lovers workplace romance.
My heart—the damn traitor — started to beat rapidly, as if trying to get out of my chest and crawl to its master. Oh, no. Don’t you dare be this weak, you fool.
“You’re early.” His raspy yet dark voice did things to my body. Things that make me feel hot all over. Ugh. I took a deep breath and tried to compose myself to not give him the satisfaction to see that he in some tiny way affects me.
His icy gaze flickered over me, and then the box of donuts.
Here we go.
“I brought something for you,” I said, holding up the box with a slightly mischievous smile. “For everyone, actually. Thought I’d spread a little Valentine’s Day cheer.”
He didn’t move at first, his gaze as unreadable as ever. He gave no reaction. None at all.
Then he broke the silence. “Valentine’s Day,” he repeated, his voice cool and disinterested. “How thoughtful.”
I could practically hear the sarcasm dripping from his words, but I’m not backing down.
“Only the best for my new boss.” I said sweetly. Too sweet yet he gave me nothing but that infuriating cold facade of his.
His gaze clashed with mine for what feels like an eternity, and then it flicked over the donuts as if dismissing me. The bright pink icing, the obnoxious red sprinkles, the heart-shaped sugar cutouts. It’s obnoxious, I know. But that’s the point.
Look, I’m not only being petty to mess with him a little, but I also did a good deed today. I treated his employees to some holiday cheer. It’s a holiday, after all, and they all seem so robotic and without a snitch of joy.
It’s a win-win, I’ll say.
Childish? Oh, yes.
But I can’t help it. It’s too perfect. Azariel hates Valentine’s Day—hates anything most normal humans would adore. Throughout the years I’ve known Azariel Solonik, I made it my mission to know everything there is to know about him. At first, it was genuine curiosity, then it turned into a low-key obsession, even when the man made me hate him. Pathetic? Perhaps. I mean, who wouldn’t be intrigued by a handsome man who looks like he’s perpetually plotting world domination and has a heart colder than a glacier in Alaska? He’s always fascinated me just as much as the stories I create.
Oh, well. We all have our obsessions, and sadly, mine is a six-foot-four, tattooed asshole with a frozen black heart.
So yeah, maybe it’s pathetic. Maybe it’s unhealthy. But after all this time, I’ve learned exactly what gets under his skin. And if there’s one thing Azariel despises more than humanity, it’s commercialized holidays. Valentine’s Day, in particular, is like a personal vendetta against him. Flowers that aren’t red roses? Gross. Romance? Barf. Pink? He’d rather burn the world down than look at it. Seriously. So, what better way to irritate him today than to walk in with something so unapologetically, disgustingly cute?
I took a step closer, my grin only growing while Azariel stared at the box like it’s a ticking time bomb, and I swear, if looks could kill, I’d already be six feet under in his mother’s rose garden. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even reach for the box. He just gave me a look that could freeze hell.
Oh, so you’re playing hard ball, cruel prince. Okay. I can do that too.
“Don’t even think about it,” I teased, waving a finger at him. “You’re going to take the donuts, and you’re going to love them. Or at least pretend you do. For my mother’s sake.”
He arched one black brow in that infuriating sexy way that makes my heart stutter without my damn consent. “Your mother? What does she have to do with this pathetic excuse of a provocation?”
My right eye started to twitch the way it always does when I’m on the verge of annoyance, but I do my best to stop it.
Instead, I grinned. “With these donuts, she sends her love.”
Okay, that’s a lie. But it’s one that will help me get this stubborn man to eat a holiday treat against his will.
“You’ve never been able to lie to save your life.”
I rolled my eyes. I’m not a very good liar. I’m only good at lying to myself, it seems. “Will it kill you to say thank you?”
He opened his mouth, no doubt ready to unleash a tirade of cold remarks, but then he paused, the briefest of something I can’t quite place. “Yes.”
My mouth twitched a little at that. “You’re acting like a brat with no manners.”
“And you’re insufferable,” he muttered under his breath.
I smirked, leaning against the desk. “I know. You’re welcome.”
The tension between us is thick, charged with the same energy it’s always had—he’s the icy wall, I’m the one who keeps throwing snowballs at it, always wishing I could just be let into his world but never be good enough. Ugh. There go my stupid emotions again. For a brief second, I felt like the little girl who thought he hung the moon and stars, but reality crashed down when he leaned back in his seat without giving the donuts a second glance. Asshole.
“So, look,” I breathed through my nose, picking up a donut and taking a dramatic bite, “I know the last meeting didn’t go as planned, but I am grateful for this opportunity.”
He said nothing, just looked at me like I’m the dirt under his shoes. See? You see why I act the way I do when he’s around. He’s so infuriating.
I tried again. “How about we talk about the story now? Before you start plotting my untimely murder?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at me, his expression unreadable, but there’s a glimmer there—one that says I’m more than just an annoying, insufferable pain in the ass. It confuses me.
I leaned in just slightly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I sat across from him, trying to look calm, poised, like I’ve got this in the bag. I could do this. I spent hours putting together these plot ideas, these characters. I’ve got something to show him, something that’ll prove I’m worth the chance he gave me. But as I glanced at Azariel, his gray eyes cold and unblinking, all that confidence started to slip away. I don’t feel like the woman who barge in here with her ‘fuck you’ donuts in hand and sarcastic remarks.
I’m the girl with blue dresses and stars in her eyes.
I cleared my throat, grabbed my iPad from my bag, and unlocked it to the Notes app. “Okay, so for this dark romance trilogy, I was thinking?—”
He’s already leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, staring at me like I’m an inconvenient fly in the room. It’s like a switch flipped the moment we moved from donuts to business. He didn’t even bother to pretend he was interested.
“Go on,” he muttered, his voice as dry as a desert.
I pushed through the sudden ball of nerves. “So, the first book focuses on a young teacher who’s basically stuck in a toxic relationship with this manipulative, older businessman whose trauma and past has broken him. But she didn’t see it at first. She thinks he’s her savior, but things turn ugly, and she runs from him and ends up in a small town trying to start over and there she meets this cowboy who’s a single dad and a total golden retriever. They start a love affair that gives her the hope of a happily ever after, but then her past comes knocking at her door.”
Azariel didn’t even flinch. He just tapped his fingers on the desk, rhythmically, like he was counting down the seconds until I stopped talking.
Keep going, Poe. You got this.
“The second book... it’s about the same woman and her cowboy trying to navigate their love with her ex making trouble for her. This one ends in a cliffhanger that will shock readers.”
He tilted his head slightly, barely making eye contact. I kept pushing forward, even though his disinterest was practically suffocating me.
“And then the third book will be the conclusion. Where she’ll have to fight hard for her happily ever after.”
I glanced up at him, waiting for some sign that he was listening, some flicker of approval or at least curiosity. But instead, there was nothing. Just that unreadable expression, like he’s been handed a pile of garbage and hasn’t yet figured out where to throw it.
I frowned. I could feel the frustration building up in my chest, but I kept it in check. For now. “And for the main characters... the MC is a sweet, but sexy single dad, and the teacher will be more relatable to readers. She’s?—”
Before I got to finish my thought, Azariel interrupted me, and it was like a bucket of someone else’s blood dumped over my head.
“No. It’s boring.” His voice is blunt, dismissive, like he just heard the most predictable thing in the world.
I blinked at him, momentarily stunned. “What?”
“I said it’s boring.” His eyes finally met mine, and there’s no warmth in them. “The characters, the plot... it’s been done a thousand times. You’re not reinventing anything. It’s all so... predictable and quite frankly is lacking.”
Boring?
Lacking?
I felt my heart sink. I thought this idea was at least decent, but now it feels like a pile of shit. The sting of his words hit harder than I expected. I hate that I care. I want to be unaffected. I want to be the confident, professional author who doesn’t let a single word get to her.
But, of course, I cared. I cared way too much.
My face flushed slightly, and I glanced down at my iPad, suddenly self-conscious. I hated how nervous I felt. Hated that I let him make me feel small. I hate that I’m desperate for his approval.
“Well...” I forced out, trying to keep my tone steady, “what do you want from me, then? I thought... I thought it had potential. It’s good.”
“I won’t publish something that’s just “good”. He looked at me for a moment, his expression never changing. “Come back when you’ve got something better. Something that makes even me believe in love. Because what you sold there sure doesn’t.”
His words are sharp, like a slap to the face. The irritation builds in me, but I bit my tongue. I didn’t want to make things worse.
“You’re talented,” he added, almost reluctantly, as if saying it begrudgingly. “But this? Not it.”
I stood up a little too quickly, feeling the burn of disappointment and frustration mixed in my chest. I was about to say something but I caught myself. Instead, I grabbed my iPad and closed the case with a snap.
“Fine,” I said, my voice a little too forced. “I’ll come back with something better.”
I started to leave, but then I stopped myself. I glanced back at him, and for a second, our eyes met. There’s something in his gaze—something deeper, darker—that I can’t quite place. But I don’t have time to figure it out right now. I have a million things to fix.
“Thanks for the feedback, boss,” I muttered, a little too sarcastically for my liking, and then I was out the door before I could make a bigger fool of myself, but not before I heard him say.
“Anytime, Poetry.”
Poetry…
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
There goes my stupid…foolish heart.