Chapter 24
James
She nods slowly. "Thanks, James."
Hearing her call me that sends chills up my spine. My stomach muscles knot. My balls throb. Damn, and this just from her calling me by my given name. This thing is going to get so fucking messy. Not wanting her to see my confusion, I shut down the emotions that wrenched free and step back.
"See you in the morning." My voice is brusque.
Hurt flickers across her features, then she firms her lips. Without answering me, she shuts the door in my face.
I deserved that.
I spin around and walk to my car, easing it onto the road.
I look in the rearview mirror at her apartment.
I shouldn’t have pulled back so abruptly.
But I sensed myself thawing toward her. Felt myself wanting to spend more time with her.
Despite trying to compartmentalize my feelings from this arrangement, the connection between us is eroding at my defenses.
I rub the back of my neck.
I cannot give in to the temptation to lose myself in her body. To do so will mean involving my heart.
I must resist her allure.
In another half an hour, I’ve reached my penthouse in Mayfair. It overlooks Hyde Park, but I’m never home during daytime hours to admire the view.
I unlock the door. Three turns of the key, left, right, left. The same pattern every time. The lock clicks with mechanical precision.
Open the door. Step inside. Close it behind me.
Lock it. Three turns. Right, left, right.
I close my eyes, letting the silence sink in.
For exactly six seconds, I stand completely still in the entryway. Eyes closed. Breathing regulated.
In. Two. Three.
Out. Two. Three.
Six seconds to leave the kitchen behind. To transition from Chef Hamilton to just… James.
The living room lights rise to a soft glow, triggered by the apartment’s smart system.
Keys go in the bowl. Wallet next to it, aligned parallel.
I hang my coat in the entryway closet, on the third hanger from the left. The same hanger. Every day.
I roll my shoulders. Crack my neck thrice.
The tension doesn't fully leave, but it…redistributes.
Malice appears around the corner, her timing as precise as everything else in this flat. She slinks over to greet me.
She doesn’t purr or rub up against my leg. Nothing as obvious as a show of attention for Malice. She simply makes sure I’ve seen her, then pivots and struts over to her bowl. Once there, she turns to glare at me.
“Yeah, yeah. Coming, cat. And don’t give me that stink eye. You have a smart feeder, so whether I’m here or not, you get your dinner.”
She tosses her head, then licks her mouth.
Maybe she’s still hungry? But she’s already had her dinner. It’s not good for her to eat more. She continues to stare at me.
For a few seconds, we indulge in a game of who blinks first. Then I sigh. A funny twinge pinches my chest. Damn, maybe it’s heartburn?
I nod in her direction. “Fine, okay. But only this time.”
I reach into the fridge and pull out a small, airtight container. Inside is a single piece of Sushi Grade Bluefin Tuna, sourced from the same morning catch that goes to The Edge.
Using my Yanagiba, a Japanese slicing knife, I slice the tuna into three cubes, exactly one centimeter each.
Not a jagged edge in sight. Good. The control I exercised while cutting the fish relaxes me.
I retrieve a small, already chilled porcelain saucer from the refrigerator, and using my culinary tweezers, I place the pieces on the saucer. They’re spaced exactly two inches apart.
Then I walk back to Malice. I set the plate down at the exact intersection of the floor tiles, aligned to the millimeter and in line with her food bowl.
She looks at the fish, then back at me. I swear, she sniffs.
“Sorry, cat. You had your dinner. This is a treat. And only because I last gave you one seven days ago. You’re due one.”
She stares at me balefully.
“Take it or leave it.” I head for the bar.
The sound of Malice chewing on the treat follows me. Good.
I pour myself some whiskey. It reminds me of the drink I had earlier with Ember. Which led to other things. Interesting. I really do need to stop thinking of her.
My phone buzzes. I snatch it up from my pocket. It’s Gideon calling.
"Yeah?" I answer it.
His smirking face appears on the screen. "You want to talk about it?"
"About what?" I ask cautiously.
"You going to pretend like you didn’t decide to get married? Who’s the lucky woman, by the way?” Gideon’s features reflect genuine interest.
"Harper Richie. My sous chef."
I head into my bedroom, pull open the top drawer of my dresser and take in the sight of the hair ties. I remove the one in my pocket and place it with the others.
One, two, three, four, five, six.
My collection is growing. Each time she drops a hair tie, I pocket it. I don’t return it to her. I justify it by saying this helps me manage my emotions. Keep my OCD under control.
One of the hair ties is more worn than the others. That’s the one I picked up the day I met her at the nightclub. The day I dropped her off at home.
My holding onto them has nothing to do with the fact that they belong to her. This is my way of coping with my OCD, which flares when I’m under a lot of stress.
I count the hair ties, arranging them again to my satisfaction. My breathing steadies.
Looking at the collection is a visual reminder that I am home. That I can leave behind the tensions of the day.
I shut the drawer and glance at my phone screen again.
“The PR from the upcoming wedding is sure to boost the bookings."
He shrugs a shoulder. "As long as you know what you’re doing."
I feign a casualness I don’t feel. "I’m doing what’s needed to lock down the future of my expansion plans."
His features soften. "You hold yourself to impossible standards, Bro. Also, you know you have a condition, right?”
“Are you referring to my OCD?”
He does a double take. “You are aware of how exacting you can be?”
“It’s my superpower in the kitchen. It helps me keep track of the variables which I would not be able to do otherwise.”
He frowns. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”
Someone calls Gideon’s name offscreen.
"You’re with your latest squeeze?" I ask, unsurprised.
My brother has somewhat of a reputation with the ladies.
"What’s life if you don’t make the most of every opportunity it offers?" His grin widens.
"Best sow your wild oats. Margot’s coming for you next to get hitched."
"Nah, I’m not gonna succumb to feelings of the heart. Unlike you.”
I scowl.
"I haven’t either. But it seemed like the best way to lock down the investment for my expansion plans."
"Hmm." He works his jaw from side to side.
"What?"
"I think, if you really wanted to, you could have found a way to lock down the investment and, perhaps, your inheritance without deciding to marry."
His words stay with me.
Is he right? Could I resolve the situation without getting married?
Despite being exhausted, I don’t get much sleep. Come morning, I get dressed and head to Harper’s place. I’m there at nine a.m.
I press the doorbell to her place and am buzzed in. I reach her flat and rap my knuckles on her door; it’s instantly pulled open.
I look down to find a girl staring up at me with a stern look on her features.
She has her hair in messy pigtails, and along with the dark lip balm, she has on a black skater dress over striped black and purple tights.
She’s also wearing an oversized graphic tee with bats and moons drawn on it.
Teamed with her black nail polish, the overall effect is spooky yet creative, and slightly dramatic.
Her eyes look enormous in her thin face. She must be around ten, I’m guessing from her height.
She looks me up and down. "Are you the man Auntie Harper is going to marry?"