Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
OBSIDIAN
“ S he needs to go.” I push a hand through my hair as I pace in front of Asher’s desk on Monday morning.
“Is she incapable of doing her job?” he asks, hands steepled in front of him, rocking back in his chair.
I wish that were the case. It would make it easy to get rid of her. Asher doesn’t tolerate incompetence. None of us do. But she’s fucking good at her job, unfortunately. She anticipates what I need before I can even ask for it, and everything I assigned her last week was done correctly with efficiency. There’s no question that she’s taken a lot off my plate, and it has been helpful in relieving some of that pressure.
“That’s not it. I told you. I don’t need a babysitter.” I turn to face him, hoping he’ll buy the lie.
It’s true, I don’t need someone watching over me and reporting back to my brothers if that’s what she’s doing, but that’s not why Ariana has to go. It’s because she’s a goddamn siren, and the pull to her grows stronger by the day.
I was fucked up on alcohol and weed when I ran into her in the garden yesterday, and I’ve almost convinced myself that’s the only reason I allowed myself to touch her and call her beautiful. But now that I know what her bare skin feels like beneath my palm, it’s even harder to keep my head in check. I tossed and turned in bed all night, imagining what it would be like to fuck her the way I want to—insatiable and primal. To make her bend to my will and push her past her comfort zone.
“She’s not a babysitter, Sid. I know you think we probably have her reporting back to us, but that’s not the case.”
Pressing my hands against the desk, I lean toward him. “Why’d you hire her specifically?” Did he somehow know that she’d get under my skin?
“She didn’t seem like she’d take your shit. That’s what I liked about her.” He shrugs.
He’s not wrong. Ariana barely bats an eye when I’m a dick to her. Either that or she comes back at me, but always with a smile on her face and always in a way that’s not quite direct enough for me to call her out.
“Exactly. My assistant should have respect for me. She should not be constantly challenging me.”
“Is that what you call it when a woman doesn’t let you put her in her place?”
Anabelle’s voice from behind me causes me to straighten and face her.
“That’s not what this is about,” I tell her.
“Isn’t it though?” She rises off her chair and makes her way to Asher, bending to give him a chaste kiss.
He tugs her into his lap. Their display of such easy affection makes my chest tighten, knowing it’s not something I’m ever destined for.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Anabelle says. “Maybe Ariana should dine with us in the dining room rather than always eating alone in her room.”
I narrow my eyes at my sister-in-law. “That’s not happening.”
Asher chuckles. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say there’s some other reason you’re so worked up about this woman.”
“Fuck off.” I turn and start out of his office. “Thanks for nothing.”
I prowl from his office and make my way to the east wing. When I arrive at my office, I stand at the threshold, watching as Ariana bends over, fussing with the shredder beside her desk.
It takes everything in me to bite back the groan that wants to crawl up my throat because she’s wearing a tight skirt that hits above her knee. Now that she’s bending over, her shapely legs are on display, as is that perfect ass of hers.
Drawing in a deep breath, I step past the threshold and don’t say a word as I make my way over to my desk. It’s as if I can feel her attention shift from what she’s doing to me. It feels like a caress with a light hand over the skin on my neck, and I’d bet good money on the fact that she’s eyeing the tattoo there.
“Did you pull all the files for the Enersync buyout like I asked?” I use my mouse to turn on my computer screen and type in my password. Only once I’m logged in do I turn my gaze to her.
Her luscious red hair is pulled away from her face, and it somehow makes her look even younger than her twenty-four years. She’s fresh-faced and exudes innocence today, which unfortunately only makes me want her more.
Ariana stares at me for a beat, almost as though she’s waiting for me to say something else. Something about me putting my hands on her yesterday morning? Not happening. If she’s smart, she’ll read that I’m going to play this like nothing ever happened, and she will too.
She seems to reach that conclusion and clears her throat, then lifts her chin a bit. “I did. Uploaded them to the cloud in their own folder. If you want anything printed, let me know. The emails that need your attention are on the corner of your desk, and your two o’clock Zoom meeting had to move it up to one, so I changed that on your calendar.”
I don’t bother saying thanks, just turn back to my computer.
“Did you want to dictate your response to the emails?” she asks after a moment.
“No, I’ll respond to them myself.” I don’t trust myself to be any closer to her and not jump over my desk and pounce on her.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I see that Mr. Smith sent me a message.
No luck tracking down the girl from the beach. Seems to be a dead end. I can keep trying if you want.
My mouth twists to the side. I’m not even sure what I hope to accomplish by tracking down the woman who saved my life. But I can’t get the vision of that locket hanging in front of my face out of my head, or that singing, though I’m not sure it’s even hers. But something keeps tugging on me to find out who she is.
But what the hell am I going to do? If Mr. Smith can’t find her, she can’t be found.
Never mind then. Call it off. I’ll send your payment today.
Setting down my phone, I push what happened on the beach from my mind. I don’t need something else on my mind. It’s best to let it go.
We work quietly for a couple of hours, and I stifle a groan of frustration when I receive a text from a colleague about an event I’m supposed to attend next week. One that Ariana will have to attend with me. I wish I could blow it off, but it’s imperative for Voss Enterprises that I be there to represent our interests and shore up support for our position.
“We’re going to be traveling for a few days next week. Someone at the head office will take care of the arrangements, but you’ll need to make sure you have the proper attire.”
She swivels around in her chair to face me, and I force my gaze not to dip down to her bare legs. “Where will we be going?”
It’s possible that she looks as horrified at having to spend time alone outside of the estate as I feel.
“Washington, DC.”
She nods. “What type of events will we be attending? Is what I normally wear insufficient?”
“Your cheap polyester skirts won’t cut it. And we have a fundraiser ball to go to. Talk to Marcel, and he can get you something that doesn’t look like it came from Walmart.” I’m deliberately cruel to make her want even less to do with me.
I steel myself against the flash of hurt that shines in her blue eyes, holding her gaze and daring her to say something. But she only nods, and weirdly, I find myself disappointed that she didn’t come back at me. Tell me what a rich prick I sound like and that not everyone is born into money.
“I’ll make sure to talk to him about it today,” she says before she turns back around to her desk.
Why do I feel an impending sense of doom like no matter what I do or how mean I am, nothing is going to change the fact that I’m drawn to the woman in this room with me?
There may be a constant lonely ache inside me, but that doesn’t mean that I want to fill it. Despite how I might act, I don’t want to hurt anyone. The idea of being what my father was to my mother is utterly soul-destroying to me. And if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that I’m becoming more like my father than ever.
My mood deteriorated as the week progressed. Basically, the more I found myself wanting Ariana, the bigger a dick I became. She never said anything, though, quietly going about her duties and making herself infuriatingly indispensable.
It’s Saturday night, and yesterday she told me that Marcel had acquired her clothing for our trip. Ever since then, I’ve been imagining what she might bring with her. She’s been running a fashion show in my mind, and with every hour that passes, the articles of clothing get smaller and smaller, more and more see-through.
I fist my hand and bring it to my mouth, groaning. This needs to stop. I know it does. But if that’s the case, why the fuck am I home on a Saturday night? I could easily make a few calls, take the jet to a nearby city, and work her out of my system with someone else. There are more than a few women who are willing and able. But for some reason, the idea doesn’t appeal in the least.
So here I am, walking down the hall to Ariana’s room, making up a bullshit fucking excuse to see her—like wanting to make sure what she has for our trip is appropriate.
I rap loudly on her bedroom door. I hear no movement from behind the door, and when she doesn’t answer, I knock again. Louder this time. Screw her if she’s trying to avoid me.
Once again, she doesn’t answer the door, so I try the handle, and the door opens.
“Ariana?” I step inside. “Ariana?”
It smells like her in here—like a tropical beach. The ocean.
With sure steps, I check the en suite and the walk-in closet and find both empty. It’s not as though I keep track of her coming and going, but where could she have gone?
I leave her room in search of Marcel, who always knows what’s going on within Midnight Manor. I find him speaking to Finn, his boyfriend. Finn’s in charge of the housekeeping staff in the manor.
Marcel straightens when he sees me. “Sir, can I assist you with something?”
I give a nod to Finn in greeting. “Do you know where Ariana is?”
“I’m not exactly sure, but she did ask me to have one of the drivers take her into town. I can check with him if you like.”
“Please.”
I wait while Marcel calls the driver on his cell phone, and after a brief conversation, he hangs up and slides the phone back into his pocket. “He said he dropped Miss Clarke off at Black Magic Bar. Apparently, it’s the same place she went last Saturday night.”
There’s no helping the frown that tilts my lips down. What the hell is she doing in a dive bar? Is she there to pick someone up for the night?
My hands fist at my sides at that thought. “Thank you, Marcel.”
Without even attempting to stop myself, I head straight for the front door, grabbing my car keys as I go, and slip into my Rolls Royce.