2. Corvan
Chapter two
Corvan
I t was shockingly hard to walk away from her earlier.
I still don’t know why. I don’t know if it’s because, for the first time in a year, I finally had the chance to talk to someone who didn’t know who I was. Someone new . Someone who didn’t look at me with suspicion. I don’t know if it’s because she was so elegantly beautiful, in a way that took me off guard and made it hard to keep a distance. I don’t know if it’s because of the instant, world-shattering connection I felt the moment her eyes met mine.
I do, however, know that I’ve been sitting at the bar for the past thirty minutes and there’s still fifteen more to go before Eliza should be here.
The way she looked at me, the cool tone she used when she spoke, was intoxicating. Easy to get addicted to for someone like me. Yes, it was clear she had no idea who I am. How that’s possible anymore, I don’t know. After everything that happened in the past few years, I didn’t think there was a person alive who knew how to look at me without even the slightest bit of fear guarding their expressions. I especially didn’t think it was possible for someone to say no to me. Even for something as simple as an offer to walk them to their room.
She’d been smart to say no. Not that I planned to do anything to her—that I would ever touch a single hair on her or any woman’s head without consent—but I probably would have found myself unable to keep from stopping by. Even just to be rejected by her.
Something in the air shifts. A charge that feels just as familiar as it does new. Then I smell her perfume and that strange, almost herbal scent that hides beneath it, that is hers and hers alone. She pulls out the chair beside me and sits down. “You’re early,” she comments, her voice stronger than it had been before.
I fight the urge to look over at her and instead assess the bar around me. Themed after the ocean, of course, but with a nod to the Greek god of the sea, Poseidon. Cool blues and tinted whites color the walls, and under the soft gold starburst chandeliers, comfy, curved blue chairs are arranged around white cocktail tables. A focal point along the far wall is a statue of Poseidon holding a trident and adorned with large chunks of blue quartz crystals. "So are you,” I reply.
“I was hoping to down a few drinks before you got here.”
“Well,” I say, finally casting her a glance as I give her the barest of smiles, “Then you’re late.”
She levels me with a flat look. “Ha.” Eliza examines the bar in front of us before sliding my untouched drink toward herself and taking a sip, wincing slightly.
“Is my drink not to your taste?”
“It’s disgusting, actually, thanks for asking. And anyway, I figured the least you could do is buy me one, considering I wouldn’t even be here right now if you hadn’t begged on your knees for me to come.”
“I don’t recall begging. Or being on my knees.” I’m fighting a true smile now, unable to help but respond to her personal brand of humor.
“Really?” She asks, then shrugs. “I recall both.”
“Maybe you did hit your head after all,” I grin. She just just gives me another look , and we have an awkward moment of silence. “I would have bought you a drink, you know. Whatever you wanted.”
“Not too late for that.” Her fingertips trace the rim of the glass. “Something with more sugar than alcohol.”
“Fruity?” I ask.
Another shrug from her. “I don’t know. I’m not much of a drinker.”
I take in the information, file away the questions that arise at that—like why is she starting now? when she’s already going to be on a rocking boat in the middle of the ocean—and instead call the bartender over, order her something with a low alcohol content to keep her from getting wasted in case she’s a lightweight, and steal my drink back from her. I take a sip of it slowly, remembering the way her mouth looked pressed against the glass, before setting it back down and licking my lips.
When he brings her drink, she cradles the curved cocktail glass between her hands and asks, “Are you going to start interrogating me yet? To make sure I’m not one nap away from a funeral? ”
I watch as she takes a careful sip, decides she likes it, and takes a slightly longer one. Then I say, “I figured maybe we could just have a conversation.”
“For the love of—are you kidding? Please tell me this wasn’t an elaborate ruse for you to get me to go on some sort of one-sided date with you.”
My brows furrow. “Of course not. I just figured if you could hold a conversation without slurring or getting confused or passing out, I could consider you non-concussed.”
She eyes me up and down suspiciously, but nods. “Okay, fine. Let’s… converse.”
“What an organic way to start.”
“Fine,” she barks, glaring at me. “I don’t kn—oh—I don’t know your name.”
I try to keep from wincing. Not exactly what I was hoping for, even if I’m not surprised. If anything, the shock is that it took us this long to circle around to that. But it’s not the kind of thing I’m eager to hand out these days. I don’t want it to suddenly trigger a memory of who I am. Especially not when her company, while aggressive, is not unpleasant.
So I give her my nickname instead. “Corey.”
Eliza takes this in, nodding. “Corey.” It’s like she’s tasting the word. The way she says it is almost intimate, almost curious. Then she gives a single shake of her head. “No. I don’t like it.”
I almost choke. “What?”
“I mean, it’s fine. It just doesn’t suit you.” She takes a nonchalant drink.
“Oh yeah? And what would suit me, Eliza?”
She laughs and shrugs. I can see the flush of alcohol in her cheeks. She’s already buzzed—probably more because of the large swallow she had of my drink than the few sips of hers. “I don’t know. Something that doesn’t sound like it belongs to a frat boy.”
I’m smiling before I can stop myself, watching as amusement at her own words lights her face. “I was a frat boy, you know.”
She laughs and mixes her drink with the red straw stuck in the glass. “Of course you were. Your parents gave you no other choice when they signed your birth certificate. It’s not like you could have been a poet or a tech genius with a name like—”
“ —I’m that, too, you know.”
“A poet?”
Another smile slips out before I can smother it. God, when was the last time I smiled this much? When was the last time I smiled even once ? “No. The other one.”
“Tech genius?” She affirms, and I nod. Eliza eyes me up and down again. “Nope, I don’t see that for you either.”
“What do you see for me, then?” I ask. “Clearly, who I am is not good enough for you.”
She manages to make her smile look almost ashamed. “It’s not that you’re not good enough ,” she says slowly. “It’s just that you don’t look at all like who you are.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I can’t say I imagined you had a doctorate when I first saw you, either.”
Eliza gives me a dubious look. “That probably had something to do with me being sprawled across the deck.”
I shrug. “Humor me anyway. Who did you think I was? What would you guess? ”
She studies me like I’m an unsolvable equation for a long moment, still aimlessly stirring her drink.
“Well,” she says, “I’d probably guess that your name was something like Kade or Atlas or something else that’s mildly uncommon. And after seeing your suitcase, I’d probably assume you were… a lawyer, maybe? Something pretentious where you have your own office on the top floor with at least one wall that is just floor-to-ceiling windows. You probably spend most of your time at work, but still live in one of the most breathtaking penthouses that exist in the universe. It’s probably sparsely decorated and you call it minimalistic, but it’s just because you don’t know how to shop for decor and you’re afraid of clutter. Your bed is probably a California King and your bedding is probably various shades of black, white, or beige, and you stay as far away from blue as possible because you know it’s a man’s basic choice and you want to stand out when women remember their nights in bed with you.”
Eliza winks, laughs, and leans back in her seat. “How’d I do?”
Besides the job and the name, everything else sounds like me. Or, at least, who I was. It’s almost terrifying how fucking accurate she was. I’m no longer him, though. I don’t live in the penthouse anymore—instead, I live in an old gothic-Victorian style home in the woods, away from everyone and everything. I’ve stopped going into the office, and instead rely on wifi and the capability of my employees to keep my company running smoothly. My house is still bare, but it’s because I don’t give a shit and not because I don’t know how to buy decor—though that’s probably true, too.
I could tell her all of this. I almost do, even though I know I shouldn’t. But I just smile and take a long drink before nodding. “Sounds a lot like who I used to be.”
“Oh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re an entirely different person now, are you?”
Yes. No. I’m exactly who I was, but a hell of a lot less trusting.
And I’ve already let Eliza see far too much of me. The scandal that shook my life has only just started to become old news—I can’t risk bringing it to the surface again.
So I down the rest of my drink and dig around in my wallet for some cash. I leave enough for a hefty tip and stand. “I think it’s fair to say your brain is fully functioning and not at all concussed.”
She frowns. “Where are you going?”
I just shake my head. If I answer the question, I’m indulging this. I’m allowing myself to become more comfortable than I already am, than I should be, with this woman. This woman who is smart and has a promising life ahead of her and doesn’t need to be dragged into my bullshit. And beyond what being involved with me would do to her, I’m not willing to risk what she could do to me if things ever became… more between us. I risked it once before and it only served to fuck me over.
Still, I give myself a moment to memorize her features. Gentle waves of sandy brown hair that fall to her collarbone, deep green eyes that could almost be mistaken for hazel, and full lips I’ll forever wonder what it would be like to kiss.
Then I blink and step away. “Goodnight, Eliza,” I murmur.
It’s the only answer I give before I walk away from her for the second time today.
Somehow it’s even harder to not look back than before.