Chapter 12 #2
I let her search me. Weirdly, I like the attention. I like that she’s worried. Once she figures out it’s not my blood, she gets all stuck up about it.
“I was on a job.” I brush at my sleeve. The front desk guard isn’t paying us any attention. He knows better than to notice when I’m around.
“Sometimes I forget what you do for a living.” She stiffens and shuffles away before pushing to her feet. “This was a mistake.”
“Don’t act like I’m the one who invited you over.”
“Right, you’re totally right. I should leave.”
“Wait.” What am I doing? Shut up, Liam, shut your mouth. “It’s late. Let me take you home at least.”
She hesitates, eyes flicking to the door. “I don’t know.”
“You came here for a reason.”
“I know, but—“ She worries her lip and takes me in. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks, love.”
“Come on. We’ll talk upstairs.” The decision is abrupt, but once she makes it, she strides off to the elevators. I’m left to marvel at her briefly, amazed at how fast she can switch gears. Ready to run, ready to stay. That girl doesn’t know what she wants.
That’s part of the problem.
Back in my apartment, she helps clean me up. I don’t need the assistance, but I don’t mind it either. I strip off my shirt and she treats it with some stain stick. “No way this’ll come out,” she says, tossing it in the washer. “You’d better rinse off.”
“What exactly are we doing here?” I stand in the doorway to the bathroom as she sits at the end of my bed. “Are you going to come sneak in there while I’m all naked and vulnerable?”
“No, of course not.” She wraps her arms around herself.
“Then why are you here, Regan?”
“I’ve been doing some research, and I was hoping… God, I don’t know… I was hoping you could make me feel less insane.”
“I doubt that, love.”
“Great, you’re so damn helpful.”
“Never said I was.”
She glares at me. “I shouldn’t be here. You’re just a thug, aren’t you?”
“I’m a thug and your future husband.” I step toward her. She shrinks back. “You’re a perfectionist and a pain in my ass. I’ll remind you, I didn’t invite you here.”
“I know, okay? I know that.” She takes a breath to steady herself.
“I’ve been looking into things at work… digging into numbers that were easy to ignore before but now are like screaming red sirens…
and I need to know.” She turns to me, face twisted and devastated, skin pale.
“Is it all fake? Is the whole firm a front for… for… you?”
I let that sink in.
Before I burst out laughing.
That doesn’t go over well. She groans with disgust and gets to her feet. She storms out of my room and I have to hurry after her, wearing only my boxer briefs. “Wait, Regan, hold on.”
I’m still laughing though.
Because fucking hell, that is funny.
“You’re such an asshole.” She glares over her shoulder as she reaches the door. “I’m being vulnerable here and you’re laughing at me.”
“I know, I know, but let me explain.”
“Screw that. I feel like my whole life’s been a lie. I’ve been ignoring it all these years, pretending like the inconsistencies and the strange gaps don’t really matter, but now they’re shrieking at me and I can’t get them to stop.” She slams her fist against the door.
I stop laughing. Abruptly, it isn’t funny anymore.
“You asked if it was a front for me,” I say and walk over to the kitchen.
She watches warily as I pour two glasses of wine.
“Your father’s business is not a front for people like me, but it does move money.
I won’t pretend otherwise. I apologize for laughing, love, but if you understood how the family worked, you’d laugh too.
“Fill me in then.”
“There are men like me—“ I gesture at myself and drain my glass. “And men like your father. I think of them as suits and knives. You can guess which one I am. The suits don’t give the knives a damn thing, but the knives? We give everything. And it’s funny, because all my life, that’s been fine.
I’ve even liked it, reveled in it, defined myself that way.
Now though, they’re trying to dress me up. ”
I stop talking. I have to clench my jaw shut. Why the hell am I telling her this stuff? She didn’t ask and didn’t need to know, but it spilled out anyway.
Nobody gives a shit about my feelings. Least of all the girl getting forced into a marriage with me.
She glares at me for a beat longer before coming over and picking up her glass. “They’re putting a suit on you.”
“Exactly. That’d be you.”
“I’m a damn nice suit at least.”
I toast her with my empty glass. “We can agree on that.”
She takes a sip of her drink and crosses one arm, resting her elbow on top of it. “My father does launder money for the Whelans though. He launders a lot of it.”
“Oh yeah, a fucking metric shit ton of money moves through your father’s business every year. Most of it ends up in the pockets of the core Whelan family though.”
“That’s why he’s important.”
“And it’s why whatever your ex took is a big deal.” I flick at a speck of drying blood on my shoulder. “You knew all this already.”
“I knew. And I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know, anyway.”
“Does it change anything? Hearing it all confirmed?”
“Not really.” She slumps against my island. “Makes me feel tired is all.”
“You’re welcome to crash in my bed, love.”
Maybe it’s the way I say it, but she stands up and shakes her head. “I need to get home.”
“Alright. No pressure.” I move forward and take her wineglass from her fingers. She surrenders it, but lingers near me. I breathe in the smell of her perfume. Floral and lemony sharp. I like it very much. I’m tempted to fist her hair and pull her in close.
But her nose wrinkles. “You stink like blood.”
“That’s a side effect of my work.”
“Good night, Liam.” She hurries to my door.
“See you in a couple weeks.”
She doesn’t look back as she gets the hell out of there.