Chapter 23 #2
Taylor frowns, glancing between the two of us. “What’s going on? Aren’t check-ins part of the contract?”
“They were,” Fran replies absently, still tapping on her screen. “But once your profile was purged from the servers…”
“Purged?” Taylor echoes, whole body going tight. “Why?”
“Boss’s orders,” Fran answers, eyes flicking to me.
Taylor whips her head around so fast she practically gives herself whiplash. Her eyes lock with mine, pupils dilating. “Boss?” she chokes, jerking back a step like she’s been slapped. “You own this place?”
While I typically prefer to keep my business interests private, denying it at this stage would be pointless. After a beat of silence in which I briefly consider snapping Fran’s neck, I give Taylor a single nod of confirmation.
Her breath hitches. She averts her eyes, blinking hard as if to wash the shock away.
Francesca watches our interaction with morbid fascination, heels clipping against the marble as she rounds her desk to approach me.
Bold move, considering I’m toying with the idea of ending her life.
“I’m so sorry about this, James,” she says in a low voice, stepping in close and resting a hand on my forearm. It’s a gesture that’s meant to be comforting, but it reads as far too performative. Too familiar. “I’ll get to the bottom of this and ensure that it won’t happen again.”
The glare I give her is glacial– a silent but deadly warning.
She wisely heeds it, immediately releasing my arm and backing up, redirecting her attention to Taylor. “I truly apologize for the inconvenience, Miss Holt. You won’t be required to return here for the duration of your contract unless any concerns arise.”
Taylor stiffens. “And if they do?”
Fran steps toward her, employing the same hollowly comforting posture that failed on me. “Feel free to contact me directly,” she says with a soft smile. “James has the number for my private line, I’m sure he’d be happy to share it with you.”
“Of course,” I cut in, sidestepping to rest my palm firmly at the base of Taylor’s spine. “I believe that concludes our business here.”
Taylor doesn’t resist as I swiftly guide her out of the office, but she doesn’t meet my eyes, either.
Her gaze stays fixed ahead, her movements stiff and jerky, like a bird unsure whether to take flight.
She stays silent in the elevator, too, arms wrapped around herself, staring blankly at her reflection in the chrome walls.
When we reach the lobby, she quickens her pace, clearly trying to put distance between us. My stride is longer, so keeping up is effortless. I stay in step with her all the way to the black car idling at the curb.
She slides into the back seat and scoots as far as she can to the opposite side, pressing herself against the door.
I get in after her, pop the button on my jacket, and nod to the driver.
Taylor props an elbow on the window ledge, chin angled toward the glass.
She then proceeds to spend the entire first block of the drive pretending I don’t exist.
I let her have the silence for as long as I can tolerate. About forty more seconds, at best.
“You seem upset,” I remark.
Her reflection flickers in the window; a tight-lipped ghost of a smile. “Do I?”
“You’re practically vibrating with it, darling.”
She huffs out a breath, folding her arms. “Maybe it’s the revelation that you’re not only my employer by contract, but also the owner of the company that sold me in the first place,” she mutters bitterly.
“And now you’ve purged me from their records so you can do whatever you want with me, up to and including making me disappear without a trace. ”
“Your records were purged for your own safety,” I bite out, sharper than intended.
She scoffs, still staring out the window, still refusing to look at me. “My safety from who? Because as far as I can tell, the only one I’m in danger of being hurt by is you. You’ve been manipulating me this entire time.”
“Taylor.” Her name leaves my mouth as a warning, low and edged.
She doesn’t back down, but she does finally turn to meet my gaze, hazel eyes glassy and fierce. “You could have told me,” she hisses. “You could have mentioned it at any point. Instead, you just let me walk in there like an idiot.”
I resist the urge to reach for her, my hands tightening into fists atop my thighs. “I didn’t think my business interests were relevant to our arrangement,” I reply calmly.
“They are when you own the damn company responsible for it,” she snaps. “You should’ve told me, James.”
The car glides through traffic in a stretch of silence thick enough to choke on. Sunlight cuts off the glass towers outside, turning each reflection into a blade. I don’t look away from her, even when she turns back toward the window.
“You’ve fucked Francesca, haven’t you?” she asks quietly.
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Just once,” she murmurs, “or did your one-and-done rule only apply to blood?”
“More than once.”
She swallows thickly, the movement tight in her throat. “So just the blood, then.”
“In a pinch, I’ve resorted to feeding twice from the same source,” I admit. “Never more frequently than that. Not until you.”
“Why?” she croaks, flickering me a sidelong glance. “Why me, James?”
I grind my molars, far too tempted to tell her the truth, but instead settling for a vague version of it. “Because your blood is uniquely palatable to me.”
She goes quiet for a long moment. Her gaze drifts to the window, then the car interior, searching for something to fixate on that isn’t me. When her eyes finally meet mine again, they’re harder. Colder.
“Is there anything else I should know?” she grits out. “Or do I have to wait for Fran to spill all your secrets?”
She’s jealous.
Interesting.
I exhale slowly, tightening the leash on my temper. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’ve got centuries of history.”
“And yet I still don’t know a damn thing about you!” she snaps, whirling on me. “I don’t know where you’re from, how old you are, what you were before all this. You never talk about yourself. You just… feed and fuck. And bark orders about when and how I can serve you.”
Irritation flares sharp in my chest, but I force myself to remain calm, keeping my tone cool. “You didn’t know any of that when you signed the contract, either.” I remind her. “Willingly, as I recall. You seemed perfectly content with the fact I was a stranger.”
“That was before…” She cuts herself off, turning away.
“Before what?” I growl.
Her eyes catch mine in the reflection of the glass. “Before you started fucking me like I’m yours.”
I move before she can blink– closing the distance, sliding an arm behind her back, and drawing her effortlessly onto my lap.
“You were mine long before I started fucking you,” I snarl, catching her chin between my thumb and forefinger.
“I knew you were mine from the first taste, mea dulcis. The rest was mere formality.”
Her breath hitches, but her eyes still blaze with defiance. “My blood or my body?”
“Both,” I reply simply.
My hand drifts to her throat, fingers splaying lightly across the delicate slope of her neck. Her pulse jumps beneath my palm; a fragile thrum of life I could extinguish in an instant.
“Haven’t I made that abundantly clear?” I murmur, my other hand gliding up the inside of her thigh.
Her hand comes down on mine, peeling it away. “That’s not what the contract said,” she mutters with a stubborn lift of her chin. “I didn’t sign up to be some kept woman while you go out and do whatever– or whoever– you want.”
“That’s exactly what you signed up for,” I deadpan. “But rest assured, my desires are very singular these days.”
“Meaning?”
I drag my thumb across her lower lip, watching the way it trembles under my touch. “Nothing turns me on quite like possessing you does. I’ve never been interested in monogamy, but if that’s what you’re after…”
“No, that’s… I just…” she stammers, a blush creeping up her neck. “I mean, yeah, if you expect me to be exclusive with you, then it needs to go both ways. But mostly I need your honesty, James. How can I trust you if I don’t even know you?”
“You know everything that matters.”
She barks a hollow laugh. “Do I? How old are you, James? Two hundred? Five hundred?”
“Somewhere between.”
“See? You can’t even give me a straight answer to the simplest question.
” She shakes her head, frustration bleeding through.
“Do you ever even think about what this is like for me? To wake up in a different world every day, to not know what’s expected of me or what’s going to happen next?
How am I supposed to figure any of this out if you’re lying to me? ”
I catch her chin again, angling her face toward mine. “I’ve never lied to you, mea dulcis.”
“Why do you always call me that?” she sighs, exasperated. “What does it even mean?”
I can’t help but smile faintly, despite everything. “It’s Latin for my sweet.”
Her brow furrows. “Isn’t that dead language?”
“And I’m a dead man,” I shrug.
“You look alive and well to me,” she mutters.
“Thanks to your blood.”
She rolls her eyes and slides off my lap, turning toward the window again. My eyes zero in on the pulse point at the base of her throat, appetite stirring.
Something tells me she wouldn’t be thrilled if I asked to feed right now.
Continuing this argument won’t serve either of us, so I let the silence stretch again– thick, unyielding, and full of everything we aren’t saying. The rest of the drive unfolds in a quiet standoff: her stewing in perceived betrayal, me burying the gnawing hunger.
I could tell her everything. Things I haven’t told anyone in centuries.
That every time I’ve come to care for someone, the world has found a way to rip it apart.
That vampires aren’t capable of human trivialities like love.
But I don’t.
She may be angry now, but she’ll come around. I’ve seen how she looks at me; felt how her body yields under my touch. And the way I can feel her frustration simmering beneath my own skin only strengthens the theory I’ve been forming about who Taylor Holt really is.
All that remains to be seen is whether science can back it up.