Chapter Thirty-Two
Hunger rouses me from sleep later that night, so I emerge from the bedroom, only to pause when I see racks upon racks of clothes awaiting me. There are so many garments, they nearly fill up the spacious living room.
It looks like Killian spent a goddamn fortune on me instead of letting me bring my perfectly serviceable suitcase with me.
I’m not sure why he’d go through the effort—he’s made it abundantly clear that I’m not here as his date, but rather a member of his team.
A temporary member who will soon be departing.
Someone not worth a fortune in designer clothes.
A glance to the coffee table shows that the clothes aren’t the only thing he bought; there’s also enough makeup to please the pickiest beauty influencers, and shower products from labels I’ve never even heard of. I blink slowly, stunned at the display of wealth.
Black velvet boxes sit on a rolling cart by the door and catch my eye; I pointedly ignore them.
Killian’s gifted me jewelry before, and I didn’t take it.
I’ll choose a few outfits because I don’t think it’d be appropriate to go out in public wearing only a hotel robe, but that’s the extent of what I’ll take from him.
I don’t need to be spoiled, and I don’t like feeling like a kept woman.
What I have with Killian isn’t romance, it’s an arrangement.
His version of wooing me is holding me down and forcing his cock inside me—not flowers and chocolates.
I ring up room service, ordering myself a steak and salad, and then sift through the clothing options, shaking my head with derision.
It takes me well over an hour to settle on a few outfit choices because there’s far too much to try on.
When I’m done, I hang my chosen garments in the bedroom closet, gorge myself on a delicious fillet, and crawl back into bed.
I awaken an indeterminate amount of time later, when the mattress dips beside me. My eyes blink open, and I meet Killian’s gaze. His chest is bare, and his arms look disturbingly comfortable. I don’t know why, but I have the urge to cuddle up to him like a needy young pet.
“Are you cold?” Killian asks, drawing the blanket over both of us.
I left the window open so it is quite chilly, but… “I prefer sleeping cold,” I murmur tiredly.
“Then we’re a good match,” Killian says, gracing me with a smile.
He curls an arm around my waist and pulls me into him.
My head lands on his pec, and my legs tangle with his.
He curls his strong body around my soft one, pressing a few consecutive kisses to my temple.
“I missed you.” The admission is softly spoken and has an undertone of derision, as if he’s upset with himself for getting sentimental and having the capacity to yearn for someone.
“Don’t be silly,” I whisper in response. “I’m just an ant.”
“You’re my ant.” He sighs, fluttering the fine hair around my temple. “Sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
The busy day starts promptly at sunrise, when I awaken to Killian’s head between my legs, and his tongue plunging into me like I’m his favorite breakfast. He puts me on my hands and knees as he fucks me, massaging my sore ass and whispering words of praise and degradation.
I’m lax after the morning sex, but I wake up after a cup of coffee and some plain yoghurt.
Killian and I set out for the day once I’ve showered to wash off the scents of cum and sex.
I put on a pretty, navy-blue wrap dress with a sash at the waist and a slightly flaring skirt, while Killian dresses in a dark blue suit, deliberately matching his tie with my dress.
I don’t know what, if anything, the gesture means, but I don’t bother looking into it. I only have one week left with him. One week to endure—and enjoy—the things he does to my body… and one week to nail him down.
I want this to be over—truly over when we return to the states.
I don’t want to live my life in fear that he’ll release the sex tape, which was taken without my consent in the first place.
I want to move on and focus on my career, and maybe hire a therapist to help me work through the insanity of the last few months.
Our first stop is a boardroom meeting, where Killian sits down with the UK team of Helixon Biopharma to discuss attempted price fixing and strategies to bypass it.
I jot down notes as they discuss margins, distribution, production, and costs.
One thing that becomes abundantly clear is Killian runs an extremely tight ship, and likes to know everything happening in every corner of his company.
The charm he presents to the world doesn’t come out with people who do direct business with him—that’s reserved for outsiders, like the doormen, and the masses of people around him. Killian regards them as ants, and he puts on a philanthropic, generous facade for them.
I know Killian well enough to understand there’s very little genuine generosity inside him. It’s all a masterful front.
After the first meeting, Locke swiftly heralds us across London, where Killian cuts the ribbon on a homeless shelter.
Reporters and news stations surround him, along with a crowd of regular people.
He smiles at the cameras, hugs a few children that will be residents for the shelter, and generally acts the part of a kind, generous billionaire.
I know better than to believe the facade. Kind billionaire is an oxymoron; there’s no such thing.
After the ribbon-cutting, we break for lunch at an intimate café. We sit across from each other, and Killian watches me as he picks at his plate. “Enjoying yourself so far?”
“I’d enjoy it a lot more if I had my clothes.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “I got you better clothes. Don’t complain.” He pauses to take a bite of his smoked salmon. “You’re not wearing any jewelry.”
“I packed jewelry, but alas, my suitcase didn’t make it.”
“I got you jewelry. Pieces I selected myself.” Killian cocks his head to the side, eyes glimmering with irritation. “Why don’t you accept what I offer you? You could pawn off the diamonds for a fortune when we get back to the states.” He pauses, and his lips curve. “Like you did with the necklace.”
He knows I pawned the necklace? Of course he does—Killian has a way of knowing almost everything about me. Almost.
“I pawned the necklace because it was sitting in my office. The things you got me last night can sit in the hotel room.” Maybe a maid will pawn them off.
“Why?” Killian sounds like he genuinely doesn’t understand.
Money has bought him almost everything—a ticket out of his impoverished youth, power, luxury, and women. He sees it as a cure-all, and it confounds him that I don’t share his view of it.
“Because I don’t need the cash. I don’t need the jewelry. I’m perfectly content with my paycheck.”
Killian rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You barely make ends meet on your salary.”
I shrug. “I guess we have different definitions of making ends meet. I get to travel for my job, which cuts vacation costs. My IRA and 401K are maxed out. I get great benefits at Empire Journal, and I set aside money in savings and investments. I have everything I need.”
“But you don’t have everything you desire. I’m offering you everything you could desire and more.”
“Money can’t buy what I desire. It can only give an illusion of meeting my wants rather than needs.
At their core, humans are simple creatures, Killian.
Look at Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Anything above the safety tier is actually a desire and luxury, and I’m blessed to have many luxuries.
” I shrug. “We’re all simple souls, I suppose. ”
Killian’s jaw tenses. “I’m not.” He pauses. “And neither are you.”
“Don’t presume to know what I am and am not.”
Killian smiles wolfishly. “Why? Am I hitting too close to home?”
I push away my plate, leaning back in my seat and crossing my arms. Killian leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table.
“You’d like to think you’re a simple soul and have easily-met needs, wouldn’t you? But you’re not, and your needs are far from simple. It took me nearly two months to get you to admit you like what I do to you—and there’s nothing simple about your sexual appetites.”
“Those are desires, not needs,” I say through gritted teeth. “And how do you know that I wasn’t just saying whatever it took to appease you and get you to stop?”
“Because I know you. I observe you. I study you, and I’ve learned you. You like to tell yourself lies—you like to tell the world lies. But I see the truth.”
“I’m done with this conversation.”
Killian inclines his head. “For now. Take the jewelry, Lyra.”
“No.”
He growls. “You are the most stubborn, infuriating, confusing creature I’ve ever met—”
“Then let me go.”
“I don’t want to let you go!” he snaps, loudly enough that a few people around us turn to throw him looks. My eyes flutter closed, and I release a sigh.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson,” I say quietly. “A lesson it seems you never learned as a child. We can’t all get what we want, whenever we want.”
Killian’s eyes burn with conviction. “I can.”
He returns to his meal, and an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach. Is he considering extending our arrangement, despite adamantly reminding me that I’m beneath him?
No. He can’t.
I won’t let him.
I have to find leverage on him… not only to prevent the release of my tape, but to prevent him from breaking his word.
My observation skills are in full-throttle for the rest of the day, but they only truly begin to come in handy when we attend a gala that evening.
Killian doesn’t put a hand on my waist—he actually respects my demand of keeping our arrangement and relationship, if it can be called that, private—which gives me ample opportunity to watch him work the room.
The gala is for a charity that’s aiming to end world hunger, and there are many big players here.
One of them is Silas Cornell—he and Killian don’t seem nearly as friendly as they were the last time I saw them in the same room.
In fact, Silas tries to strike up conversation with Killian more than once, and Killian gives him looks so chilling they raise the hair on the back of my neck.
“You’re Killian’s little reporter.” A low, gritty voice draws me out of my musings, just as a vaguely familiar man drops into the bar seat next to me.
I frown as I realize where I know him from—this is the guy who was staring at Annalise like he wanted to eat her alive. The one who struck me as an in-your-face criminal.
“I’m not Killian’s anything,” I reply smoothly, taking a sip of my champagne and observing the man over the rim of the glass. I set it back on the marble bar. “I’m here with his team—”
“Spare me the bullshit,” he sighs. “I’m friends with Killian.”
“I wasn’t aware he was capable of making friends.”
He chuckles. “Fair observation.” He extends his hand to be. “Carter Black.”
I take his hand, suppressing a cool shiver when he gives it a shake, all the while gazing into my eyes like he’s searching my soul.
“Your friend never called me.”
“You didn’t have the energy to say hello to her yourself. Why would she waste any energy on you?”
Carter smiles, and the sight is unnerving. Much like Killian, the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but Carter doesn’t seem interested in even pretending to be sincere. I get the sense he wears his darkness on his sleeves and uses it to intimidate the masses.
“Fair enough.” Carter jerks his chin around the room. “Are you enjoying the event?”
“No.”
He chuckles. “Neither am I. Nights like these are as tedious as they are boring. Total waste of fucking time.”
“Are you saying you’re not a philanthropist at heart?” I mock.
“I don’t have a heart,” Carter deadpans. “You trying to read the room?”
“I’m a journalist.” My words have an underlying duh.
“Allow me to help you out. The one chasing Killian like a kicked puppy is Silas. Killian’s enjoyed fucking his investments—without lube—for the last couple of months.
That there is the Prime Minister, and the woman on his arm is his third mistress in as many months.
His wife is holed up in a psych ward after taking too many pills—don’t repeat that.
” Carter goes down a laundry list of people and their descriptions, but my focus remains on Silas.
Something’s going on between him and Killian.
The air between them is charged with tension and danger.
Rhea mentioned Silas when we met—it seems Killian may have business interests with Silas that stem beyond the pharmaceutical industry.
I’ve had very little material to go on with Silas and Killian, which means I need to dig deeper. I need to go over both of their financial reports and see if I can find a link somewhere. After all, following the money is the surest way to follow business.
When Carter’s finished, I ask carefully, “Isn’t Mr. Cornell also in the pharmaceutical industry?”
“Don’t waste my time with questions you already know the answers to,” Carter replies, sounding one part bored and two parts annoyed.
“Very well. Why are the two on speaking terms if they’re such rivals?”
“There’s no real rivalry between them. Killian outranks Silas in every way that counts—sans the massive inheritance that Silas already managed to waste. And, presently, they aren’t on speaking terms.” Carter pauses to consider me. “Why do you ask?”
I shrug. “Curiosity.”
“Don’t they say curiosity skinned the cat?”
“I think the saying is killed.”
Carter grins. “But skinning is so much more satisfying than killing. One is over in an instant. With the other, you get to enjoy the sweet sound of your victim’s cries.”
I swallow, gazing at Carter in a new light. “Stay away from Annalise.”
“No.” Carter stands. “She and I have unfinished business.” With that cryptic statement, he leaves.