Chapter 53 I’m Not Allowed to Kill Him and It’s Killing Me
KADE
“I don’t like this,” I say for the third time in ten minutes, pacing Izzy’s office like a caged animal.
Izzy doesn’t look up from her computer. “Noted. Again.”
“The guy’s a creep. You know he’s a creep. Why are we letting her do this alone?”
“Because she’s a professional who’s been handling difficult clients since before you showed up,” Izzy says, finally meeting my eyes. “And because she asked us to trust her.”
Cal shifts against the wall, arms crossed. “He’s got a point, though. Gerald Finley’s got a reputation. Handsy. Entitled. Thinks his money gives him the right to treat women like—”
“Like accessories,” Izzy finishes. “I know. I’ve also seen Amanda handle men twice his size with double his bank account. She can take care of herself.”
“That’s not the point.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration building. “Just because she can handle it doesn’t mean she should have to.”
“Welcome to being a woman in retail,” Izzy says dryly. “Sometimes we have to smile at assholes because they’re dropping twenty grand on suits.”
The casual acceptance in her voice makes my blood pressure spike. “That’s bullshit.”
“That’s business.” She leans back in her chair, studying me with that detective look she gets. “Look, I get it. You’re protective. But Amanda specifically told me she doesn’t want anyone interfering unless she signals for help. Can you respect that?”
Every instinct I have screams no. The idea of Amanda alone with a man who doesn’t respect boundaries makes me want to break things. Preferably Gerald Finley’s face.
But I also know that storming in there and playing hero when she hasn’t asked for it would destroy whatever trust we’re rebuilding.
“What’s the signal?” I ask finally.
Izzy and Cal exchange a look.
“She’s supposed to say my name,” Cal says. “I’ll be monitoring from the security office. Anything goes sideways, I’m thirty seconds away.”
I nod and turn to leave, but Izzy’s voice stops me.
“Kade?”
I look back.
“I know you care about her. I know you want to protect her. But the best way to do that right now is to let her do her job and trust that she’ll ask for help if she needs it.”
“I know.”
“You say that, but you’re vibrating with barely controlled violence, and it’s making me nervous.”
Cal snorts. “To be fair, that’s kind of his default state.”
I ignore him, focusing on Izzy. “I’ll control myself. But I’m not apologizing for wanting to keep her safe.”
“No one’s asking you to apologize. Just asking you to think before you act.” Her expression softens slightly. “She’s tougher than you think.”
“I know exactly how tough she is,” I say quietly. “That’s why I know she shouldn’t have to be.”
I leave before Izzy can respond, heading for the hallway. I need to see Amanda before she goes into that suite. Need to make sure she knows I’m watching. Need to establish a signal that doesn’t involve calling Cal’s fucking name.
I catch her just as she’s leaving her office, in that black wrap dress, looking like every professional fantasy I’ve ever had. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, her makeup perfect, her heels clicking against the floor with that confident stride that makes my chest tight.
Before I can think better of it, I wrap my hand around her wrist and pull her into the empty alcove. Her back hits the wall, and I cage her in, arms braced on either side of her head. This close, I can see the surprise in her eyes, the quick intake of breath, the way her pupils dilate slightly.
“Kade—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“Cal might be watching,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than intended, “but so will I. Every second. Every breath. Every time he so much as looks at you wrong.”
My hand’s still wrapped around her wrist. I can feel her pulse jumping under my fingers. She’s not pulling away, which is probably a bad sign for my self-control.
“Kade, look, this guy pushes boundaries, but I need you to let me handle him, okay? He’s a great client, and he could ruin the store’s reputation if we kick him out or refuse him service. Please respect what I’m telling you, and don’t do anything unless I signal for help.”
Everything in me rebels against that. The idea of standing by while some entitled prick makes her uncomfortable, of watching through a security feed while she has to smile and be polite to a man who doesn’t deserve her time—it’s physically painful.
But she’s asking me to trust her. To respect her choices. And if I want any chance at winning her back, I have to prove I can do that.
“What’s your signal?” I force out.
“I say Cal’s name and—”
“No.” I can’t help the sharp edge to my voice. “You’re not going to signal him. You’re going to signal me.”
She blinks. “How?”
I lean in closer, needing her to understand how serious I am about this. “You touch your earring.” She’s wearing the silver crescents I bought her on Saturday. A little piece of our date that she carried through to today. “You put your hand on one and hold it for three seconds, and I’ll know.”
“Kade—”
“Say yes,” I interrupt, pulling back just enough to look at her directly. “Say you’ll signal me if you need help.”
I’m asking. Pleading, really. Because I need to be the one she turns to. Need to know that if something goes wrong, I’m the one she trusts to fix it.
“Yes,” she whispers, and some of the tension leaves my shoulders.
“Say you’ll be careful.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“Say you won’t let him hurt you just to be polite.”
“I won’t let him hurt me just to be polite,” she repeats, even though we both know that’s exactly what the world has trained her to do.
I nod once and push off the wall, immediately missing the warmth of her. She takes a shaky breath, and I watch her smooth down her dress, trying to compose herself.
“I’ll be in the security office,” I tell her, forcing my voice back to something approaching professional. “Watching.”
The word comes out loaded with promise and threat, and I see her reaction—the slight hitch in her breath, the way her eyes darken. Good. Let her know I’m serious about this.
She nods, and I force myself to walk away before I do something stupid like kiss her or lock her in her office where Gerald Finley can’t get to her.
Cal’s already there when I make my way into the security suite. The feed is crystal clear. Too clear. I can see every detail of the private shopping suite where Amanda enters with Gerald Finley. Cal stands beside me in the security office, arms crossed, watching the same feed.
She starts showing Gerald fabric samples, maintaining that perfect balance of friendly and professional. Gerald, for his part, is being exactly the entitled prick I expected. Comments that cross the line. Standing too close. A smile that says he’s used to getting what he wants.
My hands are gripped so tight that my knuckles have gone white. Every muscle in my body is coiled, ready for action I’m not allowed to take.
“I don’t like this,” Cal mutters.
“I know.”
“He’s standing too close.”
“I know.”
On-screen, Amanda measures Gerald for a jacket. He says something that makes her smile politely, and I can tell from the way her shoulders tense slightly that whatever he said wasn’t actually funny.
“We should go down there,” Cal says with an edge I recognize. It’s the same tone he uses right before he decides someone needs to be forcibly removed from a situation.
“No.”
“Kade—”
“She asked me to let her handle it,” I say through gritted teeth. “I promised her.”
“Even if he crosses a line?”
“She’ll signal if she needs help.”
“And if she doesn’t signal but still needs help?”
I don’t answer that. Can’t answer that. Because the truth is, I don’t know what I’ll do if Gerald really crosses a line and Amanda doesn’t ask for help.
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to go down there right now, but I made a promise.
I told her I’d respect her agency, her choices, her ability to handle herself.
Even if it kills me.
On-screen, they move through three more suits.
Gerald’s comments get progressively more personal.
Compliments about Amanda’s appearance, questions about her personal life, observations about how well they work together.
Each comment by itself could be dismissed as friendly conversation, but together they create a pattern that makes my spine crawl.
Amanda is writing up Gerald’s final order when he makes his move. He steps closer while she’s bent over the form. Too close. His hand goes to her lower back like he has every right to touch her.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
“That’s it,” Cal says, already moving toward the door. “I’m going down there.”
“Wait—” I start, but I can’t get the rest of the words out. Because Amanda has already straightened up, creating distance, her body language clearly uncomfortable.
“That’s very flattering, Mr. Finley,” she says, her voice calm and clear on the audio feed, “but I keep my professional and personal lives separate.”
“See?” I force out.
But Gerald doesn’t back off. He follows her, stepping into her space again. “Come, now. I’m sure we could find some common ground. I have a place in the Hamptons—”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not available,” Amanda says firmly, taking another step back.
Cal’s hand is on the door handle. “Kade, this is going too far.”
And then Gerald does it. His hand shoots out and grabs her wrist. Not a casual touch. A grip. His other hand goes to her waist, pulling her closer despite her obvious resistance.
“You’re sure I can’t change your mind?” His voice is predatory. “I can be very persuasive.”
The hand on her waist slides lower. To her hip. Then lower still, curving over her ass, squeezing.
“That’s it.” Cal yanks the door open. “I’m done waiting.”
“Cal, stop.” I grab his arm, but he shakes me off.
“Let go of me. This has gone far enough.”
“Look at her.” I force the words out, even though everything in me is screaming to let Cal go, to follow him down there, to break every bone in Gerald’s hand. “Look at her. She’s handling it.”
On-screen, Amanda takes a breath and looks Gerald directly in the eyes. When she speaks, her voice is firm. “Mr. Finley, I’m going to need you to let go of me right now.”
Gerald, to his credit, recognizes he’s crossed a line. Or maybe he just sees something in Amanda’s expression that warns him he’s about to get hurt. Either way, he releases her and steps back, his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“My apologies,” he says smoothly, like he didn’t just sexually assault her. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“The order is complete,” Amanda says, her voice perfectly professional despite what just happened. “I’ll have it ready for you next week. You can arrange pickup with the front desk.”
She turns her back on him and begins gathering her things.
Gerald stands there for a moment, clearly debating whether to push further, then apparently decides against it.
He signs the order form, leaves a tip, and walks out.
The moment the door closes behind him, Amanda’s shoulders drop slightly.
Just for a second. Then she straightens up, smooths down her dress, and walks out of the suite.
“You okay?” Cal asks.
I don’t answer. Can’t answer. Because I’m not okay. I’m the furthest thing from okay. I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand, my vision has gone blurry around the edges, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to go find Gerald and make him pay for putting his fucking hands on my wife.
But I don’t. I sat there and watched and did nothing because Amanda asked me to.
“Kade,” Cal says carefully. “Maybe you should—”
“I need a minute,” I manage, then turn and walk out of the security office.
My vision has tunneled down to a pinpoint. Combat mode. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready for violence that I’m not allowed to deliver.
I make it to the parking garage before I lose it.