CHAPTER 18 #2
“I was behind them when they were leaving a few weeks back, and I heard him say that he’d be calling Lavish Darlings to get another appointment with her, and to be waiting for his call.”
“Lavish Darlings? Hmm?”
I sit back in the booth, the wheels already turning in my head. I nod my head at Tyler and then dismiss him from the table. My eyes drift toward the two of them again, and the idea pops into my head like a light bulb.
I step out of the booth and go toward the hallway right outside the dining room, the phone already pressed to my ear before I’ve fully cleared the doorway.
My pulse is still thudding from watching Windy laugh like that, from watching the alpha lean in like he’s earned the right.
I need answers. I need leverage. I need something to ground the storm ripping through me.
The line clicks.
“Lavish Darlings, how many I—”
“I need the owner,” I cut in, sharper than I intend. “Now.”
There’s a beat of startled silence. I don’t give her room to recover.
“It’s urgent,” I say, low, controlled, the kind of tone that makes people move. “A matter of high importance. Put. Her. On. Now.”
Another pause.
A rustle.
A muffled exchange I can’t make out.
My foot taps against the polished floor, impatience coiling tight in my chest. Then the line shifts, and a new voice comes through—steady, composed, with the kind of confidence that doesn’t need to announce itself.
“Rivers.”
I blink, thrown for a second. I didn’t expect a woman to own Lavish Darlings, but I should have known.
Suddenly, I’m aware of how tightly I’m gripping the phone, how close I am to unraveling everything I’ve been pretending to be.
“Ms. Rivers,” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Thanks for taking my call.”
“What can I do for you?” she asks.
“Well, you see, last week I had the opportunity to have an escort by the name of Windy with me for the night.”
“Yes?” she asks, clearly confused. “I do have a Windy in my employ.”
“Well, she cost me a five-hundred-thousand-dollar contract, Ms. Rivers. I expect there to be repercussions. The client refused to sign the paperwork today because my date was less than savory during the business dinner. I want this rectified.”
“Certainly,” she says, and I can already hear her doing things in the background. “Rest assured that I will take care of this right away.”
I smile for the first time tonight.
And immediately I feel sick.
Because this isn’t playing anymore. This is petty jealousy and trying to make her life hell so she agrees to a rematch. Until she does that, I’ll do whatever I can to get her to, even if I don’t really want to.
I hang up before I can think too hard about it.
Before the guilt can get its claws in too deeply.
Then I walk back into the dining room as if nothing happened.
I slide into the booth again, eyes fixed on her table.
It takes less than a minute, maybe two, before her phone rings.
I watch as she gets into the purse and pulls it out, saying her apologies to her date.
She glances at the screen, confusion playing across her face, and she excuses herself from the table.
I’m already moving.
I follow at a distance, staying in the dimmer edges of the hallway, close enough to hear the tone of her voice but not the words. Within seconds, her posture changes. Her shoulders tighten, her chin dips, and her free hand curls into a fist at her side. Then her voice rises, thin and desperate.
“But, please, I didn’t do anything. I swear. I didn’t. Everything went off without a hitch last week. I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
Her boss says something sharp enough that even from here I can feel the impact. Windy goes pale, the color draining from her face as if someone had pulled a plug out of a drain, and now she’s running out of the tub.
“Please,” she whispers. “I didn’t. Give me one more chance.”
Another pause.
A verdict.
She hangs up a second later, her hand is trembling around the phone. She leans back against the wall, all the fight bleeding out of her at once, her shoulders sagging, her breath shuddering.
She looks small.
She looks hurt.
I did that, and I hate myself for it.
I stay in the shadows, watching her crumble, the guilt twisting deeper, sharper, until it’s hard to breathe. But then, I push forward and end this.
I step out of the shadows like I’ve been there the whole time, like I didn’t just watch her world tilt sideways, all because of something I set in motion. I smooth out my expression into something cold, controlled, and untouchable.
“We told you to stop while you were ahead,” I say, voice low, steady. “So, this is your second warning. Stop and bow out gracefully.”
She jerks her head up. Her eyes are wet. One tear clings to her lashes. The moment she sees me, the hurt hardens into something sharper. Anger flares bright and immediate as she puts two and two together.
“This is my job!” she snaps, voice cracking around the edges. “I never, not once, messed with your job. What are you doing?!”
I hold her gaze, refusing to flinch. “We told you. This is a repercussion for not listening. You’re so easy to read, it’s unreal.”
She growls. The sound is low and furious, vibrating straight through me. It hits me in a place I don’t want to acknowledge. Heat sparks low in my gut. Her fire has always done that to me, lit me up, and burned me alive.
“Stop stalking me, creep,” she spits. “You think I didn’t know you, Amos, and Finian follow me where you think I can’t see? I do. Stop.”
“Agree to a rematch.” I take a step forward, closing the distance inch by inch, letting the threat coil in my voice. “Tread lightly and go away. We’ve had enough of this. Next time, you’ll lose everything.”
“Tell me why you really want a rematch, and I may consider it,” she says, but I can see now that she’s not serious about it.
“You can’t handle my reasoning, little girl. Just know that you are not what we’re looking for in a mate. For one night, we lost our heads, but we won’t any longer. Agree to a rematch now, or it will only get worse for you.”
She steps into my space like she’s not afraid of me at all, like she’s daring me to push her further. She’s shaking with anger, but her chin is high, her eyes blazing. Her scent teases my nostrils, and my mouth salivates. Cotton Candy with a tinge of anger. It’s fucking delicious.
“Strike one,” she seethes, baring her teeth.
Then she turns her back on me and walks away, shoulders tight, fury radiating off her like heat. I watch her go, seeing that fantastic ass sway from side to side. Her entire body is coiled, ready to strike. I stand there, pulse hammering, watching her go, wanting her more than I should.
Wanting her with everything inside of me.