THIRTEEN
Idiot.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I shouldn’t have touched her. I had signed the damn HR brief. Boundaries. Zero tolerance. Just like with Scarlett.
One moment like that was a one-way ticket to a lawsuit, steel bars and a record.
My hand burnt with the imprint of her soft, warm skin as if the contact itself carried consequences.
She’d looked at me like I was about to grant her ruin in place of mercy. Eyes wide, oceans and skies and meadows bleeding into one impossible shade. Earth and air and water – all open and waiting. Her lips had parted slightly. And fuck me, I wanted to see her fall.
Not just physically. I wanted her cracked. I wanted to slither into that space between breath and thought where obedience lived and submission was pleasure.
Because I could see it in her eyes. She didn’t know it yet, but she would thrive on it.
And so would I.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it?
Clenching my teeth together, I dragged my chair back and feigned nonchalance as I reached for my laptop. Pretending to write. Pretending I hadn’t just felt her pulse beat like a secret against my fingers.
I typed a few useless words, then deleted them.
Instead, I watched her write from my end of the workspace.
She was rewriting the last part. Her sentences had softened, but they also deepened. The emotion was threading in now, the breath between each line tighter. Real.
She’s learning, I thought. The faint stutter in her breath told me she wasn’t only writing lines – she was reading me, too.
And she was a quick study.
I shifted slightly in my seat. And then—
Ah, fuck.
The next paragraph opened with a line about the plug. The one Damien was about to use on Chloe. Described perfectly.
I stiffened.
Because my mind wandered off to the dark side. Only instead of Scarlett…
Shit. Fuck. Idiot. Motherf—
I groaned, gulping down the glass of water next to my mouse.
My mind flashed with the image of my masked beauty.
On her knees like last time, that quiet gasp she’d let out when the blade touched her skin, the way she’d begged without ever using words.
And as I followed the text Paula trailed on the page, it reminded me I had a plug for my little angel tonight, too.
Smaller. Stainless steel, heavy enough to own her once inside.
But suddenly, I wasn’t sure who I was thinking about more. The one who called herself Scarlett – or the woman sitting five feet away. Still flushed from my touch.
Still writing me onto the fucking page.
When the door burst open, we jolted like guilty teenagers caught with our hands where they shouldn’t be.
Vinnie filled the frame, eyes narrowing as he took us in. The tilt of his brow said it all.
‘What are you two doing here?’
We blinked – simultaneously.
‘Working?’ Paula offered, too brightly.
Vinnie tapped his watch dramatically. ‘It’s six. We don’t pay in noble sacrifice or in caffeine-induced delusion.’ He winked at her.
She just grinned, utterly unbothered. ‘Time flies when you’re having fun.’
The words landed in my chest like a goddamn punch. Fun. That was what she’d call it. Being held by the throat.
Fun.
Hiring her was a mistake.
‘Well,’ Vinnie said, already moving as if he’d already decided, ‘now that I’ve got you both here – celebratory drinks. Let’s go! The handcuff collection’s already selling.’ He tossed our jackets towards us, grinning. Not that we needed them considering the heat outside.
I glanced towards the window – the damn overcast made the world slightly cooler, though something was telling me the heat was coming from elsewhere.
I didn’t like this idea one bit.
Did I want to see her outside this office?
Absolutely not.
But the alternatives were worse: sitting in this chair, reading her wicked words; sweating it out in the gym while images of her or Scarlett haunted me between reps; or fielding another pity-laced call from the hospice nurse whose voice always sounded too kind.
So I closed the laptop like I was shutting down a weapon and slipped it into my bag. Quietly.
By the time I looked up, Paula was already at the door.
And Vinnie? His eyes were all over her backside as she walked out.
The flare of possessiveness was harsh and immediate. Unwelcome. A hunger I used to smother with bourbon.
I almost said something. Almost forgot where I was… Almost broke character and the leash that held my beast at bay.
What was the matter with me?
We ended up at a rooftop lounge Vinnie swore was quiet enough to talk and dark enough to hide a lie.
The place was covered in amber light and soft shadows, jazz playing through crackling speakers. It held a certain kind of hush that made laughter feel louder and eyes feel heavier.
Paula sat across from me in one of those velvet booths that swallowed you whole. Her legs were crossed, shoulders relaxed – or trying to be. She looked tired in that way a woman did when she was still expected to sparkle.
I hadn’t noticed it before, but she was smiling when she should have, tilting her head just enough to look interested. Answered Vinnie’s lazy banter with grace.
And the motherfucker was in form – all charm and old-school swagger, shirt unbuttoned just enough to remind you he could get away with it. The drinks hadn’t even arrived before he started laying it on thick.
‘She’s sharper than you deserve, Cain,’ he said, flicking his eyes between us. ‘You realise that, right?’
‘She’s efficient and talented,’ I replied flatly, sipping my wine with a pointed look at him. ‘Let’s not give HR more work than they already have.’
He laughed.
Paula gave me a look – amused, maybe. Grateful, possibly.
But then Vinnie set his elbows on the table, a smile curling devilishly.
‘Ah, she knows she’s got that nice-girl little thing going for her. Don’t you, amore?’ he said, voice just low enough to cross a line he didn’t know existed. ‘Bet you’ve broken hearts you didn’t even mean to.’
Her smile faltered. Just slightly.
It was in the shoulders. The way they drew in. The twitch in her jaw. The way her fingers tightened just once around the glass that was suddenly placed in front of her. I saw it all.
My stomach knotted.
I’d seen that kind of recoil before.
It had lived in my mother for years. A learnt stillness. The one developed when someone would make you feel like the ground might vanish beneath your feet.
Like you weren’t safe in your own skin.
Vinnie chuckled, oblivious. He was a good guy, I had to remind myself. Despite all of this, he couldn’t have caught the telltale signs of abuse.
She didn’t laugh at his next words, and I no longer heard them.
My ears were beginning to ring.
I cleared my throat and sat forward slightly, voice casual. ‘She’s got a sharp tongue and better boundaries than we do, Vinnie. Let’s not test either.’
He blinked at me. We’d known each other long enough for him to know I spoke when I had to. And though I wasn’t the jealous kind, he could recognise the line when I drew it.
‘Relax, man,’ he said with a smirk. ‘It’s just friendly banter. Just playing.’
‘I know,’ I said, smiling thinly. ‘But play smarter.’
A pause. Just enough silence to feel like a weight shifted.
‘It’s okay,’ she said in a breath disguised as a laugh.
Vinnie sprawled back, letting it go. He reached for his drink, studying me with unnerving stillness all of a sudden.
He had a way with women, but he also didn’t know what to do with them. He teetered on the precipice of awkward and charming, always pushing the boundaries. Once they were hooked, they didn’t last long. And something told me that Paula wasn’t up for that.
I was still watching her with the corner of my eye.
She faced the other way, her mouth relaxed – the mask back on. Yet, her shoulders hadn’t softened.
A few minutes later, she checked her phone.
Something cold coursed through me for whatever reason.
Had someone been waiting for her?
‘I think I’ll call it. I’m tired,’ she said quietly.
Vinnie nodded. ‘Of us or the day?’
She smiled, winking. ‘Both.’
And I knew she meant it.
She stood, said a few soft goodbyes, and turned towards the lift.
Vinnie made some quip about needing a chaperone, but I didn’t hear it.
My hand was already slipping into my coat pocket to pull out my own phone. I opened the Obsidian app. Scarlett’s name was right there, session confirmed via email.
Tonight. 9 p.m.
My fingers hovered over the screen.
I looked up just in time to catch Paula’s hourglass figure slip into the lift – back straight, head held high, walking away as if she wasn’t trembling.
She’d got me curious, now. Maybe I should’ve looked at her past.
Vinnie slid into view with that shit-eating grin of his. Lazy, smug, and far too perceptive.
‘Spill,’ he said. No preamble. Just that.
I glared at him, jaw tensing as I dragged a hand down my face. ‘Spill what?’
His mouth pulled tight, one brow lifting in silent offence as if the answer should have been obvious. ‘Don’t play coy. It doesn’t suit you.’
I exhaled, slowly.
The jazz in the background was too smooth for the critical glance he threw me, but he let the moment marinate in silence anyway.
‘So… you’re seeing Scarlett tonight or not?’
I scoffed and sipped my wine to keep my mouth busy.
Right. Seeing Scarlett. That’s what he meant.
Funny. I thought he’d meant Paula.
As I reclined into the booth, I heard the wood creak under my weight. ‘I am,’ I allowed.
Vinnie gave a low whistle, eyes narrowing – not in judgment, but in that older-brother way of his, as if he could still see the lost thirteen-year-old version of me buried under the layers I’d spent decades building.
‘I’m not one to preach,’ he said, softly but anchored, ‘but I’ll say it anyway – be careful.’
He didn’t need to elaborate. Vinnie had been around long enough to know the patterns. I wasn’t the kind of guy who dabbled. I didn’t toe the edge of a fantasy.
I plunged.
I drowned.
So far it had always been the women that ended it after a second meeting. But Scarlett…
She seemed like the kind of woman that would keep riding that green safe word until the last breath.
My hand tightened around the glass. I spun it slowly to get the feeling back into my fingers, watching the liquid slosh against the crystal.
‘I’m being careful,’ I said.
But the lie floated on my tongue like oil on water, unconvincing and immiscible with the truth.
We’d been testing limits like they couldn’t break – recklessly charging ahead. Rushing never ended well, but knowing that didn’t put the brakes on anything. Not when every second with her felt like borrowed time I couldn’t afford to refuse.
‘I know you,’ Vinnie murmured beneath the saxophone’s lazy bleed. ‘And I know that look. Just remember that she’s a fractured soul behind a painted mask.’
His words weren’t judgment. They were memory. A warning I almost resented.
It hit deeper than he intended. And not in the way he hoped.
Of course she was broken. She wouldn’t have walked into Obsidian if she weren’t. But I knew what he didn’t. We didn’t break each other. We recognised the cracks.
And filled them in.
I took a breath that felt heavier than it should, eyes trailing to the city skyline like it held answers.
Then came the real blow.
‘Now…’ He leaned back, draping an arm over the booth as if he owned the world. There was something in his eyes now – part challenge, part concern. ‘What’s the deal with Paula?’
Something in me went absolutely taut.
Why did that question feel like pressure beneath my collarbones?
‘She’s a good asset,’ I replied, stalling – or diverting – my eyes fixed on the swirl of light in my wine, pretending disinterest. ‘Her writing mirrors mine. She understands the style. She works late—’
‘How do you know?’ he said, sharper.
It snagged.
‘The workspace logs edits every half hour,’ I said smoothly. ‘You can track the timestamps.’ My heart fluttered in my throat at that.
Then I paused and levelled him with a stare. ‘Why are you asking?’
A pause stretched, unuttered words floating between us. His gaze pinned me – not just watching, but peeling me apart – wrestling me to the ground – as if he’d known that the truth was buried somewhere deeper where not even I dared look.
Then the smile returned – classic Vinnie deflection.
‘You’re the face and the talent. I’m the brains and the dollar, remember?’
Our old mantra – the thing we’d said many years ago, before any of this existed.
‘Just making sure the boat’s not rocking,’ he added, lifting his glass.
I raised a brow, nodding. But it didn’t sit right tonight.
Unbuttoning my cuff and rolling the sleeve slightly back, my focus settled on the tattoo near my wrist – the anchor. A reminder that I needed to keep myself steady, regardless of the turbulence. I had it done the moment we’d landed in Rome twenty years ago.
I clinked my glass against his, the sound far too delicate for what it was trying to cover.
‘The boat’s fine,’ I said.
But there was no doubt in my mind that the tide was rising – and I’d already cut the anchor.