Chapter 14 #2
Stefan scoffs. “Cereal? What sort of meal is that? No, no. I will make you a fresh meal if you don’t want the leftovers.”
“We have cereal,” Edmond chimes in, diverting from the fridge to the walk-in pantry. He disappears inside and shuffles around. Stefan rolls his eyes, returning to his prep, and Thea chews at her lips before her downcast eyes seek me out.
I tuck my hands into my pockets, and my right bumps the syringe I still have. I need to head to my office and make some phone calls, pay off some people. But not before I find out what cereal she chooses.
Hell. Why do I care what cereal she picks?
I’ve got three voicemails from men who could ruin me, a phone call that can’t wait, and a wire transfer I need to set up. Yet I stand here, wasting seconds I don’t have, watching her patiently wait as Edmond brings out container after container of the cereal, as if it matters. As if she matters.
Will she pick honey nut or plain? Frosted, cinnamon, or full-blown sugar hell with marshmallows? It’s stupid. Insignificant.
Here I am, zeroed in as she inspects each one, then—damn it—she picks my favorite.
Something about the sugary crunch reminds me of Saturday mornings before everything went to hell.
When my grandfather would sit at the breakfast table with me and pretend he hadn’t satiated himself with illegal vices the night before.
He’d use it to weasel his way out of his responsibility to be a good role model and bribe me with my favorite cereal. Frosted Flakes.
I choke on the swallow I gulp down.
“I’ll have this brought to …” Edmond looks to me, and I shrug. “My apologies, Miss. But our alternate guest room is currently cleared of furniture for painters to come in the morning, and the room you stayed in last time is … occupied.” His eyes implore me to do something.
“That’s okay,” Thea says. “I can crash on the couch. Anywhere is better than … well, you know.”
“Couch it is then. I’ll have this food brought into the—” Edmond double-blinks at my gesturing.
I shake my head and raise my chin toward the upstairs primary suite. My suite.
She’ll stay in my room, I convey.
“I believe the congressman has offered his room. I will show you up there and have your bowl brought up. Is there anything else?”
I see myself out of the kitchen, and Edmond’s voice fades in the background.
I don’t spare Thea a glance. I don’t want to see the disappointment etched on her face.
She doesn’t want to stay in my room, even if I have no intention of staying there with her.
I’ll pull the cot out in my office, which is where I stride now.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Message after message, and I know Bishop has been discovered. When I enter my home office, tucked into the corner of the first floor, I head straight for my desk to move money from my offshore account. I’m going to need it. Fast.
My desk is wood—a slab of blackened walnut I keep bare.
A leather notepad, a pen, and my personal laptop sit organized and alone.
There’s a low hum coming from the hidden server in the cabinet beneath my dark bookshelves, meticulous and vacant of personal photos or sentimental decor.
No dust or clutter; but also, no distractions.
This is where the real work takes place.
My high-rise office downtown leans political and paints the picture I want with traces of my grandfather lingering in the space. But here, not only is it a stark contrast to that downtown workspace, but it’s also got the airy ease of the rest of this house.
My chair groans as I lean back, having successfully transferred two and a half million dollars, and I place both hands behind my head. The pull of sleep tugs at me, but I allow my eyes to trace over the stitched tan leather, then over to the windows covered with slatted blinds.
This is going to be bad. Though as soon as I say that, a message from Vaughan dings on my secure messenger.
V: Trying to take over my job.
I roll my eyes.
Slade: Nah. Just learned from the best.
V: Hope you covered your bases.
Slade: Aw. Worried?
V: No. Want to make sure you know what you’re doing. Got my new orders from Graves. Headed home. See ya soon.
I shut down my computer, not wanting to risk the chance of my grandfather’s messages reaching me.
Instead, I let my fingers hang slack and stare at nothing in particular.
The world blurs, and somewhere in the back of my mind, thoughts circle.
They’re loud and constantly interrupted by the auburn-haired woman, most likely in my room now.
By the time I blink and come back from the void of thinking, minutes have passed—maybe more.
A hollow ache slides behind my eyes, and I contemplate messaging Edmond to come set up my cot.
However, there’s a knock at my door, and as if I’ve summoned him, Edmond pokes his head in, and his eyebrows raise at my relaxed position in the chair.
“She’s been shown to your room, sir. I’ve had her food brought up. I believe she is going to get in the shower. Would you like me to set up a bed in another room?”
I shake my head and gesture toward the office closet.
“Ah, the cot. Let me get that set up.” He moves to open the closet. “Should I expect her to be staying long term?”
My head snaps back. No. What kind of comment is that?
I stand, moving toward the door. There’s no need to stay in here while he prattles on, conjecturing. Set up a bed in another room? How does he know I’m not going to thrust myself into bed with her?
I shake my head. Of course he knows I wouldn’t.
“—is it, sir?”
My brow furrows as I turn to look at Edmond, who has got the cot halfway drawn from the closet, his own look of confusion on his face.
“What is it, sir? You shook your head.”
Annoyed, I ignore him and march out of my office, down the hall to the living room.
My shoes, which I prefer to keep off in the house, clack against the wide plank floors. Instead of being comfortable enough to shuck them off, the tension builds as I walk through the house.
It smells like her. Not the clean, uncomplicated scent all the girls smell like—that’s forgettable, generic in a mild, fresh sort of way. The smell that clings to them from the pit of EV after they’re shaved and plucked to appease the members.
No.
The house smells like her. It cuts through everything else—the sweetness of Stefan’s blueberry pastries, the sharp citrus of the cleaners, and the sun-warmed algae drifting in from the lake through the open windows.
It’s remarkable how it slices straight through and finds me on the way to the couch.
Earthy and cool, tinged with damp wild grass.
A little raw. A little feral. My mind can’t shake the idea of dandelions now, and the sharp tang of something untouched enters my mind.
The delicate, barely there and weightless puff balanced on a fragile stem. One breath. One breath could undo it.
The thought unsettles me. I don’t want to be the breath that destroys something already close to breaking. It’d be breathing in what isn’t meant to be mine. But she’s in my room. My bed. All because I offered her sanctuary as though I’m a gentleman.
It’s laughable.
My shoulders tense, and I plop down onto the couch. Huh. I’m not sure I’ve ever sat here before.
I scan the room. Soft shadows dance as moonlight spills in through the closed blinds. The cracked windows ruffle the curtains, and they sway. The hem dances along the wooden floor, brushing against it, the edges curling and uncurling, as if they were tracing an invisible pattern.
Restless, I stand and cross to the windows, then double back, hovering at my seat on the couch once more.
I crack my knuckles and sit again.
She’s in my …
A bowl of sea glass on the coffee table reflects the minimal light in the room, and I blink, taking out my phone only to lock it again. I rip my glasses off and press hard into the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.
Make it stop. I have to stop thinking about her up there in my room.
This is ridiculous, painful even.
A throw pillow tilts and gives way under my elbow, mocking me.
I drum the pads of my fingers over my bouncing knee.
I’m wide awake, uncomfortable, and stuck in my living room for no reason other than I can’t control my thoughts. All of them swim around, sloshing up and over anything else I can think of to distract myself. I’m drowning.
I’m drowning in her, and I did this to myself.