Chapter 21 Maeve #2
And it’s my fault. Because I cause problems. Because I need things. Because… because I’ve needed them to put their lives on the line in the face of a fucking madman.
Has Draven really forced me to endure this shitty meeting while something has happened to one of them—one of my bodyguards—
He’s not often contrite in his office. Not when we’re working or discussing business, but this…
My chromius’s wails are dramatic, but I can’t silence her. Not when my heart is being crushed.
“What have you done?” I demand. “What the fuck has happened to them?”
Something shutters in his expression. His face goes cold—jaw set, eyes distant, lips pressed thin. The warm gold in his gaze dims.
He knows I’m going to be furious.
And yet… I find myself wanting to promise him it’ll be okay, no matter what. That we can fix it together. We’ll handle it.
Fuck, I’m weak.
Pathetic. Desperate.
Spineless.
“You have a meeting today,” Draven says flatly, “with one of our clients. Mr Ashford.”
Something twists in my chest, a feeling that's half dread, half electric anticipation.
“Don’t play coy,” I snap. “I’m not an idiot. I know exactly who he is, surname or not. Why the fuck am I handling this?”
Torin Ashford is a nightmare in human skin—the kind of arrogant, self-absorbed, megalomaniacal bastard who would argue the sky was green if it meant upsetting me. He’s insufferable, cruel, and someone I’d happily set on fire rather than pretend to care about.
As Draven well fucking knows from our conversation last night.
He leans back in his leather chair, the expensive material creaking beneath his weight.
“Because I’m your boss,” he says mildly, “and my schedule is very full.”
Smug authority drips from every word as he arches a single dark brow, the movement tugging at the scar slicing through it.
My fingers twitch with the violent urge to give him a matching one down the unmarred side of his face just to wipe that self-satisfied expression away.
My chromius snarls at me for insinuating I’d hurt him, and she’s lucky I can’t give her a scar as well.
Fucking cunts, the pair of them.
I frown at Draven and sink back into my chair, waiting for him to elaborate.
And yet, all my annoying boss does is shrug.
“Really, Drav, why am I the one at this meeting?”
A low growl rumbles from his broad chest, the sound vibrating through the space between us. Tension crackles, sharp and electric, but I lift my chin and meet his gold-flecked gaze without blinking.
My chromius doesn’t even stir—she knows what I know. For all his barely leashed power and predatory intensity, Draven’s harmless.
To me, anyway.
“Because it’s important.”
I grimace, setting the file on the desk as I lean back. “Important to you or to me?”
“Both. You.” He rubs the back of his neck, something almost sheepish ghosting across his expression. “To me. Fuck, Maeve, you matter to me.”
I want to believe him—and that scares me more than not.
But I know it’s only true in the responsibility type ways that bears adopt people. They’re protectors, natural defenders, and I’m so pitiful that I’ve become his newest project.
“Fine,” I mutter, grabbing my shit and rising from my chair once more. “But I hope you know I’m not going to be professional.”
“Oh, trust me, little angel, he wouldn’t expect anything else.”
I purse my lips, rethinking my plan ever so slightly and nod jerkily. “Okay. I’d love to lose his case, but I get the feeling this isn’t him coming to us.”
Draven’s gaze darkens, the smile practically illegal. “You’re a smart girl, angel. Torin will be here at one o’clock. I’ll see you at three to go over everything for Blackroot’s meeting tonight.”
I nod my head, waving him off with a sharp flick of my wrist when he rises halfway from his chair, one hand already extended toward the polished oak door.
“I can open my own door,” I mutter, even if he insists on being the world’s most irritating gentleman.
I cross into my office, glaring at the glass walls of my space for offering the illusion of privacy but providing none.
I sink into my chair, wishing the room was completely soundproof so that when I inevitably scream until my throat goes raw, neither he nor Lucifer would hear it.
“Atticus is a cheap asshole,” I mutter.
Imagine offering the most unstable girl a job and not having the decency to make it so she can have her mental breakdowns in peace.
I should sue him for emotional distress.
Or get Draven to.
“And you’re just a complete one,” I hiss, looking at the red file in front of me, with “Ashford” marked on the front.
Because, of course, Draven’s got him a fucking monogrammed binder for this ploy.
“You can do it, Maeve.”
Two meetings.
One with a man I don’t trust.
Or particularly like.
Another whose name I vaguely recognise, and I know it’ll not be for a good reason.
I’m such a lucky bitch.
Oh, and let’s not forget the club full of strangers waiting for me tonight.
I press my palm flat against the desk and breathe through the anxiety tightening my chest.
The anxiety I’m making worse by touching something so hard and cold.
My phone pings. Someone laughs outside. The world keeps moving.
Too much is closing in on me, though, and I can’t bring myself to care.
The lack of control is unsettling. I have no idea which threat will reach me first.
Can George seriously tell me I don’t want to die?