Chapter 5
IZZY
Ileave the hospital, tears in my eyes. Grandma is having one of her bad days, making it so the doctors have had to dose her up to the eyeballs to deal with the pain.
She mostly just stared at me, lips pursed.
For a scary second, it was like she was mad at me for letting her suffer. Like it was my fault.
I try to push the thought from my mind, but my mood just grows sour when I see Aaron Pike waiting in the parking lot, leaning against his gaudy sports car.
Aaron is a big man, wide at the shoulders, with a thick red-gray beard and a shaved head.
He looks more like an Irish gangster than a corporate mogul.
“My darling spy,” he says. “How is the old gal?”
I repress a derisive laugh, but my face must tell a different story.
“You don’t think I care,” he mock pouts.
If you cared, you wouldn’t be using her as leverage.
“I visited her earlier today,” he goes on, taking out his cell phone. He flashes the screen at me, showing a photo of Grandma with Aaron’s arm wrapped around her. Grandma is beaming at the camera. “You see? She loves me. I wish you could find it in your heart to love me too.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I grunt.
“Do I?” he says, smirking. “I wasn’t aware I had to do anything you said.”
I don’t reply. What’s the point? A jerk’s gonna be a jerk no matter what I say.
“Join me for a chat,” he says, climbing into the driver’s seat before I can reply.
Grandma, of course, would smile for the photo. She has no idea what Aaron’s really like. As far as she’s concerned, he’s shown her love and care after reuniting. She’s forgiven him for everything.
“How long are you going to keep me waiting?” he barks when I climb into the car.
“I’ve done two shifts!” I snap.
“Easy,” he snarls. “Don’t forget who you’re talking to. Don’t forget who owns your ass.”
I shudder with disgust. What a pig.
“I could make quite the scene,” he goes on. “Today. It wouldn’t take much. All I’d have to do is walk in there and tell them she’s no longer welcome. Imagine all her screaming and bleating. And this sickness she’s got? I hear it turns into hell without proper care.”
“She’s in hell already.”
“So, you want me to stop the care?”
“Obviously not,” I hiss.
He laughs cruelly. “Then you need to do your job.”
I think about the memory drive and the files I photographed yesterday. I’m not sure if any of it is usable, but it shows Vale Construction splitting payments between various shell companies. Corporate fraud, perhaps.
“Care to share with the class?” he grunts.
“Excuse me?”
“You looked like you were thinking something important.”
“Nope,” I say. “Sorry to disappoint.”
He strokes his beard, looking closely at me. “It would be a dangerous thing to lie to me. This goes far, far deeper than you could ever comprehend.”
“I think I can understand wanting to deal drugs in low-income neighborhoods.”
He darts his hand out. Clamps it onto my leg and squeezes just hard enough to make me breathe through tightly clenched teeth. “I made a passing comment, and now you think you understand everything about us.”
“Us?” I say, refusing to let my voice shake. “Who’s us?”
“I said me,” he grunts.
He didn’t, but whatever. “Let go of me.”
“Hurry up.” He releases my leg. “And get the fuck out of my car.”
I flee from his car, wanting to scream or rake my fingernails down his stupid face. I want him to pay for daring to scare me, not just for myself, but for Grandma too.
Climbing into my car, I leave quickly. The road blurs as tears slide down my cheeks. I see Dom, of all people, the man I’m betraying. He grabs Aaron by his beard and violently yanks his head down, smashing his face into something. I don’t care what. Something hard, that’ll do.
Back in my apartment, I drop onto the couch and close my eyes. I need to kill the tears. Sobbing is out of the question. I can’t let myself devolve into a self-pitying mess. That’s not me, and it never will be.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
A text from the boss.
Dominic Vale: So, do you play violin?
My mind goes back to the corridor, to how shockingly gentle his big hands were as he gently fastened my necklace. He was so careful not to hurt me. His hand was impossibly warm. And his husky breathing told a story that might exist entirely in my head.
When Kenny walked in, Dom left fast. Kenny—a short man with slicked-back brown hair coated in product—crossed his arms and looked at me for a beat too long. It was as if he were saying, Right, I see what’s happening here.
I quickly pushed past him, hoping he couldn’t see the heat blazing through me like wildfire.
I chew my lip, looking at the message. There’s being friendly with your employees, then there’s this, whatever it is. Why does he care if I play violin? Why does he care about anything beyond what I can give him as an employee?
Izzy: I used to. But it’s been a year. Or maybe even two. Time goes far too fast.
Dominic Vale: When did you start playing?
Izzy: When I was twelve. My grandma had a violin in the attic. She was going to sell it, but then she saw me playing with it and offered to teach me. She even started paying for lessons when she saw how enthusiastic I was. That was a big deal for her, because she’s never had much money.
I send the message quickly, before I can confront the cold fact that I’m oversharing. He doesn’t need to hear all this. But I can’t get that warm memory out of my head, his hands so gentle, his breathing so urgent, so… hungry.
Dominic Vale: That’s beautiful. She sounds like an incredible lady. Did your parents encourage you too?
Izzy: They weren’t around, unfortunately. They passed away when I was seven, then Grandma took me in. We had some other family members, but they were busy with their own lives.
This has gone too far. We’re delving into things we have no business going into.
Dominic Vale: I’m so sorry. That must’ve been awful, but at least you had someone there to love and support you. That’s the main thing. Did you love music? Or was it more of a hobby?
I’m flattered he’s taking an interest in me, but I can’t stop the alarm bells from ringing in my head. If I get too close to this man, it’ll only hurt us both that much more when it’s time to betray him. And, clearly, that time is going to come sooner rather than later.
Izzy: A hobby, I suppose. But I’ve always loved music. We weren’t in a position to send me to music school or anything like that. What about you? Do you play any instruments?
Dominic Vale: I used to love listening to my mother play the piano. But I could never get the knack for it. She used to joke I had big, clumsy fingers.
Izzy: Maybe you should tell her how well you handled the violin earlier.
Dominic Vale:
I stare at his reaction, an unstoppable smile spreading across my face. It’s a tiny thing, a little laughing emoji sitting next to my message. But somehow, it seems significant.
Dominic Vale: I love music too. I love the thoughtlessness of it. There’s no need to think, just feel, and everything else—work, life, stress, whatever—it can wait until later. When I hear a good song, that’s it. I love things like that.
Izzy: Things that make you exist in the present moment, that eradicate the past and the future?
Dominic Vale: Exactly. But there’s not much, honestly. Work does it for me sometimes.
Izzy: Nothing else?
I know, somehow, he’s talking about the moment in the hall. The moment when it felt like it was just us, his large, powerful, soft hands gently clasping my necklace.
I wait for a few minutes, but there’s no reply. The message doesn’t say read, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen it. He could’ve seen the notification then decided not to open it.
Fine. Whatever. I’m not supposed to care, anyway.
I toss and turn in bed. The sheets tangled around me. I wake a few times, caught between dreaming and wakefulness. Each time, it’s like Dom is in bed with me, squeezing me tightly to him, his firm body making me tingle all over.