Chapter 21 #3
There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Kit and it still makes me smile.
If only I could say the same about me.
That puts a hard lump in my throat.
But I choke it back down.
No point in throwing a pity party over a man who’s decided I’m chopped liver.
If Margot was here, she’d tell me to stop. Just tell him point-blank what I’m thinking and feeling.
Holden throws together a simple stir-fry dinner and I pretend I’ve eaten. Kit heads off to bed while I clear up art debris.
Seeing how well Kit’s gold complements the final version—like there’s a piece of her in this thing I made—makes me stupidly emotional.
Ughhh.
I haven’t made much progress organizing my paints by the time he plods back into the room. He halts in the doorway, and from the way he watches me, I know he’s debating turning around and leaving right now.
Putting off the honesty we desperately need. But there’s no point delaying the inevitable, and I think we both know it.
“Sit down,” I say. “I won’t be long.”
“You didn’t eat with us, Clee. You sure you’re not hungry?” His eyes flash skeptically when I shake my head. “Want a drink of anything?”
“I’ll have some tea, if you have any.”
“Got peppermint. Kit likes to have a cup every so often to settle her stomach.”
“Peppermint works. You owe me a settled belly, too.”
He doesn’t smile, and I regret the joke.
Lovely.
I brush the bigger plaster fragments into paper bags and pile them up in a small beer box by the door. I might be able to reuse this stuff for future projects.
At least I’ll keep their living space clean until I leave.
My chest aches again, but I shove the feeling away.
By the time Holden returns with my peppermint tea and a strong-smelling black tea for him, the living room is almost tidy.
“Once I get this stuff out of here, you’ll have your space back,” I say.
Holden sinks into the sofa, and I sit beside him, leaving just enough space between us so we’re not in any danger of touching. “I didn’t mind it, really.”
“You sure? Seemed like you hated it.”
“Nah.” His eyes flick to the canvas. “What will you do with that piece? Another moneymaker?”
“That was the plan.” I blow on my tea. The steam curls around my nose and eyelashes, adding to the burn I’m trying to control. “Feels wrong after Kit helped make it so pretty. But that’s art. You throw a piece of yourself in, and then you let some stranger take it away.”
He makes a low thoughtful sound, a rumble of agreement, or maybe just acknowledgement.
I wonder if he sees the double meaning, the way we’re not so different from art. Regardless of how this ends, he’s going to walk away with a piece of me.
“I talked to the museum curator again today. That museum of Western art.” I steer us back to the conversation we need to have.
“It’s no big goldmine and I know they’re a newer place, but I’ve got a good feeling.
He talked a lot about their security, said they went all in with state-of-the-art systems. He also shared a decent profit-sharing schedule. ”
“Good. I’ll have a look at their security.” He shifts, staring into his mug.
“Yeah, I’ll forward you the email. The payments will be a small boost for the next three years at least. Not that I need it, it’s more about reducing worries. Then I guess I can decide where to go from there.”
“Great news,” Holden says. “If it’s what you want.”
I try not to look at him and fail miserably.
What I want right now is sitting beside me in stony silence.
“It’s a start. I feel a lot better about this than Fairfax’s offer to throw it on the private market. Guess that counts for something.”
“Sure,” he agrees. “What’s the next step?”
“Well, I need to head back to New York to meet with them and hash out all the details, sign the contracts, and so on. Then it’s just a matter of turning it over.”
Holden’s expression darkens. The corner of his mouth turns down.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“C’mon. You don’t get to pull that lemon face for nothing.” I sigh and drink my tea now that it’s cooled. “Let’s hear it. What part do you hate? The museum or—”
“It’s not that.” His jaw flexes. “Just don’t like the thought of going back to New York City so soon. It’s Fairfax’s home turf.”
I frown up at him, trying to read what he’s really hiding behind his gruff, beardy expression.
“So what? We’ve already turned him down.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s the end of him. He caused us a major vulnerability. You could’ve gotten hurt.” He bristles, setting his mug down on an end table and bracing his hands against his thighs as he searches for the right words. “I spoke to him recently about the break-in.”
Oh, shit.
What? I shouldn’t be surprised.
I bite back my irritation, but those piercing brown eyes grab mine like he can sense exactly what I’m thinking.
“I know you wanted me to lay off it, but I couldn’t, Clee. Russian mercenaries were involved. Fairfax even said he’d identified the leak.”
“Okay, but they’re gone now. Aren’t they?” My blood cools.
“We don’t know. Hell, if it really was Fairfax’s own people, his partners, they had an easy ruse,” he growls. “I can’t rule out anything with his connections. And if he hears you’re bringing the egg back to New York City—”
“Wait, wait. Hang on.” I hold up my hand. “This is where we’re going with this? You think Fairfax was behind the break-in?”
“Nothing proven. However, we know he wants the egg.” Holden’s honey-brown eyes darken to amber as he thinks.
“He lowballed you and wanted to flip it, but that doesn’t mean he’s done.
That leak brought tactical goons to our doorstep the minute you turned him down.
Coincidence, sloppy leak, maybe, but it’s awfully damn convenient.
Whether he misjudged his contacts or he had a hand in this mess, it’s the same result.
And if they’re prepared to break into a mansion crawling with cameras, what else will they do? ”
I shake my head because I’m not having it.
I won’t be afraid.
“You act like he runs New York.” I huff and stand up. I need to move and shake off this claustrophobic feeling. “The guys who broke in don’t know where we are. If they did, if it was all Fairfax, they’d come after us. We could fly out tomorrow without anyone figuring it out.”
“He’d know,” Holden says grimly.
“You think. But you don’t know that for a fact and—holy shit, is this my life now?” I’m so tired of every decision going under this blanket of fear. “We can’t live like this, Holden. If we let him control us, if we let them freak us out, that just means they’ve won.”
“Won? This isn’t a damn game, Nile.”
He stands, stopping a few inches in front of me.
“You think I don’t know that? I’m not some little girl.” I glare up at him, jabbing a finger against his chest.
He looks down flatly.
“Is this the only reason why you’re blowing up in my face? Or is it something else?”
His fingers wrap around my wrist, warm and solid. Not too tight—I can break away if I really want to—but just enough pressure so I can’t stab him in the chest anymore.
All the feels boiling in my chest rattle like rocks. Too sharp and too shaken not to scratch me to pieces.
I asked for this, didn’t I?
Here it is.
The big, ugly conversation we’ve needed.
“Is talking down to me the only reason you’re not blowing up? You’ve been acting weird all day,” I snap. “Ever since we talked about our future.”
“I woke up and you were gone,” he says.
“And? I told you I was going out.”
His mouth twists.
“So fine. We didn’t spend the day together. Not the end of the world. But… you’ve been avoiding me even when we’re together. So tell me, Holden. What do you want?”
“What the hell do you mean?” His voice softens to low thunder, but there’s a thread of frustration I haven’t heard before.
“I mean with us.” I breathe raggedly. “Because—because, if you want me to stay, you need to say it.”
He’s quiet for a long time. Too long.
Like there’s any doubting his answer as he drops my wrist and steps back. The emptiness is breathtaking.
“For fuck’s sake,” he snarls, scraping a hand down his cheek. “Clee, we always knew this was a partnership with a limited shelf life. That hasn’t changed, no matter how much we might want to delude ourselves. We can’t do that. We shouldn’t.”
“Delude ourselves? Really?” I thought he couldn’t hurt me more.
Turns out, I was wrong, and now I’m trying to pull an arrow out of my chest.
For a second, his eyes flash with all the turmoil in my heart before they shut down.
Cold. Hard. Remote.
All the things he used to be before this stupid thing started.
All the things he wants us to be again.
Holy hell, maybe I really am deluded.
“Somewhere along the way, we made this more complicated than it had any right to be,” he says, trying to be gentle. But his arms are folded, blocking me out. “You know what time it is. So do I. Let’s finish this shit and get on with our lives.”
“Complicated,” I repeat. “Well, you’re right about that, asshole.”
He winces with a fury that almost makes me sad.
Almost.
“Be realistic! You know I’m talking sense,” he snarls.
“We let ourselves get distracted. What we need to think about is offloading that egg ASAP. Hell, just leave it with me. You want to send it to that museum, fine. I’ll do the background checks, make sure everything’s in place, and drop it off in a matter of days. You can meet me there.”
“Absolutely not. We’ve come this far… You’re crazy if you think you’ll get rid of me that easy.”
“Not what I meant.” Hurt strains his face.
Whatever.
All business. Because it’s always fucking business with Holden Verity and hearts are an afterthought.
I feel gutted.
And I don’t know if he’s expecting more.
An apology? A delayed acknowledgment that I’m young and emotional and being ridiculous? A delayed confession that he’s so wise?
No way. He’s SOL.
I take off, accidentally banging his shoulder as I storm past him to the stairs, leaving behind my whirlwind of art.
Call me petty, I don’t care.
Right now, I hope it hurts.
I hope he shares a flicker of my pain.