TWO
ARLO
Confidential — Personal Use Only
OBSERVATIONS:
I don’t want to break this one… yet.
I can read just about anyone—it’s a gift, really.
Knowing what others are thinking before they even say it has been a part of me for most of my life, and I’m good at it. It’s why I got into therapy. Now I am one of the most sought-after therapists. People come from all over the country to sit down and talk to me. I take great pride in what I do, and I’ve never struggled to get a read on someone like I have with her.
Cora Ashford is one of the city’s leading real estate agents. My friend Soren was the one who gave me her name, but she handed me off to one of her employees, who thought it would be a good idea to make advances toward me.
That did not fucking work.
You see, I have a certain taste in women. I don’t do vulnerable because I plan to break them. And if a woman is already broken, she’ll keep coming back. It’s fucked up, I know. But the world is fucked up, and we’re all just living in it day by day.
Soren says something to me, but I hardly hear him as I’m too focused on her. She arrived, ordered a drink, and not too long after that, a man joined her. He seemed way more interested in her than she was in him. She only noticed me when she turned her head away as he stood and kissed her neck.
“Isn’t that…?” Soren asks with a nudge on my arm when he notices I’m not listening to him.
“It is,” I reply, knowing who he’s referring to. Her eyes lock with mine, and I wonder why she’s so hard to read. Why can’t I get a handle on her? Her body language is open yet closed off at the same time. She is well put together and appears to have everything. But there are small signs that she’s yearning for something. Her honey-blonde hair is tied back, and she nurses a glass in her hand as those green eyes cast downward. She’s shorter than I am, even in those heels she wears. And I can’t see it from where I sit now, but I know exactly, without even looking, where the beauty mark is on her neck.
“Do you want me to invite her to a mixer?” Soren asks.
I tear my gaze away from her as her date walks off and find his amused smile trained on me. “I know her. Or have you forgotten?”
“I have not.” Soren and I go way back. He’s the Lord of the Forsaken Society, which is a very well-kept secret full of powerful and wealthy men acting out certain fantasies, but he is also a friend.
We have a rule when it comes to women—if they are girlfriends, we can share, but wives are off-limits. Soren is single, and so am I. He has commitment issues, and he’s always looking out for his sister. And I… well, I’ve never met a woman with whom I’d like to settle down.
Before I can say another word, he gets up and heads in Cora’s direction. I stay where I am and watch. He stops beside her and then holds out his hand. They shake, and he drops his hand back to his side. She’s standing, ready to leave, but she pauses and offers him a smile. Neither of them pays me any mind, and it annoys me. She is an enigma. I usually have people figured out within seconds of talking to them, but with her, I can’t. I enjoy breaking things, so Cora offers me a challenge with her impenetrable walls. Keeping my eyes glued to her, she turns and walks away before Soren returns to the table. He takes a seat, and I wait to hear what he has to say.
“She told me to tell you she’ll see you tomorrow.” He reaches for his drink, and I glance at the door just as she pushes out of it. “You find her interesting,” he murmurs.
“I do.” There’s no point in lying about it—I find her many things: intelligent, beautiful, aloof. I tell Soren most things because he’s the closest I have to a brother, along with Reon.
“If you invite her to a mixer, let me know,” he says, and we leave it at that.
Do I want to invite her? I’m not sure about that answer yet.
And that baffles me because I’m confident about most things in life.
THREE
CORA
I’m at the coffee shop twenty minutes early. The space is narrow and filled with baked goods, with the aroma of coffee filtering through the air. A long counter stretches along one wall, and the concrete floors feel cool beneath my feet. I look up at the barista, ready to place my order—when someone steps up beside me.
“I’ve ordered for you already.” Arlo’s voice hits my ear just right, his tone low and gravelly. His breath strokes the skin along the back of my neck, and I’m instantly struck by the smell of cedar and musk at his nearness as I keep my back to him.
“You ordered for me?” I ask while the server smiles at us.
“I did. I also have a table.” Arlo reaches into his pocket and drops a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar before he walks away.
Today, he’s dressed more casually, though his pants are still black slacks, and a black polo shirt that showcases his large biceps, usually hidden by his suit jacket. I notice he’s wearing a watch, and it immediately reminds me of Luke. That is, until I see black beads wrapped around his hand. The two men are polar opposites. Luke is light, whereas Arlo is so dark I’m afraid he’s going to swallow me into a deep ocean, and I will never resurface again.
