“You never do. That’s why you’re in this position in the first place.” I clenched my jaw. “Jesus, Valentina. This isn’t a joke. You want your money? You want Max off your back? Then stop handing him reasons to keep you on a leash.”
She needed to leave before Max noticed. Before anyone with loose lips caught on and turned this into a problem she couldn’t talk her way out of. The last thing I wanted was to get dragged into another one of Valentina’s messes.
She shifted her weight onto one heel and looked around nervously.
Something had changed in her. It was as if the realization had finally settled. Took her long enough. Maybe she’d finally caught up with her own bad decisions, or maybe she’d just realized she couldn’t charm her way out of every situation. Either way, it was about damn time she started figuring it out.
She wasn’t drunk. Not yet. But she was at least tipsy, and that was bad enough. Her tongue was loose, her judgment even looser, and she was only now considering the consequences. Always jumping first, thinking later. Valentina never seemed to realize cleaning up her chaos was ten times harder than avoiding it in the first place.
She never thought about the consequences. I had to do that for her.
And that wasn’t fair. Wasn’t my job, wasn’t my place, wasn’t my business. And yet here I was, doing exactly that. Again. Because apparently, the only thing harder than avoiding Valentina was ignoring her entirely.
“Would you like a ride home?” I threw the question out, careful to keep my voice disinterested. “Before he sets you all the way back to day one?”
I watched her process it. She didn’t want to take my offer, but she knew it was in her best interests. That was Valentina, always acting like accepting help was doing the other person a favor, as if she wasn’t the one constantly needing it.
“Fine,” she finally said dramatically, as if agreeing to leave with me was some major sacrifice.
She knocked her shoulder into mine on the way out, hard enough to make a point. I let her have it, mostly because I was distracted by the view. Her dress was open down the back, low enough that I could trace the dip in her spine all the way to where the fabric finally met skin.
She’d done that on purpose. Just another move in whatever twisted game she was playing—one I was getting dangerously close to joining.
I shouldn’t have looked. I shouldn’t have wondered what it would feel like to put my hand there; to feel her tense under my palm, maybe even hear that quick intake of breath she’d make if I pressed just a little too hard. I shouldn’t have imagined how easy it would be to slip my hand further down and grip the curve of her hip, pull her back against me until that smug attitude of hers finally cracked.
But I did.
I let my eyes linger a moment longer than they should’ve. Too long, considering we were in public. Considering who she was—who I was supposed to be.
The problem was, Valentina knew exactly what she was doing, and even though I knew better, I was starting not to care.
Her left shoe always seemed to scuff just a little more than the right, probably from leaning her weight on it when she got nervous or defensive. She walked too fast for someone who barely reached my shoulder. Too confidently, like she needed to prove something even now, when no one was watching.
When we stepped outside, I held the door open for her. She didn’t thank me; I didn’t expect her to. Gratitude wasn’t exactly in her vocabulary, especially not toward me.
We reached my car, and she stopped beside the passenger door, waiting. Probably expected me to open it for her—something I wasn’t planning on doing. But then she turned her head slightly, shooting me a look that was equal partschallenging and amused, and fuck, suddenly I found myself pulling the door open anyway.
Without a word, she slid into the seat. The fabric of her dress shifted and tugged higher against her thigh. I looked away, slamming the door shut harder than necessary.
This woman was going to ruin me, and I was about to let her.
Valentina didn’t direct me where to go. She knew I already knew what street she lived on.
“You didn’t have to step in,” she said suddenly.
“Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
Because you’re reckless. Because you’re stubborn. Because someone needs to stop you from destroying yourself, and for some godforsaken reason, that someone always ends up being me.
But instead of voicing any of that, I simply said, “Because Max would have my ass if something happened to you.”
“Oh, right. Of course. You’re just following orders.” She finally turned to look at me. “You know,” she continued when I didn’t answer, “it wouldn’t kill you to admit you care.”
I shot her a sideways glance. “And why would I do that?”
“Because then maybe you’d be honest with yourself for once,” she said lightly, settling back into the seat. She tilted her head, a small smirk tugging at the edge of her lips. “And honesty is supposed to be good for the soul or whatever.”
