“Jesus…” she whispers. “What about your dad… Is he…?” She trailsoff because even she knows there’s no good way to finish that sentence.
Is he alive?
Is he rotting in a cell where he belongs?
“He’s still breathing, but one day, I’ll be the one who decides when that stops.”
Shannen gives me that soft, pitying look, not realizing that I fucking mean it. That bastard is going to die because I decide he dies. Shannen can get over it later.
“That’s not a figure of speech,” I add, leaning back in the chair as if we’re not casually talking about murder. “I mean it. That’s why I went back. I thought it’d be a good time to end him, but the fucker’s hiding from me, which just means he knows what’s coming.”
“When did you last see him?”
“My mom’s funeral. I didn’t stay long.”
“So that’s where you’ve been?”
I smirk because she’s practically serving it up, and she doesn’t even realize it.
“Sounds like you missed me, pretty girl.” She ignores it, which just makes me want to push harder. “Don’t worry, next time I’ll take you with me.”
“Phoenix, this has to stop,” she says, and I can hear the frustration beneath it.
But I’m not listening to her anymore. My attention snags on the ugliest, most obnoxiously bright bunch of flowers I’ve ever seen, sitting on the corner of her desk like a fucking joke. My chest tightens instantly because they’re not from me. They look like the exact kind of cheap, desperate shit a man sends when he doesn’t know her at all, which is every man except me.
The longer I stare, the worse it gets, and the more it feels likesomeone just walked into my territory, pissed on the walls, and left their name scrawled on my girl like she was free to take.
I don’t even look at her when I reach for the card beside it, my adrenaline kicking in because I already know who they’re going to be from.
“Phoenix—”
Her voice cracks as she realizes, way too late, that she should’ve fed them through a shredder the second they showed up. She could’ve burned them, buried them, or launched them at the fucking sun for all I care. Literally anything other than leaving them out like this.
She says my name again, but I don’t bother acknowledging it.
I open the card instead and let my eyes drag over the letters, each one somehow more irritating than the last.
Shannen, thank you for lunch. It was lovely to finally meet you, and I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do for me. Looking forward to the gala. James.
My jaw ticks.
Don’t kill him—he’s too high profile.
Lucien’s voice is in my head, warning me not to be an idiot.
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, stop… I want this contract, which means you don’t get to act out.” I crumple the card in my fist, walk it over to the trash, and drop it in. “I’m serious. If you want to be in my life, then you don’t get to decide who I work with.”
“The hell I don’t, when that asshole’s eye-fucking you through a goddamn thank-you note.”
“So what if he is? I’m going to date. Get used to it,” she fires back.
God, she’s fucking beautiful when she’s pissed—but not even that’s enough to put the leash back on me right now.
I’m around her desk before she can blink, and she stands, her shoulders squared, trying to match my energy.
Cute effort.
Stupid as hell, but cute.
