"I'm confused," I tell him, my fingers desperate to fidget with anything sitting on the table, the corner of the tablecloth my most current victim.
Alec leans forward, grabbing onto my anxious hand. "Cora.Thatwas a lie. I told Simon about a made-up job offer because I don't want him to get used to me always being around. I want him to realize my place in his business is temporary, a means to an end."
I let out a breath and stare at his beautiful face. "Really?"
Alec nods. "Christ. You thought I was going to leave you? Are you crazy?" He shakes his head. "You can't get rid of me, not that easily."
Suddenly, the world really does seem right. The weight is lifted from my shoulders, and I come to realize that maybe these good things I thought were potentially only short-lived might actually be capable of lasting.
Maybe in this book called my life, I really do get the guy...or better yet,guys.
* * *
Miller checks the blindfold wrapped around my eyes. "Okay. I think we're ready."
My stomach grows wild at the possibilities that wrack my brain. Where could he possibly be taking me? And why does it require a blindfold?
"I'll come around and get you," he says before slipping out of the driver's side of his Porsche and opening my door. "My Queen." Miller takes my hand and guides me out of the car, gravel crunching under my shoes.
"Where are we?" I ask him even though he's not going to tell me, at least, not yet.
"I'll give you a hint."
I pause and wait for him to continue. "I'll take a hint."
"You've been here before." Even without looking, I can sense that he's grinning, perhaps a smug look caked on his face. He gets that way when he's certain he's got a clever idea. And most of the time, he usually does.
That's how Miller is. He's fanatical about being thorough, about knowing everything, especially when it involves me. Obsessive is another great word to describe him. Whatever it is, it's so very him, and it's one of the things I love most about him. He's like that because he prefers to control every potential variable he can. He doesn't like to be wrong, and if it were up to him, he would call the shots about everything. It settles his nerves and keeps his anger at bay. I wouldn't call him controlling, because he isn't pushy about those things, but Miller prefers to do the thinking, and if I'm being completely honest, it's nice to not have to think for a change. I do enough of that on a daily basis. And considering Miller is more in tune with my wants and desires than I am, I'm not exactlymissing out on anything by not having a say.
Although, when I do, he's willing to adapt and accommodate what I want. And that's why I'm okay with things being the way they are, because at the end of the day, his true desire lies with keeping me happy, and that keeps him happy.
So, I go along with the blindfold and breathe in deeply to assess my surroundings in an attempt to figure out where the hell we are.
"Wait." I hold out my hands and rub my shoe into the gravel, a sense of familiarity coming to me. Tilting my head, I listen to how eerily quiet it is and recognize the place immediately.
"You figured it out, didn't you?" he asks me.
I turn toward his voice. "Did you bring me here to kill me?" I plant my hands on my hips. "Because if you did, I would have worn something nicer to die in."
Miller chuckles and takes one of my hands while placing the other one of his on my lower back. "Ah, come on. You look stunning. I promise."
"That's not very promising," I tell him even though I know he wouldn't hurt me. If anything, I'm the safest with Miller. Or with any of my guys. June's included, unless she's there, then obviously they would probably throw me in front of a moving bullet to save her.
Miller leads me across the pavement and to a door I remember from our first and only time here.
The thing creaks open, making the same sound it did that day, too.
Only, today, I'm not sure what could have brought us here.
The scent hits me immediately—metal mixed with dirt and dust.
With a click, the door shuts, sealing us inside this desolate warehouse on the outskirts of town, the sound reverberating through the building and settling into my bones.
"This way," Miller says, his voice soft and even.
We step onto plastic, the thickness of it crinkling underneath our shoes. A tell that someone has, or will, die here.
Why else use the good stuff?
