Chapter 8: VAULT OF LIES
The Orchid, Manhattan, New York City
I stare at mycryptic text message exchange last night with the asshole extraordinaire as I stand in the lobby of The Orchid vault and concierge level.
Elias
Meet me Saturday at 8:05am on the Vault floor. It’s important.
Lana
What, not 8:08am or 8:03am? No please? And what could I, lowly Anderson you never even say hi to, do for you, my Shadow King of Nightmares?
I admit it wasn’t my best moment. Girls’ night got canceled. Taylor just found out she’s pregnant, which explains why she’s been looking green these days. Alexis is trekking across the Amazon with Ethan. Millie is vacationing in Europe with Ryland. Levi came down with a bug, much to Belle’s dismay. The others are dealing with newborn routines.
I don’t blame them for putting me last now. With their families expanding and the cutest little kids in tow, it makes sense that priorities shift. Heck, I’m lucky my best girls are my sisters or sisters-in-law, and we won’t grow apart because we’re a tight-knit family.
But it’s lonely to be left behind.
So yes, I may have had a girls’ night all by myself, three sheets to the wind when I received the asshole’s text message.
Tapping my heel on the marble floor, I scroll to the rest of the messages, half of which I don’t even remember typing.
Lana
Shadow King, did the devil finally come to collect you? Why are you…you? Why are you polite to everyone else but me? What have I ever done to you? Why can’t you ever saypleaseandthank you?
Elias. Whatever your middle name is. Kent. Answer me.
His response came ten minutes later.
Elias
Please.
I remember frowning at the odd message, then realizing he was asking me to show up here this morning.
Curiosity got the better of me. What does the devil need me for?
But now it’s ten past eight, I haven’t had my morning coffee, and the man himself is nowhere to be seen.
Ugh, Lana. Why did you show up?
Because you were intrigued by the enigmatic man whose chuckles make your panties wet and harsh commands make you want to slap him.
After he pins you against a wall and has his way with you.
My skin heats, and I groan at the unwanted image. Biological clock, dammit. I need better choices.
“Thank you for coming,” a soft rasp ghosts my ears.
“Holy crap!”
My phone tumbles out of my grip. One leather glove-clad hand shoots from behind me and catches it.
“Were you a cat in your past life? How do you move without sound?” I spin around, and my mouth promptly dries.
The Shadow King is wearing all black today—a form-fitted suit, vest, tie, the works. He looks like he’s aiming to be best-dressed at a funeral. I take in the well-honed muscles straining against his clothes, the drumming vein on his neck, his intense gaze drilling into me like I’m a secret he wants to unravel.
