“Here’s a thought, why don’t you start checking in? Be there for everyone for once, instead of chasing those dumb chickenhead girls you’re always fucking.”
The hurt flashed across his face before he could hide it.
“Pyotr…shit. I didn’t mean that.”
He stood, his concerned expression wiped clean. “It’s fine. You’re right.”
“Pyotr….”
But he was already walking out, closing the door behind him.
“Fuck!”
I swept the stack of files off my desk, the papers scattering across the floor before I stormed out of the office. I headed down to the bar, hoping Pyotr was there, but he wasn’t.
I grabbed a bottle of whiskey, a glass, scribbled a note for the bartender, and made my way back upstairs.
I tried calling Pyotr, but it went straight to voicemail.
I poured myself a drink, fingers clenching around the glass until the tension burned my knuckles. Leaning back in my chair, I closed my eyes…
And the first image that hit me was her.
I'd only set up a laptop for her next to mine, not because I doubted her skills, but because I wanted to spend time with her. I wanted her next to me. I missed her more than I cared to admit.
And when Sienna was pressed against the bookshelf in the home office, her pulse fluttering at her neck, her hands on my chest.
Fuck, I wanted to kiss her then. Wanted to taste that sound she made when her lips parted…
…and then she shoved me off.
And the fear in her eyes…it hadn’t left me since. It was the same look in her eyes when I stepped into her room the day after we had gotten married.
That shit happened three days ago.
Three days of avoiding her.
Three days of not trusting myself around her.
I was late today because I’d followed her and Wexler this morning to the campus, just to get a glimpse of her.
This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go.
When the hell did I become so pathetic over a woman?
I lifted the glass halfway to my lips when a knock echoed through my office and Marten stepped inside.
He glanced at the papers scattered across the floor, then at the drink in my hand. Without saying a word, he sat on the sofa and just…stared.
I let out a long breath and got up. I took the whiskey bottle and the glass into the office bathroom, dumped the alcohol into the sink, and tossed the bottle in the trash. When I stepped back out, Marten had already gathered the papers into a neat stack on the desk.
“Spill it,” he said gruffly.
“There's nothing to spill,” I muttered as I sat behind my desk and placed the glass on a coaster.
“Bullshit.”
I knew if I didn’t tell Marten something, he’d never leave.
