Like why she hasn’t reached out to me yet.
Chapter
Ten
SIMONA
Keeping my hands on my lap and my ankles crossed properly under the chair is near impossible when all I want to do is kick off my heels and curl up in a ball, to luxuriate in the presence ingrained in this office. I probably should have chosen one of the uncomfortable King Louis dining chairs in front of the desk, but an undeniable tug towards the worn deep-brown leather Chesterfield seat drove me to the opposite side of the room.
The office is quiet, given it’s inside whatever establishment Porte Noire is, it’s safe to assume the walls are thick or soundproofed. There’s no noise except the steady tick of the clock, and the race of my heart.
Being here is oddly comforting, despite the endless questions about what Brody is doing here. I’m not an idiot, but before I make assumptions as to what kind of place it is, I’d like to speak with the manager. Although, I have a growing suspicion he’s forgotten about me.
I decide two minutes more is all I can afford to wait.Since Brody and the others slipped out of the restaurant early, I’d rather be waiting out where they can’t avoid me than stuck in here—especially if whatever game Brody’s playing is going to drag on and on. I’d rather face him, take the consequences, and get back to Unity.
Not that I’m one hundred percent safe there either—not with Brody now on the register as my brother. I suspect it’s all part of his long game, just like the looming threat of having to endure a medical exam.
All these threats hanging over me are suffocating, but how I feel is almost irrelevant, and it has to stay that way or I won’t have the focus needed to get everything lined up and ready. It’s easy to divert my attention to life at Unity, but hard when he keeps showing up. At the same time, I won’t give him the satisfaction of calling him out on anything he’s doing. Not yet, anyway. Once I have a means to escape, and a place to hide, that’s when I’ll make my move.
I watch the clock, giving the man I’m waiting on until the last second. Opening the door as quietly as possible, I’m looking behind to make sure I haven’t left anything when I walk face first into someone.
Little stars shoot across my eyes. And it takes me a second to realise they’re not because I hurt myself.
“Mr. Torres?” Is all I manage. The shock at seeing him makes my voice barely louder than a whisper.
He looks different. Gone is the Alpha with a passion for talking about aperture and depth of field, instead I’m faced with him in a tuxedo smelling like the first strike of lightning in a tropical storm.
I trot backwards. By the time my butt is back in the Chesterfield, I realise he was corralling me where he wanted me to go.
“You were thinking of leaving?”
I watch him prowl around his desk like a panther. Withthe distance between us, breathing becomes easier, but nothing slows the spike of my pulse. Adrenaline burns through my blood—entirely reactive to his scent and presence. When he sits, I drop my gaze from him completely, focussing instead on my hands folded neatly on my lap—spurred on by my mother’s endless etiquette coaching.
“Simona?” he pushes when I don’t answer.
“I thought you may have been busy. I was waiting for a while.”
Without looking, I can feel his eyes on me. It’s a very distracting feeling being in front of him and nothing like when he is at school.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he barks. But it’s in cadence only, not soured by his designation.
Not that it matters. He seems to have that special something, submission oozes out of me and I feel myself wanting to appease him in any way possible.
Being asked so directly is disarming and honestly, I should be asking him why he is here. But the question slips from my mind, before I’ve had the chance to consider if I should ignore the question. “You said when I was ready.”
There’s no chance of ignoring the sharp intake he makes. It’s as obvious as a clap of thunder. He’s unusually still afterward though, and I risk a quick glance and end up staring. His eyes are shut, and it looks like he’s counting backwards or something. In the next second his eyes pop open, and they lock on mine. Being caught by him, it’s strange to describe what it does, but I definitely don’t feel anxious like I do with my family—or Brody.
The green of his eyes are incandescent tonight, amplifying his good looks, reinforcing the tragedy of our meeting because I’m sure I’ll be forever enthralled by him.
Eventually, he says, “Thank you for being honest.”
Although it was unnecessary, I knew what he was going to say before he spoke, and I was right.
“Of course,” I echo, just as needlessly. We sit back in unison without breaking eye contact. How we act is strangely intimate. “What is Porte Noire?”
“My club.” And then he’s the one to look away. “It’s an Alpha club, and we provide numerous services to our clientele.”
Maybe because we have an obvious connection he’s being overly direct, or more likely the Alpha I saw at Unity isn’t the real Mr. Torres. I respect his decision to keep different parts of his life separate from the other. Hell, it’s how I’ve survived so far.
