That’s why she looks familiar. Well played, Cavanaugh.
Emery shoots Damon a polite smile, but there’s a dangerous sort of anger simmering under her skin. "Of course,Maya.” She offers a handshake. “I’m sorry, I almost didn’t recognize you with your mouth closed.”
I blink at Emery’s brazen comment, and she shrugs as Maya’s gaze flickers between her and Damon. Damon chuckles and translates, and I’m unsure whether he twisted Emery’s words or not, but Maya covers her mouth and laughs.
“I prefer open to closed,” Maya says, tossing Emery a knowing wink. “More fun, I think.”
“Agreed,” Emery says, tight-lipped. She glances up at me. “The studio is all ready to go. Pierre is waiting for us.”
“Why don’t you ladies go ahead,” I say, glancing at Cavanaugh. “Damon and I need to have a quick word.”
Sophie casts me a skeptical look before reluctantly ushering Maya and Emery toward the studio. The three women disappearinto the corridor, and as soon as they're out of earshot, Damon turns his attention on me, glaring.
"This place is nice," he hums, glancing around. “I’m surprised Charles agreed to a venue change.” He cocks his scheming head. “I much prefer the villa in London. Good thing Sophie didn’t screen my calls and gave me theupdatedaddress.”
My jaw clenches. "You’re pathetic, Cavanaugh. Following us here? It simply reeks of desperation. A man should know when to stand down.”
Damon smirks, his lips curving up with blinding arrogance. "You’re callingmepathetic?" He snorts. “Emery and I have one little disagreement and you pounce on the opportunity to whisk her away. Hide her from me. Isn’t that more pathetic?”
I take a step closer, lowering my voice to a dangerous growl. "I am not the one who wished to run away, Cavanaugh. Unlike you, I don’t find pleasure in controlling my women."
His expression hardens. "Don’t fool yourself, Quinton. You know she’s not yours.” He glances down the hall with a cocky grin. “And she knows it too. Or she will.”
I grit my teeth. “What’s your plan here, Cavanaugh? Do you honestly think Emery will play into your games?” I scoff. “It’ll take more than another woman to lure Emery back into your arms.”
Damon smirks. “Then you don’t know Emery.”
I mirror his arrogance and whisper, “Oh, but I do, Cavanaugh. Ireallydo.”
Damon's smile fades, and for a brief moment, our complicated history sits heavy on my shoulders. "It appears we’re back where we started,” he spits, venomous. "May the best man win.”
I’m knocked in the gut with a sickening sensation of deja-vu, and a tinge of fear ripples through me. Why? Why must it be like this? Why can’t it be simple? Why can’t I, for once,get a happy fucking ending? Why must therealwaysbe fucking trials? Goddamn hurdles?
“We better join them,” Damon taunts, turning on his heel. “Can’t leave the ladies waiting, can we?”
“After you.”
With fists anchored at my sides, I trail behind Damon, cursing the series of events that led me here. What a cruel cycle to repeat. To relive. He’s one to bring a gun to a knife fight. I know this. I know to expect the vilest of tactics.
I’ve never been a great strategist. Not in business. Not in love. And he knows that. He knows where I am weak. He knows there are lines I don’t willingly cross. Lines he has no qualms about speeding over, leaving dust in his wake.
“You are late.” Pierre glares at me and Damon as we enter the brightly lit studio. “Take your seats, please. We will begin.”
With a forced mask of contentment, I sit down beside Emery as Damon joins Maya’s side. The strong scent of clay permeates the studio, the room filled with the soft hum of the pottery wheel. As the lesson begins, I find myself unable to rip my focus away from Emery. Her hair cascades down her shoulders as she listens intently to Pierre’s instructions.
I swallow hard when I notice her wandering gaze. With a dirty hand, Damon flicks the tip of Maya’s nose and they laugh. To my dismay, Emery's jaw tightens almost instantly.
I lean closer to Emery and whisper, my pulse quickening. "Does it bother you, seeing him with Maya?"
Emery's gaze flickers to mine, her eyes dark with emotion. "Is it that obvious?” She releases a labored breath as she glances down at the mound of lumpy clay on her wheel. “God, what is wrong with me?” She smacks the clay. “I hate this! It’s not working!”
I can sense her frustration, her confusion. And unfortunately, I can also sense her desire. It’s there. Lingeringbehind walls of betrayal. It hurts me. Pains me, really. But I understand. I understand addiction. I understand the human brain. Her brain. The highs. The lows. She’s chasing them all.
Damon's eyes lock onto ours for a moment, and a wicked smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He's reveling in her discomfort, enjoying watching his plan unfold. I grit my teeth. Shameless. So fucking shameless. But it works.
“Let me help you.” I slide my stool behind Emery’s and place my hands over hers. “Together, we can make it work.” Emery’s spine shivers as our fingers touch the cool, wet clay. “Close your eyes, darling. Don’t think. Just feel.”
Emery's breath hitches, and for a moment, she seems to forget about the world around us. I guide her hands, our fingers moving in perfect harmony as we mold the shapeless clay into something beautiful.
