My chair groans as I lean back, having successfully transferred two and a half million dollars, and I place both hands behind my head. The pull of sleep tugs at me, but I allowmy eyes to trace over the stitched tan leather, then over to the windows covered with slatted blinds.
This is going to be bad. Though as soon as I say that, a message from Vaughan dings on my secure messenger.
V: Trying to take over my job.
I roll my eyes.
Slade: Nah. Just learned from the best.
V: Hope you covered your bases.
Slade: Aw. Worried?
V: No. Want to make sure you know what you’re doing. Got my new orders from Graves. Headed home. See ya soon.
I shut down my computer, not wanting to risk the chance of my grandfather’s messages reaching me. Instead, I let my fingers hang slack and stare at nothing in particular. The world blurs, and somewhere in the back of my mind, thoughts circle. They’re loud and constantly interrupted by the auburn-haired woman, most likely in my room now.
By the time I blink and come back from the void of thinking, minutes have passed—maybe more. A hollow ache slides behind my eyes, and I contemplate messaging Edmond to come set up my cot. However, there’s a knock at my door, and as if I’ve summoned him, Edmond pokes his head in, and his eyebrows raise at my relaxed position in the chair.
“She’s been shown to your room, sir. I’ve had her food brought up. I believe she is going to get in the shower. Would you like me to set up a bed in another room?”
I shake my head and gesture toward the office closet.
“Ah, the cot. Let me get that set up.” He moves to open the closet. “Should I expect her to be staying long term?”
My head snaps back. No. What kind of comment is that?
I stand, moving toward the door. There’s no need to stay in here while he prattles on, conjecturing. Set up a bed in anotherroom? How does he know I’m not going to thrust myself into bed with her?
I shake my head. Of course he knows I wouldn’t.
“—is it, sir?”
My brow furrows as I turn to look at Edmond, who has got the cot halfway drawn from the closet, his own look of confusion on his face.
“What is it, sir? You shook your head.”
Annoyed, I ignore him and march out of my office, down the hall to the living room.
My shoes, which I prefer to keep off in the house, clack against the wide plank floors. Instead of being comfortable enough to shuck them off, the tension builds as I walk through the house.
It smells likeher. Not the clean, uncomplicated scent all the girls smell like—that’s forgettable, generic in a mild, fresh sort of way. The smell that clings to them from the pit of EV after they’re shaved and plucked to appease the members.
No.
The house smells likeher. It cuts through everything else—the sweetness of Stefan’s blueberry pastries, the sharp citrus of the cleaners, and the sun-warmed algae drifting in from the lake through the open windows.
It’s remarkable how it slices straight through and finds me on the way to the couch. Earthy and cool, tinged with damp wild grass. A little raw. A little feral. My mind can’t shake the idea of dandelions now, and the sharp tang of something untouched enters my mind. The delicate, barely there and weightless puff balanced on a fragile stem. One breath. One breath could undo it.
The thought unsettles me. I don’t want to be the breath that destroys something already close to breaking. It’d be breathingin what isn’t meant to be mine. But she’s in my room. My bed. All because I offered her sanctuary as though I’m a gentleman.
It’s laughable.
My shoulders tense, and I plop down onto the couch. Huh. I’m not sure I’ve ever sat here before.
I scan the room. Soft shadows dance as moonlight spills in through the closed blinds. The cracked windows ruffle the curtains, and they sway. The hem dances along the wooden floor, brushing against it, the edges curling and uncurling, as if they were tracing an invisible pattern.
Restless, I stand and cross to the windows, then double back, hovering at my seat on the couch once more.
