Tension wafts from them. They must take family dinner and game night seriously. I return to observing. You can learn a lot about people when they’re with those they’re most connected to.
“Missing this particular dinner,” Jax begins, chugging the end of his cocktail, “would be like a kamikaze mission.”
Cash slants his head, hitching a shoulder to meet it. “Just tell him I’m sacrificing for the greater good.”
They share a silent conversation, and my respect level for Axel skyrockets. He raised these two and Maddox. He must’ve been on the brink of insanity on a daily basis.
“So, Zara”—Cash leans closer to me, invading my space without touching—“think you’ll be hungry?”
So smooth.
“I wasn’t sure at first, but since you’re sacrificing so much, I suppose I can make it. A girl has to eat.”
“Perfect.” He winks. “Meet me here at six.”
The second he walks away, Tessa hums her disapproval. “That’s playing with fire, girl. Be prepared to get burned.”
I’m guessing Tessa is hung up on the heat she saw between Axel and me in the video, but while we flirt, he’s already made it clear that no matter how attracted he is to me, he isn’t interested. Even if he were, I have no desire to be one of his NDA-signing trysts. He awakens something inside me that I snuffed out years ago—a longing to have roots. If anything happened between us or even if he gave me the slightest inclination that it could, I’d want to keep him, and that’s impossible. Plus, we have far greater issues, like how I’m going to get a bug in his arbitration meetings.
“I’m already doused in gasoline. Flames were bound to find me.” I finish my wine, grab my purse, and say my goodbyes.
As I leave, I hear the three of them cackling in the background, and again, I’m struck by how light they all are.
AXEL
She’s eating cherries because sheskipped lunch. Who the fuck does that? It’s a goddamn garnish, not a meal.
And each time one touches her tongue, her lashes flutter, and a faint purr emanates from her. Like she’s on the verge of coming. It’s making me sweat. If I have to endure one more sultry, indulgent hum from her, I’m going to combust. Or tie her down and retrieve the cherry with my teeth.
“You seem stressed,” she notes, pushing one into her cheek so there’s a healthy lump where my cock should be. “Is it about this? Everything’s moving according to the timeline.”
Too young. Employee. Probably hired to kill me. Or to find information on Rena. Or at the very least, to spy on my members. You’d think that would be sufficient to curb this ache I seem to have for her.
The off-limits, horrible-idea aspect must be making it worse.
And that figure-hugging navy dress. It’s professional—hitting at her knee, sleeves to her elbows, off one shoulder, belt at her waist—but all those modest details enhance the urgency todiscover what lies underneath. She’d give Audrey Hepburn in her prime a run for her money.
I offered to have a late lunch catered in, but Zara insisted her garnish was sufficient. She chews her fruity treat, sucks her lemonade through a thick straw, licks her plump lips, and smiles. She has to be fucking with me.
Ignoring her for a beat, I spin roulette on my watch. Today’s bet issix. The ball bounces, jumping from pocket to pocket, from red to black, landing ontwenty-one—that was my number yesterday. A subtle reminder that everything has been slightly off lately.
“Not about this,” I finally manage, adjusting my glasses. “Launch dates are optimistic, but still feasible. I have meetings with some officials scheduled. The sites with the most compliance from government players will go live first.”
She scrutinizes the proposed timetable while dragging a cherry over her lower lip. “The earliest is still a year out, so I’m sure you’ll make the needed connections by then.”
“We,” I correct.
“What?” she asks, dazed, like she’s as mesmerized by the fruit as I am.
“The connectionswewill make since you’ll be part of my executive staff until the end of fucking time.” I take the jar of cherries and the fancy tool she uses to spear them and set them on my office bar. “You can have your snack when we’re done working.”
“Well,” she sings, standing and sauntering to the floor-to-ceiling window that peers out at the city, the delectable curve of her ass a far superior view, “when you make being a La Lune Noire lifer so appealing, it’s hard to remember I’m a captive.”
She is essentially a captive. I’ve trapped her here more than she even realizes, but I’ve also got one finger hovering over the button to exile her. It’s anyone’s guess which would be a worsefate. Because I’m conflicted. She’s at my mercy, and I still feel like I’m losing.
Helping myself to a midday drink because my coffee isn’t cutting it, I pour two fingers’ worth of Glenfiddich 30 Year Old on the rocks. “Not such terrible accommodations for a prisoner.”
“I would have agreed before the warden stole my cherries.” She reins in a mischievous grin, those salacious green eyes twinkling before she twists back to the cityscape. “I do enjoy the employee culture here.”
