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“So, you are Robin Hood,” she teases.
I start to laugh. “I wouldn’t say that exactly, but if you want to, I’m good with the analogy.”
She smirks, and my chest swells. Watching me cook, she tells me about her time in France, while I tell her about my first cash collecting runs when I was still a teenager. I even tell her a couple of stories about the guys, some I haven’t shared with anyone before. Why would I, they weren’t worth it, but something tells me she is. I listen to her telling me about all the places she went to paint and her dream of having a gallery exhibit her paintings one day. I even told her about the business a little and how we operate around the city. Opening up about my past, and how I grew up, things I haven’t told anyone before.
“Can you show me what you make?” I ask her. I saw a couple online on her Instagram, but I want to see more.
“It’s on my phone,” she says, eyeing me warily.
“Wait here,” I order, and get it from the vault in my study. I hand the phone to her and regret it the moment her hands start to shake because I didn’t check it.
“What is it?” I growl.
“You know the guy I used to date,” she tells me, biting on her bottom lip.
I nod, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “He’s been calling me,” she says, handing me the phone.
I stare at the screen—the man hasn’t been calling her, he’s been stalking her with hundreds of messages. Since I fucked him up nothing, I smile, remembering what I did to make him stop. I push the phone back in her direction. “Show me.” I point to the screen and wonder if I’m the same when it comes to Storm. I mean, I kidnapped her and made her sleep with me, almost every damn day. I brush a hand through my hair while she scrolls through the pictures.
She stands and shows me a couple of her paintings. I get a whiff from her hair while she leans into me. “They are good,” I say, and they really are. Some are colorful and bright, others are dark and brooding.
She bumps her shoulder against mine. “Don’t sound so surprised.” I rub the spot while she pretends not to notice. I don’t know how to act, nobody ever touches me like this. Not even my brothers, they are all afraid of what might happen when they do. I run my knuckles over my jaw and adjust myself while I take my seat. Why is she different?
“When did you paint these?” I ask, tapping her phone.
She bites on her lips thinking about it. “Right after my grandpa died last year and I moved here. They got me a job at the museum to teach the kids how to paint.”
I study her profile and the way her hair falls down her back. I want to grab hold of it again while I fuck her senseless on the kitchen island, but instead I say, “They are really good, museum quality good,” adjusting myself again.
“Thank you.” She beams, her smile falling when she looks at my face, her eyes running over the scars.
“What happened?” she whispers.
I feel myself getting angry when I know I shouldn’t. It isn’t worth it, people aren’t. Can she be different? “What?” I growl out while she takes her seat and starts to eat.
“You don’t have to tell me, Minki, if you don’t want to. Just know that if you want, you can, I don’t judge, you know I don’t.”
“Trust me, I know how I look,” I spit out, throwing my soju glass back.
“I didn’t mean it as an insult, Sum, I like…” she begins, and shuts her mouth, her cheeks flaming.
“What did you want to say? Tell me,” I demand, feeling my chest swell. I mean, I made her come, but making someone come and liking them are completely different things.
“I happen”—she swallows hard—“to like the way you look, I mean.”
“You like the way I am?” I frown, running a hand through my long hair, not having the urge to hide my face again.
“Yes,” she grits out. “Like you said, this is nothing but a business transaction, after the month is over, we end. But I can at least tell you the truth.”
“The truth is we’ll end,” I reply.
“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, focusing on her stained fingers.
I know I need to let her go. I can’t keep someone prisoner because she doesn’t look at me with disdain or is only with me for my money and my name. She’s with me because you won her echoes through my mind. This doesn’t mean anything. This is a business transaction, nothing more. She starts to yawn, and I grin.
“Are you tired?”
She stares at her hands. “No.”
