But that was an impossibility.
Her voice vibrated inside him like a tuning fork. Her scent might as well have infiltrated the central air system because it seemed to circulate in the conference room, saturating the air. Why his brothers couldn’t sense it confounded him.
He’d tried not looking at her, but... That hair. Those eyes. That mouth. Even her damn throat. There wasn’t a damn part of her he could tear his gaze from. Wasn’t a part of her he could stare at and not...remember. Not relive.
By the time Cain started to wrap up the interview, Achilles pretended not to notice Kenan’s curious sidelong glances at his bouncing leg or the vise grip he had on the chair’s arms.
The walls weren’t closing in on him; he would’ve recognized the signs of a panic attack. After his release from jail, he’d suffered them often enough. Being locked in a six-by-eight-foot cell for hours on end could do that to a person. But this wasn’t that.
No, what pressed in on him now was the weight of her indifference. What twisted his stomach and squeezed his rib cage was the loathing for himself because he fucking cared.
He needed out of here.
Shoving his chair back, he shot to his feet.
Cain frowned, concern darkening his blue-gray eyes. “Achilles, you—”
“I forgot about a phone call I’m expecting,” he said by way of explanation for his erratic behavior. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Hill.”
He shoved the words out, and they emerged sounding scraped and rough. Nothing he could do about it. Just as he couldn’t do anything about the bemused looks Cain and Kenan threw him. No doubt they were wondering if there was any truth to that Feral Farrell bullshit.
Especially Cain.
They were all in a better place than they had been when Kenan and Achilles first entered Cain’s life, but Achilles didn’t fool himself. A man as brilliant and as guarded as his older brother didn’t allow wolves at his door without first having them at least collared. Cain would’ve had a background search done on Achilles. His brother had to know about his criminal background. Aboutwhyhe’d been locked up.
Unable to meet their gazes any longer—and definitely unable to look at the woman whose very presence drove him away—he strode out of the conference room.
No, that was a lie.
He fled.
Five
Mycah stared down at her new badge, her solemn image gazing back up at her. It belied the nerves buzzing inside her like a swarm of bees.
A day.
Only twenty-four hours after the interview with the three Farrell brothers, and Cain had called, offering her the position of VP of operations. Even though she clutched the badge that granted her access to the office building and executive floor, even though the company handbook and employee contract claimed space in her briefcase, part of her still couldn’t believe she was now an employee of one of the most powerful, influential and wealthiest conglomerates in the world.
Her predominant emotion should have been joy or excitement.
Or definitely satisfaction.
A twenty-nine-year-old Black woman in a field dominated by older white men, and she was already making her mark? And this was just the beginning, as she’d told Cain Farrell. So yes, satisfaction should definitely be coursing through her.
But no. The main feeling that she had to lock her knees against, lest she crumble to the elevator floor in an undignified heap?
Relief.
Because as soon as she’d received that call, she could breathe again.
In the interview, Cain had asked about her reasons for wanting to work with Farrell International. She’d been truthful. But not fully.
After all, how could she explain to a prospective employer that she needed this job so that the huge stone wheel slowly grinding her rib cage to dust could finally,finallylift? And the name of that stone wheel?
Family.
Right. That wouldn’t have gone over well. They would’ve all stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted six fire-breathing heads, then politely ushered her to the conference room door.
