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“No, I loved your apology, alainn, but you have nothing to apologize for.” The laughter stopped and he sobered. “After being mated, most females become a bit—”
“Bitchy?” Vivienne supplied.
He shook his head. “Upset when—”
“Zahira explained it to me.” She chuckled when Conall let out what could only be called a sigh of relief. Lifting her head, she caught sight of the time. It was after nine.
“Aren’t you going to work?”
“No,” he replied, and when she lifted a brow at him, added, “A perk of being your own boss.”
“Unfair,” she teased lightly, and then asked, “What are you doing today?”
“Spending the day with you.”
Warmth ran through her body until she was sure that if she smiled any wider, her face might break.
“Oh yeah? Doing what?”
“Whatever you want, alainn.”
“Hm, I should wake you up to an apology more.” She pressed her cheek against his chest, and sighed.
“Yes.” His hands slid against the bare skin of her back. “I really like your apologies, alainn.”
***
Drew stared into the bathroom mirror, taking in her reflection for what had to be the sixth time since she’d arrived at her new studio apartment. She’d removed her braids, and now sported her own hair for what had to be the first time in at least four years. It had grown long, flowing to the middle of her back. The hairdresser had layered it, and given her bangs, something she’d always wanted but refused to get. The thought of brushing hair out of her face constantly had irritated her. Now, all she wanted was change. Turning down the toilet lid, she sat, leaned her head against the wall, and sighed.
She was waiting for the people from IKEA and Target to deliver her furniture. A week ago, she’d signed a six-month lease for a studio apartment in Brooklyn Heights. After spending two weeks and some days with her aunt, she’d had to leave. Her aunt wasn’t the type of woman who did anything without compensation. While she lived there, she was expected to contribute to the rent, which was fine, except the woman had tried to scam her into paying what she would pay for a one-bedroom to sleep on the rundown couch in her living room.
Drew had known of her father’s side of the family for years now. She’d met them at his funeral, but had never reached out to them before. They hadn’t shown much of an interest in her, either. It was sad, but after being there for those weeks she didn’t believe she was missing much. Her father had been a crackhead, her mother a reformed prostitute. She’d had a hard life, growing up in Bed-Stuy on food stamps, and walking streets where gang-bangers and pimps constantly patrolled. The one thing that had kept her sane was school. She’d gone to a public school there, but the teachers had taken an interest, and had pushed her hard, which in turn made her gain grades enough to attend NYU, where she’d met Vivienne and Max.
At the thought of Max, her heart twisted, and her body grew cold. The heat had been turned on, and the studio was at a comfortable temperature but still Drew shivered. She’d spoken to Vivienne in the past weeks, and on each occasion, Vivienne had sadly conveyed she still knew nothing of Max. A day didn’t go by when Drew didn’t think of him, wondering if he was alive, or what they were doing to him. Her excuse of “he’s with his father” had not been able to calm her of late, when she’d kept calling and had been told that Vivienne knew nothing.
Drew was saved from her thoughts when the doorbell rang. Pulling out her cell phone, she looked at the time. Two thirty. They’d given her a nine-to-four delivery window on Thursday. They were on time.
She pulled the door open. “Just bring everything in—” Drew halted as her gaze landed on two well-dressed men.
“Drew Tierney?” the one closest to her asked, pronouncing her name in a distinctly French way.
“Who wants to know?” she replied, clutching the door so she could slam it if need be.
“Maximilian Cronin,” the man responded in an easy tone of voice.
“Max—?” she began, thinking of her Max before recognizing that these two were referring to the father. Oh God, how had they found her? She pulled from the doorway quickly. As she slammed the door, a boot wedged its way into the doorway.
Drew scrambled back frantically and did the first thing that came to mind. She screamed, knowing in her heart it was futile, but not caring.
The men followed her, and the one who’d remained silent grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back against him. A picture was held up beside her head and the other man looked from the picture to her, and nodded.
