Her eyes light up. “A lady friend? Who is she?” Before I can answer, the diner door swings open and Aria walks in. Joan follows my gaze. “Oh, her… I should have guessed. She works with my Judith.”
But I barely hear her. Aria is a vision, her hair pulled back, that red skirt hugging every curve, and the glasses, mercy I didn’t know she wore glasses. She scans the diner, searching for me, and something low in my spine tightens.The woman is studiously tempting. I’m already imagining all the things I could do to her while she’s wearing those specs.
Then I see him, a short, stout man with a greasy comb-over rushes in behind her. His eyes lock on her, and he barrels forward, calling her name like he has a right to it. My Dove’s attention flickers away from mine as she turns toward him.
The moment I catch him looking her over, my jaw locks. His gaze drags down her body, lingering on her chest and that part of me that I keep leashed almost snaps free. Then the bastard reaches out and grabs her arm, leaning in close and the beast inside me breaks loose.
Thirteen
“I was never asked. I was chosen, and in his world, that’s the same thing.” – Aria Boschett.
Time at work usually crawls at a painfully slow pace. But today? It’s sprinting.
I spent the morning crafting a plausible excuse for having lunch with Cyan MacBrady. If anyone asks, I’ll say it’s strictly business. After all, Cyan owns multiple legitimate companies. He’s already a client of ours, nothing unusual about meeting a client.
Except for the part where my so-called client kissed me like he planned to swallow me whole. I shove that thought away, grab my things, and head to Mel’s.
The diner hums with chatter, the smell of buttery biscuits and fresh coffee mingle with the low bubble of conversation. I scan the room for the bastard, nervous energy buzzing beneath my skin.
Then I find him, those impossible glasz irises lock onto mine from across the room. He sits with the confidence that demands gravity to rearrange itself around him. But he isn’t alone. Another man sits across from him, and relief washes through me. A second person means my excuse for being seen with Cyan will work. Memories hit me—our kiss. The way his lips claimed mine. The way his tongue stroked against mine with a dominance that yanked the breath straight from my lungs. A wildfire flickers deep within my core. I stomp it out. This is madness. This man is blackmailing me.
Cyan sits there in a long-sleeved shirt, tattoos peeking out at the neckline. Broad shoulders. Muscular frame stretching the fabric. He looks… sinful.
“Aria.” The sound of my name slices through my trance, and my stomach drops.Simon.Of all people, on all days, the universe sends him.
He stares at me with those too-wide eyes, his gaze dragging down my body and lingering where it absolutely shouldn’t. As always, his nearness makes my skin crawl. I grip the strap of my purse tighter. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice high and suspicious. “Aren’t you usually drowning in spreadsheets at your desk?”
I push my glasses up my nose. I almost never wear them outside of work but today they’re part of the plan. Cyan is obsessed with me. Fine, let’s see how much he likes me as a boring, buttoned-up nerd. I’m predictable and uninteresting. It’s desperate, but it’s all I’ve got.
“I… I didn’t bring lunch, th… thought I’d try this place.” Great, I’m stuttering.
Simon’s eyebrows bunch like a confused bloodhound. “You’re meeting someone?” My pulse kicks into overdrive. If he sees me with Cyan, he’ll assume I’m trying to take his job.
The man is paranoid enough already. “Is it someone from work?” he presses. Before I can answer, his lips curl into a smug little smile, like he’s solved the Riemann Hypothesis. “Thought you could outsmart me?” he hisses. “Junior employees like you don’t meet with clients. That’s my job.” My blood boils. Simon straightens his tie like he’s some corporate god sitting on a throne I’ll never reach. “Only upper management, people like me... handles clients. Assistants–someone like you... that’s not your job.”
I squeeze my purse strap. I can’t usually ignore his shit, but I’m at my limit. “That’s enough. Why don’t you leave me alone and let me have my meeting?”
Without warning, Simon grabs my wrist and yanks me toward him. “You little bitch. I knew you were gunning for my job.”
From the outside, it must look like we’re something more than coworkers. I truly despise this man. But even now, I don’t want to see him hurt. “Simon, please, you have to let me go.” I try to pull my arm back, but he tightens his grip, desperate, dragging me closer when all I want is distance.
I swear I feel him before I see him. Cyan. One second, he’s at the table, the next. He’s right behind Simon, radiating menace. His eyes lock onto where Simon’s hand grips mine. I try again to pull my are free, but Simon wouldn’t let go.
“Let. Her. Go.” Three words: low, and deadly. He plucks Simon’s hand away as if he’s removing an offending stain. Then his hand replaces Simon’s, branding me in front of the entire diner. Heat rushes to my face, and I want to sink through the floor.
Simon, oblivious to the fact that he’s second from death, snaps. “Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t just put your hands on someone like—” His sentence dies as Cyan’s free hand strikes like a viper, closing around Simon’s throat.
A low, controlled snarl rumbles from his chest as he leans in close. “Who am I? I’m Cyan fucking MacBrady and clearly, you have a death wish, because I don’t take kindly to men touching what’s mine.” My heart slams against my ribs. Lunch with Cyan was a terrible idea, but this? This is so much worse. Simon gurgles, eyes bulging. I look around the diner, desperate for help. Nothing; no one moves. People pretend their food is fascinating. The waitress behind the bar is studying the laminated menu like it’s a final exam. He’s truly is the king of Crescent Bay. The realization chills me to the bone.
I press my palm to Cyan’s chest. “Cyan… please. Don’t.” He goes still. Those storm-dark eyes lock onto mine. I swallow hard. “S–Si… Simon is my boss. He’s just a micromanager, that’s all. Please, Cyan. Let’s eat.” A long, taut beat passes until Cyan finally lets go.
Simon stumbles back, slamming into the wall, coughing, gasping for air. His face is bright red, he wheezes, then croaks, “Just… just a misunderstanding.”
Cyan drapes an arm over my shoulder and pulls me into his side. “Go have lunch, Simon.” Simon bolts, tripping over himself, but before he can reach the door— “Simon.” Cyan says, make him freeze. “No more conversations with my woman’s breasts.” My world tilts. My woman?
Simon nods frantically without a glance back. “Understood, Mr. MacBrady.” He disappears through the door.
The excuse I crafted this morning crumbles into dust. Cyan just publicly claimed me. His fingers brush the spot on my arm where Simon grabbed me. “Come, Dove.” The logical part of me is screaming to turn around and leave. To run, to sprint out of this diner and pretend none of this ever happened. But then I think about the way Cyan handled Simon, how effortlessly he used that power and my feet keep moving. I avoid the subtle stares as we walk toward our table. When we arrive, I pause for a moment. I recognize him, Collin. Cyan’s brother.
