“He’s not my—”
I cut myself off. What’s the point? Johnny gets out and opens the back passenger door. I don’t move. I’m about to walk away, but it’s like the universe is against me. The skies open as heavy rain pours. I could walk. Make a statement.
“Do you really want to test Cyan twice today?” Cyan saying the word consequences flashes through my mind. Damn it, why does his voice echo in my head? I exhale sharply through my nose and climb into the SUV. It smells like leather and a faint, sharp, earthy masculine cologne–the opposite of Cyan’s dark spice. “Seatbelt,” he says as he jumps into the driver’s seat. “Unless you like living dangerously. Which I’m suspecting you do.” I snap it in without a word, eyes fixed ahead. “You’re always this quiet?”
“Only when I’m around men who take orders from a psycho with control issues.”
“You say that like it’s an insult,” he chuckles. “But Cyan’s not like people think. He’s just intense. Focused and, yeah, possessive. But only with things he’s serious about.”
I cross my arms, biting the inside of my cheek to stop the burn rising behind my eyes. I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t ask to matter to a man like Cyan MacBrady. “Let me guess. You’re going to say he’s really just misunderstood.”
Johnny pulls onto my street, the SUV gliding to a stop in front of my house like it knows the way. “Nah. But for what it’s worth?” He glances at me as I reach for the door. “I think you’re in deep already, sweetheart. Might as well admit it to yourself before he breaks the door down.”
I shoot him a look, my hand frozen on the handle. “You’re just like him; you’re insufferable.”
He grins. “Maybe I got my way; you got in the car.”
I Slam the door behind me harder than necessary and head up the walkway, raindrops hitting my face. Deep down, I know he’s right. I’m already in it, and the worst part is, I’m not sure how to get out.
I try, though. The next morning, I wake early, get ready faster than usual, and slip out the door before Johnny can pull up. My actions can’t have consequences if Johnny isn’t here. It’s petty, passive, but Cyan’s not getting his way today. Headphones in, I catch the bus, pretending to be invisible. Thanks to Cyan, my workload is back to normal. Lunch disappears at my desk; I finish early and order a ride on the app. The side exit buys me a few precious seconds of freedom.
The ride home is longer than I remember. I can’t help myself; I’m constantly biting my cheeks, expecting Johnny to pull up at any time. I yawn, feeling sleep tug at me. It’s the price for waking up earlier, but it beats being chauffeured like a possession. I arrive home with no sign of Johnny and no text from Cyan.
So, I do the same the next day, leaving home feeling victorious—until I see him. Leaning against the black SUV, arms crossed, smug smile firmly in place. Of course, Johnny’s here. The universe hates me. He opens the door, and I get in. I don’t give up. He may have caught me this morning, but I’ll win when it’s time to leave work. I log out, pretend to head for the restroom, then swerve toward the elevator at the last second. He’s waiting when I step out.
The next day, I try again getting up even earlier. Same result. He’s there, and when I try to leave work early, he’s there. For an entire week, he nips my avoidance plans in the bud. It becomes a game I’m losing. By next week, a routine settles in: I try to avoid him. He catches me. Every single time.
He’s polite but doesn’t push conversation like before, and I return the favor. I should pry him for information, making the most of having Cyan’s driver within arm’s reach. But I keep my distance, a silent protest against Cyan’s control. Ping! I glance down at my phone, my lips curving into a small smile.
Tasha: Hey girl, I’m still drowning in documents. What’s up with you?
I exhale, grateful she’s in Florida, too busy with work to notice my mess of a life. Guilt presses against my ribs, but I shake it off as I reply.
Me: All good, Tash. Got the last of the payroll done today. Heading home now.
Her response is almost instantaneous.
Tasha: Nice, Ari. I’ll talk to you soon.
I tap a heart emoji on her message before dropping my phone into my purse.
Hopefully, I can kill Cyan’s obsession by the time she gets back. Sure, my orgasm at Lookout was mind-bending, but Cyan MacBrady isn’t the man for me. I need him to see that too. Over the past two weeks, I haven’t heard or seen Cyan. I should be relieved. Except his absence doesn’t erase his presence, not when Johnny is there every morning and every evening, a silent reminder of Cyan’s hold on my life.
***
I’m curled up on the couch on Sunday morning while Gran takes her nap when my phone rings. I hear Tasha’s voice as soon as I answer.
“Hey, Aria girl, what’s up?”
“Tash, I was about to call the CIA to track you down.”
She laughs. “Sorry, Ari. This case is messier than my firm expected. It was supposed to be a simple declaration of assets, but the bastard dumped two hundred and fifty boxes of paperwork on us. Petty move if you ask me.”
“So, not the cushy business-slash-vacation you thought it would be?”
“Girl, you said it. I’m in the office at sunrise and back at my hotel past midnight. This morning’s the first time I’ve even had a minute to order room service.”
“Sorry, Tash. I know you were hoping to sport that leopard-print thong bikini.”
