Page 6 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

Her stuff has taken over my space—a cat tower and far too many toys, bowls and water dishes and scratching posts and two litter boxes. But even though I bitched—bitch—about it, it’s kind of nice she’s here.

Plus, it’s not like I don’t have the room.

I just…connection, entanglements, responsibilities.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had any—outside of the business world, anyway.

Speaking of which, I focus back on my inbox, get through a couple more emails before my attention drifts again.

This time away from the worrying state of my animal-conversation-having mind and back to my favorite thing to think about.

River.

Except it’s not about her gorgeous face or that sweet ass of hers. It’s about the way she searched the shadows of that parking garage, how she checked the back seat of her car, the genuine fear in her eyes when I startled her.

I fucked up with her—tonight, last week, months ago.

Not a surprise.

I fuck up with everyone.

Sighing, I focus back on my emails, get through a few more before the silence begins to feel suffocating.

Usually, I prefer it this way.

Silence means predictability.

Control.

No surprises.

Tonight, even with Violet curled close, it just feels empty.

“Idiot,” I whisper.

The kitten’s purrs increase in magnitude, seeming to argue with me.

“You’re a softie,” I tell her.

Violet just cuddles closer.

I slog through a few more emails before my focus begins to slip again, so I switch to the quarterly reports my team just sent over. At least they require me to concentrate, and the news is positive. Despite dealing with cyber-attacks and corporate espionage attempts over the last year, earnings are up.

Probably because my team and I have managed to lock things down and get back to business as usual.

But I know the brief respite from the Lyon crime family’s attacks won’t last long.

Regardless of the threat, I have work to do, so I finish with the reports then review the latest security updates and earnings projections, struggle my way through the rest of my inbox.

When I’m finally done with all of that that, I set my computer aside and stare through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city’s lights glittering in the distance, my mind drifting right back to River Turner.

To her wide, frightened eyes. To her pert sarcasm. To that delicate pulse fluttering visibly at the base of her throat.

I should not have noticed that—any of it.

I should keep my distance.

And I definitely should not remember exactly how many freckles sit across the bridge of her nose.