“They didn’t even take a full day to make their decision. That’s how bad my presentation was.”
I didn’t expect to win—not with Brandt in charge, and definitely not after my disastrous presentation this morning. But still. Seeing it in writing—written by Brandt, of all people—is a gut punch of the highest order. Especially since Ijustasked Gigi for a sign.
Well, I asked for it, and I got it. No coincidences, right? That’s what I get for allowing myself to be happy. I’ve made too many mistakes already. Who the hell was I to think I could have it all? Who the hell was I to think that any of this could actually work?
That I could earn the money to save the shop, to keep on doing what I love most?
That a man summoned from the depths of hell, whose kisses taste like sin and whose whispered promises make me dream of an impossible future, could truly fall in love with me?
That somehow, together, we could build something real?
I gulp in a shuddering breath, everything inside me suddenly hot and itchy.
“Violet?”
“Sorry. I just…” I throw off the blankets and push past him. Snatch my bathrobe from the hook on the door. “I… I need to go.”
“What? Where? Violet, I—”
“It’s not you. I can’t… I can’t think straight. I need to figure something out. Things. All the things.”
“I’ll help you. I’ll put on the kettle and we’ll—”
“No! I mean… no.” I suck in another deep breath, panic and regret clawing at my heart, threatening to tear me apart. “I need to be alone tonight. As alone as the bond will allow, anyway.”
The bond. The magic. The connection Devlin is confusing for love.
The connection I almost let myself believe was real, too.
Suddenly, I want nothing more than to banish him. To shatter that bond. To know, once and for all, if there’s anything else tethering us together.
Anything real.
Devlin puts his hands on my shoulders, steadying me. Calming me, just for a moment.
“Stay here, little mushroom.” Pain and helplessness flood his energy, a dark contrast to a night full of love and passion, of secrets laid bare. “This is your home. I’ll spend the night downstairs.”
“Devlin, I can’t ask you to—”
“It’sfine, Violet. Just like old times.” He offers a smile that doesn’t even reach his eyes. And I know I should say the word—the one tiny word right on the tip of my tongue.
Stay.
But I can’t.
Devlin nods, as if he can hear my thoughts. Then, with a deep sigh, he kisses my forehead and whispers, “Get some rest, Violet. We’ll figure it all out in the morning.”
Chapter Thirty
DEVLIN
Thereisno figuring it out.
Not in the morning, while Violet busies herself in the café inventing new blends for customers that never seem to materialize and we stealthily avoid talking about anything that matters. Not in the afternoon, much the same as the morning. And not, as I’d hoped, in the long, lonely stretch of evening that bleeds into a darkness so complete, I feel as though I’m right back in the bowels of Hell.
By the second day of walking on eggshells, when I feel I’m losing her a bit more with every passing pleasantry, with every minute that ticks by when I can’t touch her, can’t kiss her, can’t bury my face in her hair and promise her things will work out—somehow, some bloody way—I finally decide to take matters into my own hands.
She won’t like it. But I can’t just sit here and watch her light fizzle out over a fuckstain in a cheap suit who isn’t worth the expense of breath it requires to tell him to go fuck himself.
