Page 36 of State of Ruin

It’s all I’ve wanted, all I’ve craved, and while the hardened, controlling, litigious Voss part of me is seeing red flags all over the place, a softer, more tender part is turning cartwheels.

Because she wants me, too.

I allow my tongue to entangle with hers, to show her how much I’ve missed her, to remind her how fucking good it is between us. She kisses me back with just as much hunger, her little hand sliding through the open neck of my shirt and stopping at my heart.

“You look so freaking hot tonight, I can’t handle it,” she whispers against my lips.

I stroke the fine strap of her camisole with my fingertips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You like kissing me and not getting paid for it?”

A happy little laugh. “Yeah.”

I smile against her mouth. “In that case, I was wondering if you’d let me cook you dinner next Wednesday.”

She sighs and tilts her head so that she can run her soft lips down my neck. In this moment, I feel incandescent with happiness. “That’s not the only thing I’ll let you do next Wednesday.”

CHAPTER 19

Elyse

Iturned down the opportunity of twenty-five grand on a regular basis for this date. It’s too awful to compute. All I can do is tell myself that it wasn’t an option, not really—that it was as far-fetched as someone offering to help you cheat on the lottery. That the prize wasn’t worth the price.

I’d be feeling so much more conflicted right now if I had accepted Sinclair’s offer. That’s what I tell myself. But I still feel conflicted. It didn’t seem fair to Sinclair to take the money, and I didn’t want to take it. But surely my first priority should be to my family? Surely, if I have a way to pay off big chunks of our debt at a time, every freaking week, then every other consideration should come in second place? Surely, taking money off a billionaire who wants to hand it out like it’s peanuts should make me feel less bad than knowingly keeping our debt intact when I have a way to make serious inroads into it, and fast?

I chose to do the latter, and I had my reasons. My family will never know the option was even on the table, I tell myself. The knowledge that it would literally kill them to know what I was willing to do is some consolation, I guess, even if it would also kill them to know what I’ve already done.

It was a shitty choice either way, and I chose. Mainly, I chose not to extort a well-meaning guy. Our debts aren’t his problem, and if I want to see where this goes in any way whatsoever then money cannot change hands; that I’m sure of. What happened at Alchemy can stay at Alchemy, but this is the real world—even if the building I’m currently standing in front of is not a part of any real world I recognize.

Sinclair’s building is uptown. It’s sleek and modern, and the entrance, with its smart monochrome awnings and even smarter-looking doormen, is giving major Do Not Enter. I really, truly hope I’m not about to have my own Pretty Woman moment. I’ve made a big effort with my appearance this evening, but it’s still obvious to anyone with an eye for quality that Zara is as fancy as this outfit gets. I take a big breath and remind myself that I’ve been invited here by none other than Sinclair Voss himself. I’m as deserving of walking through those doors as anyone is.

“Good evening, ma’am,” one of the doormen says, managing, with an imperious arch of one gray, bushy brow, to make the greeting sound like a question.

“Good evening,” I say. I clear my throat. “Um, Sinclair Voss is expecting me?” Dammit. I didn’t mean to sound quite so apologetic for my very presence.

To my immense surprise, he smiles and inclines his head graciously. “Ms. Ward, I assume. Right this way.”

He stands back and holds open the door to the left of the revolving doors, thank God. I always feel foolish in those revolving ones that have a mind of their own.

The lobby is a vast expanse of ivory-colored marble and brass fixtures. The mounds of floral arrangements everywhere throw off the scent of lilies. It’s approximately fifty times bigger than my entire home. Walking into Voss’s headquarters was intimidating, but that was a corporate space. This is a residential one, and that makes it way worse.

I hover as the doorman strides over to the long marble front desk and picks up a phone, presumably to call Sinclair. After a few moments, he nods and hangs up. “Elevator One will take you directly up to the foyer of the penthouse. Mr. Voss will meet you there.”

Perhaps I should have taken the twenty-five grand. Not sure it would make me feel any more like Julia Roberts than I already do right now. But I’m glad he’s not getting in the elevator with me. I’m nervous enough without enduring God knows how many floors of silent judgment from an employee who has seen God knows how many women make the exact same journey as me. I suspect this is a well-trodden path.

I make an alarmingly rapid but seriously smooth ascent. Even the quiet purr of this elevator feels sexual. I seriously need to pull myself together. The guy said Sinclair will meet me at the top. I grimace in the mirrored wall to check I have no lipstick on my teeth, then pray hard that there isn’t a hidden camera.

Far too quickly, we pull to an equally smooth stop and the elevator doors glide open. And there he is.

Holy fuck.

He’s standing in front of the doors, smiling straight at me, in jeans and a navy-blue button-down whose open neck shows that lovely tan vee of skin. His dark hair is combed neatly back. The thought of his making an effort, combing his hair carefully in whatever cavernous marble bathroom he has in this place, sends an odd pang through my heart.

Besides, he looks seriously pleased to see me. That smile is blinding.

“Welcome,” he says, holding out a hand to gesture that I should exit the elevator.