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16
IRINA
Icouldn’t stop thinking about him.
It was absolutely ridiculous. It was beyond the point of my control. He was everything that I shouldn’t even want. He was too broken to be able to help me put the pieces of myself back together, but that didn’t stop his face from being the first one I’d thought of when I opened my eyes that morning.
It didn’t stop me from thinking about the ragged groan he made when he came or the way I felt with his eyes on my body. It didn’t stop me from thinking about the odd humor he’d shown before I pushed the limit too far the first time we met, or the tenderness he showed to Ivory and Luna.
None of that was love. None of that equated to a stable relationship that could stand the test of time, but fuck if I could get him out of my head.
If I could get the imprint of him off my heart.
A knock sounded at the office door, drawing me away from the horribly-timed contemplation. I had more work to do than I could ever remember, having lost my morning productivity the day before to sleeping through my medicated haze.
“Hey, stranger,” I said, standing and smiling at the man in my doorway. Grant Dumas was one of our best donors, a man who never hesitated to write a check to help the children of Chicago. A check that happened to be worth more than most people would see in their lives.
He’d never admitted his motivation, the reason why he chose to invest in Fresh Start out of all the charities that vied for his attention. I’d never asked, somehow fearing the answer.
His father was close friends with mine. That was all the reason I needed to know.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, stepping past the threshold of the open door and moving into my office. His smooth accent rolled over my skin, the sound like a soothing balm from my childhood. Grant and his mother had come to stay with us in the weeks after my mother’s disappearance. He’d held me while I cried far more nights than I cared to admit, one of the only people who had the patience to tolerate my intense form of grief.
He took my hands in his, lifting one to kiss the back in that cultured way of his. “What are you doing here?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at him when his lips touched my skin. “I thought you were supervising construction at the new location in France?”
“They’ll survive without me for a couple of days. I wouldn’t miss our tradition for the world, Iri,” he said, reminding me of the reason for the uptick in emotional outbursts lately.
The anniversary of the day my mother had abandoned me was tomorrow, and Grant and I routinely spent it buried under pints of ice cream with something cheesy on the television so I could claim that was what made me cry.
As if there was any fooling the man who probably knew me better than anyone.
Tears stung my eyes from wishing against all hope that the boy who’d come to be my safety could be the same one who brought me the thrill of love. The feeling of my heart fluttering in my chest and wishing to see him again.
But he wasn’t, even if he wanted to be.
“Thank you,” I murmured, leaning forward to rest my head against his chest. Grant wrapped his arms around my waist, letting me lean on him as he always did.
“Tonight, we are going dancing,” he whispered, announcing it into my hair as he shifted his hands to encourage my hips to sway. “Tonight is about living. Tomorrow is about the past.”
Where I might have said no the previous year, I shoved aside my hesitation and nodded. Maybe he didn’t make my heart flutter, but he also saw me. He didn’t treat me like I was another form of entertainment and replaceable.
When he was in Chicago, he gave me his world.
“I’ll meet you at Indulgence at nine?” I asked, choosing the club very intentionally. I wanted to erase the memory of Scar there, to wipe the slate clean so there was nothing left to associate with his memory.
Just my very own fresh start.
Someone cleared his throat at the door, and I turned a bright smile to face whichever of the kids had wandered in on our moment.
Instead, I found eyes so dark they eclipsed the sun—a handsome face twisted with malice and regret staring back at me. Scar’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his fists clenched at his sides. “Butterfly,” he growled, his head tilting to the side as he studied my proximity to Grant. I patted Grant on the chest, smiling up at him before pulling away just enough to face the unwelcome intrusion head-on.
“Grant, this is Scar. He works security for a friend of mine,” I said, removing all personal connections from my introduction. After the confession that he would never give me what I wanted, I needed to ground myself in the reality that an affair with Scar would only end in heartbreak for me.
Something I needed to avoid at all costs.
“Hello,” Grant said, refusing to remove the arm that shifted to wrap around my back.
“Grant’s a childhood friend,” I explained to Scar.
“I’m not sure that ‘friend’ is the word I would use, Butterfly,” Scar said, his glare shifting to stare down Grant. “It would probably be smart if you removed your hand from her now.”
“I’m sorry?” Grant asked, chuckling as if he couldn’t quite understand the possessive edge of danger that tainted Scar’s voice. He was far too kind, too sweet, to have any understanding of the way men like Scar worked.
Grant would never put me in a cage to protect me. He’d always fix my wings so that I could fly wherever I wanted and be whoever I wanted.
“It’s alright,” I said, smiling up at Grant and reassuring him. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Are you sure?” Grant asked, turning a concerned glance toward Scar.
“I’ll be alright. Clearly Scar and I have some things we need to discuss—again—but I’ll meet you there at nine. Dress sharp,” I instructed, leaning up to touch a kiss to his cheek. I ignored the growl that rumbled in Scar’s chest and the way his fists were still clenched.
Grant nodded, tucking my hair behind my ear before he turned and strode past Scar. There was a brief moment when he walked past where I wondered if the two men might come to blows, but he was out the door peacefully before I knew it.
I heaved a sigh of relief, turning my attention to Scar for one moment before I strode around my desk and took my seat. Unfortunately, typing on my keyboard didn’t seem to give Scar the hint that he needed to get lost and that we had nothing more to discuss after the night before.
“We aren’t going to talk about this?” Scar asked, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping up to the front of my desk.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, never taking my eyes off my laptop.
He placed each hand on the edge of my desk, leaning forward until his face was only inches from mine. “Like fuck there’s not,” he rumbled.
I sighed, taking my hands off my keyboard and leaning back in my seat. “You made it clear that you will never love me,” I said, turning to look him in the eye as I delivered the blow I knew would hurt him as much as he’d hurt me. “He will.” I added, watching as he subtly flinched.
“Irina,” he warned.
“You cannot claim to not want me and still own me. You’ve made your choice, and now I will make mine.”
“You are not going out with him tonight. I won’t allow it,” he argued.
I stood, stepping around the desk and moving toward the door to my office. For once, I wished it was closed so I could open it all dramatically. “Get the fuck out,” I said, my voice as low as a whisper but somehow echoing through the room.
He turned slowly, walking toward me with all the grace of a jungle cat stalking his prey. I swallowed back my nerves as he approached the doorway next to me.
My heart stopped the moment his hand rested on the edge of the door itself, then slid down the wood until he grasped the knob and pushed it closed behind me. The thud resounded through the space between us, and by the time my heart started beating again, it raced.
“Watch your fucking tone with me, Little Butterfly,” he said, closing the sliver of distance between us. I backed up a few steps, continuing until I felt the press of the wall at my back. He placed a hand to the side of my head, leaning close enough to touch but never allowing the contact to happen.
