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Chapter Three
Archer
Ifollowed her home and, as instructed, parked in the guest spot next to hers marked 3B. She invited me in, explaining how she shares an apartment with her chef sister, how it’s not that big so I should prepare to be unimpressed. She then bypassed the elevator and we climbed three flights of stairs to her front door. I figured she had more steam to blow off, maybe since I stole her thunder by popping Brandon in the mouth instead of letting her do it.
That would have been something to see.
Her apartment is small, tidy. Minimalist, but not by design. More because she and her sister don’t have much, or because the “much” they had was lost somewhere between abandoning their previous lives and combining their current ones. I don’t know the story there.
The sofa appears to be newer, but the slouch in the cushions suggests it’s well-loved. It’s in front of an entertainment stand made for an old fat-back TV, a small flatscreen sitting in the big, square opening.
The kitchen barely fits the table and two chairs, let alone us in it. Everything in here is within arm’s length of everything else. Stove, sink, fridge.
“God, I’m so stupid,” Talia mutters as she piles ice into a dishtowel. She drops additional ice cubes into two short glasses and then slaps the freezer door shut. “I was rash and hot-headed and stupid. And now I have no job.”
“Wildflower, you’re not stupid. And you have a job,” I tell her. “You work for me now, remember?”
The glare she flashes me says she thinks I’m placating her, or this could be her way of refusing my offer. I guess that’s fair. We didn’t talk about it. Hell, she has no idea what “it” is yet. She’s perfect for the position, and, bonus, her time has suddenly been freed up.
She knots the dishtowel and gingerly places the ice on the knuckles of the hand with which I decked Ed’s nephew. Then she pours a splash of bourbon in each of our glasses and points to the tiny square kitchen table next to an equally tiny window overlooking a parking lot. “Have a seat.”
I oblige her, lowering my ass onto an uncomfortable metal chair and abandoning the ice pack on the table.
“I just left my team to Brandon, that worthless, clueless, dickless…” She shakes her head, trailing off into a feminine grumble I find cute, even though I shouldn’t. “What was I thinking when I dated him?”
Great question, and one I’ve wondered myself. She never mentioned them dating, but the way he watched her suggested they were familiar. As in familiar familiar. At first I thought he liked her and she never returned his affections, but as of right now, I know that’s not the case. I agree with her but opt not to rub it in. “We all make mistakes.”
She sips the bourbon. Licks her lips. Stares out the window down at the not-picturesque parking lot below. “Maybe Ed will give me my job back.”
“Not the mistake I was talking about.” I tip my own glass to my lips. It’s none of my business. Talia has a life, bills, responsibilities. I have no right to advise her, especially since she didn’t ask. I know this, but in the end, I’m not able to keep my trap shut about Lambert. “Didn’t peg you for the blond-Captain-America type. Yikes.”
That earns me a weak smile. “I cannot believe you hit him.”
“Neither can I,” I admit, replaying the scene in my head. I flex my hand. I’m not a complete stranger to physical altercations. I’ve helped my security team haul drunk guys out of my clubs over the years, but punching someone in the face isn’t my go-to. Usually a stern conversation can deescalate the situation. I didn’t think Brandon would respond well to conversation while he was peacocking about his newfound title. Plus, hitting him was fun. He seemed like a guy who deserved to be punched.
“You’re sort of awesome.” Talia, wearing a pale pink camisole beneath a matching jacket, looks the part of the businesswoman above the waist. Then there is the pair of leather pants skimming her long legs. Every time I’ve seen her, she’s worn pants. I’d love to see what those legs look like beneath the material. Are they toned and muscular? Curvy and thick? Either option is fine by me.
She chews on one fingernail painted with black polish. Her rings are out in full force, one on nearly every finger save the index on her right hand and the two middle on her left. From her head of wavy dark hair to the tips of her sexy open-toed shoes, it’s painfully obvious she belongs in my world more than Ed Lambert’s.
“Is that why you flew here from Chicago? To punch out my ex?”
“I came to see you be crowned. Punching your ex was a bonus.” Rather than leave it at that cheeky remark, I decide to tell her the truth. “You offered bourbon if I came. That read like an invitation to me.” I bottom out my drink, and she does the same while wearing an innocent smile that is anything but. “Do you like it?”
“It’s better than I thought. Not sure if it’s worthy of a marriage proposal.” Her hazel eyes twinkle in the copious sunlight. Even chilly, Florida is a beautiful state in the winter. More beautiful with Talia in it, but if I have my way, she’ll be taking a leave of absence. I have plans for her, and they don’t involve her staying here. As if she reads my mind, she prompts, “What would working for you entail?”
She’s back to her no-nonsense self, which I’ve learned is her go-to. Talia Richards is a woman who wasn’t handed everything at birth. Not my story, either, but it wound up looking that way. My blue-collar roots were intact when I was born, but my self-made billionaire father lent a hand at the start of my success. It was his seed money with which I built my Kingpin Empire he despises. Oh, the irony.
My guess is Talia hasn’t had it easy but would sooner die than tell the sad tale of how she’s had it hard. Or, more likely, she doesn’t perceive the hard stuff as hard, but as just…life. She’s survived, thrived, and is dealing with another blow in the form of being overlooked for the raise she’s more than earned. All because Edward Lambert is a piece of shit, and Brandon is an opportunistic, entitled prick. I flex my fist.
“Why’d you want the pay bump and the title change?” I ask.
She laughs an incredulous laugh. “Because I deserve it.”
“Not what I meant.”
She stands, refills her glass, and leans on the countertop, one leg bent at the knee, her round ass utter perfection. Studying the apartment she shares with her sister, she goes quiet for a moment.
“I wanted a raise for the usual reasons. I want my own place,” she answers. “I want to be in charge. Not of people, but of myself. I want to set goals and meet them. Exceed them.” She drops her head, her shoulders rolling forward. It’s a defeatist position I don’t like seeing on a woman as tough as Talia. “I’m thirty-four years old and have nothing to show for it. Every inch I manage to move forward, I’m knocked back three feet. I’m no stranger to starting over, but I’m damn tired of it. I worked for Lotus Leaf for almost four years. I never should have accepted Brandon’s offer to move in with him, but I never imagined it’d cost me my career.”
