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“You can’t do your own dirty work?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
He released a slight chuckle. “You really hate this guy, don’t you?”
“Don’t this to me, Bartholomew. I’m begging you…”
“I’m sorry, Camille. The deal is done.”
I almost fell to my knees right then and there. I was literally back to where I started.
“If it makes you feel any better, it’ll be hard to replace you.”
“I doubt that.” When I remembered Grave at the museum, it suddenly clicked in my head. That was all just a distraction. Grave kept me busy while Cauldron made his move. We’d been in the same room together, and I didn’t even know. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Bartholomew stared at me for a while longer, his eyes slightly sympathetic. “Take care, Camille.”
I released a painful sigh.
“It was nothing personal.” He gave me a slight nod before he walked to the SUV parked at the curb. He got inside and drove away, and once he was gone, I knew my life had changed. Just when I thought I’d made progress toward a different future, I was ripped straight back into the past.
I knew Cauldron could show up at any moment.
* * *
I didn’t bother taking off my dress.
I sat on the couch with a glass of wine in hand, knowing a knock would sound on my door at some point. A little buzz would make the conversation more bearable. The night deepened to some unearthly hour, and my stomach gave a quiet rumble because I’d skipped dinner.
Then I heard it.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Shit…” I remained seated, staring into the hallway that led to the front door. I could ignore him, but that would only last for a minute or two. He’d break down the door or come at me some other time. There was no escaping this.
Knock. Knock. Knock. It was louder this time, filled with impatience.
I left the wine behind and headed to the front door. Without checking the peephole, I opened it, coming face-to-face with the man I didn’t want to see. In jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, he stared at me with his arms by his sides. His eyes flicked back and forth between mine as he studied my reaction, as if there was a chance Bartholomew hadn’t told me that I’d changed hands like a goddamn horse.
Now he knew.
“You may have bought me out, but I’m not your whore. If you think I’m going to get on my back for you, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”
His eyes continued to examine mine in silence. There was no rebuttal.
“You got that?”
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at seven.”
“Excuse me? For what?”
“Dinner.” He turned around and took the stairs.
“Not happening. You don’t own me, Cauldron.”
He stopped on the bottom step and slowly turned around.
I held my ground and stared him down.
“Actually, I do own you. I own you until the conclusion of your contract. If you wanted to keep your rights, you shouldn’t have sold yourself to Jerome. You shouldn’t have walked into that bar and put yourself at the mercy of men like me.” He walked back up the steps, taking his time until he was right in front of me again. “You made your bed. Now lie in it.”
