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“You think I’m heartless? Bartholomew’s worse.”
I shook my head. “I thoroughly enjoyed his company. I wish I were with him now instead of you.”
Cauldron tried to keep a straight face, but there was a subtle flicker of pain…or anger. Not sure which. “You don’t know him as well as you think.”
“I know him as a man. I know how he treats a woman—and he’s a perfect gentleman.”
“Are we talking about the same guy?” he asked, slightly raising his voice. “The guy who threatened to slice my throat open in a room full of people if I didn’t win his little game? The guy who digs up corpses just to smuggle his drugs across the border? The guy who wears military boots so he can execute his enemies by stomping on their skulls until they break? That guy? You should be thanking me for getting you out of that situation.”
“You can say what you want about him, but he keeps his word, is honest about his intentions, and doesn’t stick his dick in other women. Which is a lot more than you can say about yourself.”
“I never fucked anyone else. Still haven’t.”
“But you’re a liar. A big, fat liar. You were dishonest about our relationship from the beginning. And then you were dishonest again after I forgave you.”
“I told you I tried—”
“It doesn’t matter. Say what you want about Bartholomew, but what you see is what you get.”
The redness in his face showed a hint of the anger underneath. Every time Bartholomew’s name was said, it got a little bit worse.
Good.
* * *
“I need to see him.”
“Well, he’s in the middle of a meeting,” his butler said in the parlor. “It’ll have to wait.”
I was tempted to storm right past him and enter the office anyway, but that would be pretty rude after Grave had bought me that apartment. I let out a frustrated sigh and took a seat on one of the stiff couches. It was still January, so the sky was always overcast, and there was always a frost against the windows that fogged the view.
Thirty minutes later, footsteps sounded down the hallway before they entered the parlor. First, it was Grave, wearing his signature sweatpants without a shirt, because he chose to conduct his business as casually as possible. And then behind him came Cauldron.
Cauldron stopped and stared at me, a steely gaze that lacked any sign of affection. He must have still been angry about the night before because his expression was identical to how it was then. It must have remained on his face, permanent.
I held his stare without moving. Time seemed to stand still.
Then he walked off without saying a word to Grave. He disappeared into the elevator and then was gone.
Grave sat on the other couch. “That was rough.”
“If you think that was rough, you should have joined us for dinner last night.”
“Did you need something?”
“You really can’t guess why I’m here?” I asked incredulously. “You thought your little distraction at the art auction would go unnoticed?”
He stared at me, giving no admission of guilt.
“I can’t believe you helped him.”
“He’s my brother. It’s not that hard to believe.”
“But I’m your—” I couldn’t find the right word because I really wasn’t sure what we were these days. “Friend…”
“I understand why you won’t give Cauldron another chance, but Bartholomew is not the answer. You never should have gotten back in the game. You’re the first one to admit that it’s gotten you in the worst kind of trouble.”
I rolled my eyes. “You don’t know him.”
