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“Aria—”
“Just…” I shook my head. “No. I can’t risk—”
“Aria,” Rebecca started again. Her tone took on the sternness of a mother. “I know you know you’re being irrational.”
I did. I was well aware that my aversion to relationships of the committed variety was due to irrational fear. That was the thing with irrational fears, though—they could sometimes be crippling, and in this case, it was.
That was just what happened when you had lost two sets of parents before you were twenty; your already-fragile brain did its best to protect you. One second, you’d be planning your entire future with a husband and a passel of kids, and the next, you’d be swearing off relationships and trying to run from your sister to keep her safe.
Of course, there was the possibility that my fear might not be completely irrational. I could still remember the way my adoptive mother had screamed as they asked about me, and the way my adoptive father had laughed in the face of his murderers. Until recently, most of my twenties had been spent looking over my shoulder, subduing my wolf, and babysitting my nieces.
“Listen to me, Aria. You’re twenty-three years old, so please start acting like it,” Rebecca sighed. “I know—” She paused, glancing at her husband quickly. “—I know you think you’re to blame for our parents' death, but…”
I was almost tempted to tell her that IknewI was, but I swallowed it down and let her continue.
“…You’re not. You know that already. It was a robbery gone wrong. Even if you had intervened, you’d have just gotten hurt, or… or worse.”
I stared down at the small coffee table in silence.
The tension thickened as time went on. I hated talking about our parents’ deaths. Guilt swamped me, filling my lungs with its murky waters. I swallowed twice to clear my throat.
I heard Rebecca continue, “I think maybe you’d benefit from a little male attention—”
“Ew!” I laughed, cutting her off. “We are not talking about this, Rebecca. ”
“What?” She shrugged. “I’m serious, I think it would be good for you. Maybe—“
“No, no.” I held up a palm to silence her. “I get it.”
“Good. Alienating yourself from your generation isn’t healthy,” Rebecca said, frowning. “Promise me you’ll try to at least make a friend, go out for drinks, or do something sociable.”
I stared at her for a long moment. Harry’s words, her encouragement, and my successful day were to blame for my jerky nod of agreement.
“I promise to try,” I said.
2
HELL’S GINGER
Aria
The thing about becoming comfortable, especially when you were as messed up as I was, was that it felt good. It felt really,reallygood to let go of the ever-present need to look over your shoulder, or deny yourself something that you want.
So, when the fourth week of work at AMH rolled around, I could not only address the doorman, Allan, by his first name, but also drop off chocolate chip cookies to the personal assistants in their little cubicles, all working behind the scenes. Aggy was among them.
I knew I had gotten too comfortable. I didn’t know in the sense that it was at the forefront of my mind and I was going to revert to being awkward and standoffish with my coworkers, but in the sense that I was making progress and fulfilling my promise to Rebecca.
It was Thursday afternoon when I realized that getting this comfortable might not be a good idea.
I was up to my neck in scheduling for the weekend when the double doors opened. Expecting it to be an appointment, I stood up, a wide smile on my face and my hands clasped at my front, only for my expression to freeze as I took in the man standing in my foyer.
He was about eye level with me from where he was standing. I couldn’t make out the exact color of his eyes, but they scanned the room with a military sort of precision that made me instantly go on alert.
In the bright lights of the room, his hair glowed some color close to orange. It was styled longer on the top and shorter on the sides, its curls wild and unkempt, a few stray strands left coiled across his forehead. His face was clean-shaven, his lips were full, and his nose was a little crooked, perhaps from being broken a time or two.
I could visualize this man getting into fights and getting his nose broken, too. There was something about him that sent my wolf haywire. Maybe it was the dangerous air around him, or the way the fingers of his right hand seemed to twitch when his eyes finally landed on me, but she was almost inconsolable in her efforts to take control.
I winced as he took a step toward me and she lunged at the walls of my mind.
