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"Yes, I do. No feelings. No emotions. No commitment on your side—"
"—except to my children, of course."
"Of course. Though this entire discussion seems like it’s rooted in the wrong reasons."
"It’s about procreation and ensuring I inherit my father’s company."
"It’s about love," she cries.
I take in her flushed features, her parted lips, the way she wrings her fingers together. "You really mean it."
"Of course I do."
"And you believe in rainbows and unicorns and fairies—"
"Not all of us are cynics, like you."
"Not all of us have been captured and tortured until it felt like the very skin from your body was being flayed. Not everyone was buried in a coffin-shaped hole under the ground with the rainwater seeping in and threatening to drown you alive. Not everyone was electrocuted until—" I shut my lips.The fuck am I doing, sharing my experiences with her?I haven't mentioned this to anyone other than Adam, and that’s only because he went through something similar. He was there. He understands how it was to spend every waking moment sure you’d never last another day. Then wake up to realize you’d survived and were stuck in the same nightmare, with no end in sight. The world moved on, and I regressed.
I touched the darkness inside of me. The ache, the hurt, the sorrows which were my shadow-self became real and came to the fore. I had to draw on them. I had to become them to get through the next second, and the next, and the one after. There was no hope… No future. Nothing but that blank void I surrounded myself with. The only way to get through what was thrown at me was to disassociate my feelings from myself. It’s why I remained alive. Why I’m here today, looking at her angelic face and taking in the pity in her eyes.Pity. In. Her. Eyes.I stab at the button which releases the lock on the doors, then jerk my chin in the direction of the exit. "Leave."
"What?" She gapes.
"Get gone, woman, we’re done here."
She rises to her feet, turns to do as she’s told, then stops and turns around to face me. "No."
21
Penny
His nostrils flare. His eyes burn. "Don’t defy me."
"Oh no, no, no, you don’t get to pretend you didn’t tell me what you did. You don’t get to share what happened with you and run scared again."
His gaze narrows. His shoulders bunch. His biceps flex, and I’m sure he’s going to split the seams of his shirt. "You’re calling me scared?"
"I’m calling you out on your posturing. You’re pretending what happened to you was nothing out of the ordinary. Like you could go through what you did and rejoin the rest of us without taking the time to understand what it did to you."
He draws himself to his full height, and his gaze turns to a sheet of glass. His features smooth out, and that mask he loves to show to the world is in place again. "It’s none of your business how I decide to live my life."
It feels like someone stabbed a dagger through my heart. The pain is instantaneous and excruciating. I draw in a sharp breath and grip the end of the desk until the blood flow to my fingers is cut off. "Thank you for putting me in my place, Mr. Warren." I pick up the sheet of paper and turn to leave.
"Penny, stop."
The sound of my name from his lips sends a ripple of sensations coiling up my spine. It’s the first time he’s called me by my name, and it feels more intimate than all the times he touched me. I pause, because of course, I would. I can’t not when he’s ordered me to. But I don’t turn around. I can’t. Not when he’ll see the tell-tale sheen in my eyes and the way the blood has drained from my face. Not to mention, how pinched my features must be right now. I manage to straighten my spine and stare straight ahead.
I hear him blow out a breath, then his footsteps approach. He pauses behind me, and the hair on the nape of my neck rises. He’s not standing close to me, yet I feel the heat of his presence keenly, as if he’s wrapped his thick arms around me and pulled me into his chest and—I shake my head to clear it.
This… salivating after him has to stop. He’s not mine. Will never be. In fact, he doesn’t even think of me as anything but an employee to do his bidding. Sure, I find him sexy, and he’s the most charismatic man I’ve ever met. He’s also the most complex, and the most unreadable. If he hadn’t let slip a little of what he’s been through, I’d have never guessed the extent to which he was hurt during the time he was taken prisoner. And everything in me wants to do everything in my power to alleviate his pain. Which is crazy. He doesn’t want it. He’d probably reject it. But my stupid, soft heart can’t stop itself from empathizing with what he’s gone through.
"I’m sorry," he says in a low voice. A soft voice. A voice I’ve never heard him use before. Oh, he’s tender with his sister, but even with her, he’s never revealed the frustration, the suffering, the sheer torture I can hear in his words now. "Forgive me for being a complete ass. I’ve forgotten what it is to live in polite society."
I shake my head. "I’d rather you be authentic than put on a veneer of politeness. Not that I’d ever expect you to censor your thoughts."
There’s silence, then I sense him nod. "You’re not as fragile as you look."
I half chuckle, then turn to glance at him over my shoulder. "You think?"
