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Although I must admit, it was more than entertaining to get him so loose-tongued today and the past couple of days. And yes, I will take full credit for taking that controlled mask off his face.
I have a thousand emails to answer, a recipe to finalize, and instructions to send out for the new restaurant I am opening in London, but all I can do is sit across from him and watch as he sleeps. Watch his eyes flutter softly, watch the slow, shallow breaths he takes. Watch and envy his peace.
I haven’t slept like that in…ever.
Instinctively, my hand curls under my ribcage, reminding me why my peace is gone and why I will never have it again. The dreams of the simple life no longer exist for me, and I will blame Vassar for putting them in my head.
He puts way too many foolish ideas in my head.
Like the one where I want to drag my fingers through his hair. And I do it, earning a soft moan from his lips.
Where I want to get one more taste of those soft lips. And I do it, pressing my mouth to his while he is soundlessly sleeping.
Or when I drape a blanket over him, tucking him in because every fiber in my body screams that he is mine.
I’ve been called many things in life, but this man makes me crazy. Because five hours later, as we make our descent into LAX, I still refuse to take a sip of water or lick my parched lips. Because if I do, the taste of my Vassar will be gone.
“So, what have they done?” Vassar asks as we approach BluBerry.
“I was told a whole shipment of lychee liquor and calcium lactate have gone missing.”
“The whole shipment? But that’s full palates of that stuff. You use calcium lactate in fifty percent of your cocktails.” Astonished by his knowledge, I nod.
“Exactly. And that is a lot of money. Also, a lot of money that I lost in last night’s service. So, if you’d like to send a silent prayer for whoever is responsible, by all means do.” I push the door open. “They will need it.”
“Fuck that. I just might help you carry out the body,” he mumbles under his breath, but I hear it anyway, and a smile absolutely does not pull up on the corners of my mouth.
But a minute later, my smile is wiped clean by the sight in front of me. Us. Because I am fairly certain I am not the only shocked with my jaw on the floor right now, based on Vassar’s suddenly stiff posture as hundreds of cameras click and clack around us.
Yes, you heard me right. There are photographers inside my club. Many, many photographers, but that’s not all. There is also another person with a scowl on his face, standing on what looks like a sea of white rose petals. I mean, his feet are literally submerged in them.
And he clearly expected me to show up alone.
“What the fuck is going on here?” I can’t even help my words as they tumble out of me. “For the love of your own lives, stop taking the damn pictures and leave the premises of my club this instant!” But to the surprise of no one, they all stay. Now evenmore eager to get the front-page story I am about to dish out to them for free.
“Sweetheart, come here,” Steven-fucking-clinger smiles disgustingly sweetly, extending his arm to me as if I am some blushing bride walking towards her Prince Charming.
“Steven.” I take one steading breath because I am a second—no, a millisecond—from blowing up. “I am giving you ten minutes to clean it all up here and escort yourself alongside everyone else out of here. Ten minutes, Steven. After that, I am calling in the cops for trespassing.”
“Kira, please, come here. I love you, sweetheart. You know I do, and you love me too.”
“Nine minutes. And you should treat that delusion of yours. I heard it can cause permanent damage.”
“Kira, Goddammit. Do you have to be like this now?” He spreads his arms wide as if I forgot how many paparazzi he had invited to this shit show.
“Eight minutes.”
“You will still be mine!” Everyone freezes, eyes locked on us. What was clearly supposed to be a romantic surprise proposal just turned into an open-door war on my end. But I do what I do best. I ignore them all and move towards my manager’s office, who is living out his last hours because this is the most ridiculous setup I’ve ever encountered, and now I am mad. So. So. So mad.
And nothing short of his blood dripping down this hallway will do it for me.
Only Vassar is locked in place. His brown eyes are downright black and scream bloody murder, and then he takes a step towards Steven. What is he doing?
“Why aren’t you moving yet?” he says through clenched teeth and glaring eyes. “You better start moving because I don’t give a damn that you are this huge hockey guy. I will take you downif you as much as breathe my girl’s way. She is mine and only mine, and you were nothing more than a sad placeholder. Are we clear?”
Oh, fuck…
I think my panties just self-combusted.
