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But by the time I get home and go through my regular routine before bed, my thoughts are consumed by Kira in a way I can’t handle. All I want is another touch, another word-sparing, another taste of her. Why the fuck did I mess up my life this much…
I must quit. I need to find another job before I let this fake relationship scheme get too far before she ruins me beyond the flimsy repair job I did after my ex.
Chapter twenty-one
Kira
Song: Cashmere Cat, Ariana Grande – Quit
He fucking left me again. And I don’t just mean the humiliation that happened in the storage room in BluBerry. No, he left me alone after work when he clearly knows the rules and where he needs to spend the night. Especially since now that the media is out for my head.
That’s it. He’s signed his death certificate, and now I will dash out his reward.
I left for a minute to collect myself. To give myself a lecture in my office. To calm my burning mind after hearing him talk to his girlfriend in the breakroom earlier. Calling her his Angel again.
I gave myself one moment to spiral, and he used it to escape.
No wonder he ran away from me with guilty, hurt eyes even before we have done anything. At first, I thought he noticed my little slip-up when he spanked me. I thought I freaked him out by clamping up in that moment, but no, it’s just about her.
I didn’t speak to him at all, afraid he would ask for some answers.You, little fool, Kira.As if anyone would care about your feelings. As if anyone would ask why slightly rough foreplay made your blood-pumping muscle freeze in fear.
He doesn’t know I was trained to fear it…to brace for the impact that came next. And he won’t.
I might have lashed out at the poor employees who were still there after I found him missing, and I might’ve heard one of them cry after I called her an incompetent idiot with two left feet instead of hands when, in reality, she just won an award for world’s best baker, but who cares. I had kept silent the whole service, and that unleashed fury wanted out.
I planned on saving most of it for him, though, So she can cry me a fucking river and quit if she wants, but no one would. No one leaves my restaurant because this is it for them. Apart from owning your own place—which isn’t what most of them want—this is as top as you can get. So, like I said, who the fuck cares…
I have a waitlist long enough to cover this whole floor of new chefs begging for a spot in any one of my restaurants.
But what I do seem to care about is one ridiculous, way-too-put-together yet with a secret unhinged side, hot Sous-chef of mine.
No, excuse me, a fake boyfriend of mine who still doesn’t understand what that really means. I thought he did. I thought he wants it the same way I do. I swear I saw the lust and desire in his brown eyes. And there is no way I could mistake his protectiveness over me when Steven pulled that fucking show. And for a second, I allow myself to see a future where we could please one another for however long we want. But I was wrong.
And that is why I find myself standing on the sidewalk in front of a building that should have been knocked down ages ago, if you ask me.
I pull out my phone and double-checked the information I found in his file. Yes, this is the right place, but how in the world does he live here? Don’t I pay him more than enough to have upgraded from this shit hole?
I guess I will get my answers in a few seconds. As well as getting to meet the little girlfriend of his. And maybe strangle her while I’m at it, too.
Just a little bit.
Until she realizes that Vassar is mine, even though he doesn’t want to be.
I take the stairs with a new sense of urgency. What if she is taking care of what I made him feel earlier today in that storage room. That is all mine and mine alone. And no, I don’t care how I sound. I always get what I want. Or that is how I made it work in my life after the shitty start I had.
Finally, I reach his floor, taking in the old wooden doors with brass numbers on them, which have long lost their original color. I take in the naked bulbs hanging off of the ceiling to meekly light up the hallway. I take in the peeling paint and chirps.
And a wave of old memories hits me like a ghost pepper exploding in my mouth. Those little devils share the flaming capabilities with my past. They both set me on fire, and not in a good way.
I quickly shake off the shiver, trying to run up my back—now is not the time for that walk in the graveyard. Especially after I already propped open the gate to it earlier today.
I lift up my hand to knock on his door. Except I knock once, twice, three times, but no one opens the door, and that anger that was chased off by my stupid memories comes back, flaring to life with a new force.
He is probably too busy fucking his girlfriend with that hard-onIgifted him. She is riding out the pleasure that rightfully belongs tome. His hands roaming over her body when it should bemine. Maybe she is moaning out his name so loud they can’t hear me fucking knocking when his name can only come out ofmymouth. His mouth is on hers, and she probably doesn’t freak out when he slapsherass, and that’s when I lose it…
Suddenly, the old, dirty hallway is gone from my vision and all I see is red.
God, I hate that fucking color.
