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Ihad no idea howIlet it progress this far, but the truth was irrefutable.Icraved these moments.MomentswhereIcould watch her, and she didn’t hate me or my family for tarnishing the famousAmbaniname or publicly accusing her of being a bastard.
Itook the measured steps to put enough distance between us, butImade several mistakes today, barely containing myself in my excitement.Thisgirl had me twisted from the inside out.Ihad been obsessing over her whereabouts and forgot what it was like to look at her.Itwas blowing my fucking mind the thingsImissed about her until they were no longer in front of me.
Wasshe always this beautiful, or did she seem different today?
Fuck, what wasIdoing?Shewas fifteen, andIwas twenty-two.Evenwithout our families in the mix, this obsession of mine was downright sick.IfIpursued her, ifIdid anything with her,Iwould fuck up her childhood worse thanIalready have.Thatwasn’t me.Ididn’t hurt children.
Likethe devil, my mind whispered that she wouldn’t always remain a teenager.She’dtransform in a few short years.EverythingaboutPoppyhad already changed in the weeksIdidn’t see her.Shewas more beautiful, more sexual.Therewas a sway in her hips that didn’t exist before.Iwas probably making this shit up in my fucked-up head, butIcouldn’t stop the thoughts from forming.AllbecauseIforgot how great it felt being near her.
Myfingers itched to touch her, though pining after her was useless.Thecompeting company, fueled by my uncle and the damn algorithmIcreated, plummetedAmbaniCorpover the last few months.Itried stopping it, butHenryasserted the company owned my intellectual property.Therewas nothingIcould do about it untilItook over asCEO.
Neverhad another man hated his creation more.Ittook away the only woman who mattered to me.Poppyhated my rotten family for systematically ruining her father’s untouched legacy and her birthright, me most of all for creating the software.Sheloathed this face.IfIcould take it off,Iwould do it for her in a heartbeat.I’ddo anything to lessen her suffering.
Nonetheless, no matter how much she hated me,Poppywas already mine.
So, over the next few years, whenPoppyreturned to the tattoo parlor and added another line to the back of her neck, my skin was also permanently marked.Everytime she wasn’t around,Icouldn’t help rubbing my neck as if touching the tattoo brought me closer to her.
Itwas the same every year.Shetattooed herself on the anniversary of her father’s death, and she drank herself silly on the anniversary of her grandmother’s death.Whichleft me with the same burning question.
HowdidPoppyfind comfort onZaneandPiya’sanniversary?
ChapterTwenty-Two
POPPY
Itwaslate afternoon whenDamon'scompany plane touched down on the tarmac ofLasVegasAirport.Beforeboarding,Itexted my cousins to crash with them in caseIcouldn’t find a rental by tomorrow.
Noresponse.
MaybeMomfollowed through and told them about my recent liaison with aMaxwell, so they were shunning me.Thebetrayal only fueled my fire, andIspent the journey seething and looking for a new home using the terrible in-flightWi-Fi.Mysearch yielded limited results.
Damonwas also busy emailing and coordinating details on the phone about something.Iwas sharing his space, yet it felt strangely natural and a window into life with this man.Ourfocus only deviated whenDamon’seyes landed on me, which happened often.Theywere constantly undressing me.Theway he watched me between his laptop screen and multitasking, you’d think watching me was second nature to him.Therewas a heat simmering between us that seemed ready to blow the lid of the boiling pot.
Threemen also joined us on the flight, each introducing themselves as part of his security team.BodyguardsprotectingDamonwas like flushing money down the drain.Thosemen couldn’t have a more pointless job, given thatDamonwas bigger and towered over them.Isuspected he would’ve forgone security hadInot been on this trip with him.The“bodyguards” disappeared when we landed, butIknew they followed us in a rental car.
Meanwhile, a sleek limousine picked us up.Wesurrendered our bags to the chauffeur, who introduced himself asMigueland informed us the car was at our disposal for the evening.Hedrove us to the hotelSophiepinned for me whenItexted her about my impromptu trip.Miguelskirted past the main entrance, veering toward a clandestine area with three imposing letters:VIP.
Everyaspect of this excursion seemed meticulously preplanned, superseding a spontaneous trip.YetDamonhad a statement prepared wheneverIpointed it out.Hehad a pre-packed bag in his trunk, whichDamonclaimed was a byproduct of his unpredictable travel schedule.WhenImentioned it was impossible to charter a private plane so quickly,Damoninsisted the plane was always on standby for him andCaden.
Eventually,Idropped the subject.
Theelevator doors revealed a gigantic hotel lobby vibrating withVegasenergy.Theair was thick with anticipation and chattering voices, punctuated by the occasional jingle of slot machines.Aswe walked through the maze of flashing lights,Ipulled my phone out ofDamon'sbomber jacket, still draped around me.Mythumbs swiped across the screen to the text thread withSophie.Shehadn’t responded to my last two texts.
Me:I'mhere.
Me:Whereare you?
"What'swrong?"Damonasked, watching me tinker with the phone.
Iglanced up at him, neck craning at the reminder he was freakishly tall when compared to my five-foot frame. "ImessagedSophiebefore we took off.Shetexted me the hotel address but hasn’t responded since.”
Damondidn't appear the least bit surprised. "She’sprobably getting drunk at some day party.Trycalling her."
Thephone on the other end rang once, twice, repeatedly, before going to voicemail.Istared at the device like it was my enemy. "Don'ttell me we came all this way, and now she's too drunk to meet up."
Damontried to hide his amusement. "Whatdid you expect?It'sSophie."
Damn.Hewas right.
