Page 40 of Scorpion

I have never felt so dehumanized before. Part of me wants to hurt him for hurting me. The other part is saying that this was always how it was meant to be, and that I deserve this pain. The last part—the practical part—is saying that this is it. I need to stay professional and it’s my fault for getting my emotions involved.

Really, I should never have let it get this far. The second he put his hand on me, I should have drawn the line. Now look where it’s gotten me. Accompanying my ex to his motherfucking date when I had his come dripping out of me less than forty-eight hours ago.

I just need to be here for another month, then I’ll be able to leave and get a job in another city. Forget all about the past few months working for him, and how it’s made me feel more like a living, breathing human.

So I don’t hate him for the reminder when his charity is the main reason I’ve been getting out of bed in the morning lately.

One night of watching him wine and dine another woman won’t kill me. And if he sends me a midnight message asking if I feel like hanging out? I’ll deal with it. Professionalism will be my middle name. I’ve been through a hell of a lot worse.

Swallowing my pride, I put on the ridiculously pretty forest-green outfit Mathijs left for me. It’s the most impractical getup he could ever get his bodyguard to wear. There’s zero way I could put up a good fight in it.

It’s a struggle to zip up the satin bandeau by myself, but the chiffon wrap skirt is easy enough to work out. The final article of clothing is another piece of chiffon fabric that I can’t work out. This entire outfit has to cost at least a weeks’ salary. There’s intricate beading all over it and heavy gold bangles, earrings, and arm cuffs that suffocate my biceps and make me look somewhere north of a million bucks.

I slip my arm through the cutout and pull the other side over my head so the fabric drapes across my body from one shoulder, displaying the sun tattooed on my shoulder and the tiger crawling down my forearm.

What kind of establishment are we going to that requires this level of grandeur? I look more like I’m going to a ball than a dinner I’m playing security at. This dress is hardly practical if I have to chase someone down. Honestly, how in the fuck does he expect me to ride a bike in this dress?

I throw on some makeup, strap a gun and a knife to my thigh, then hide another in the matching gold purse. Here’s to hoping that there won’t be any pat downs where we’re going. I’m not on board with guarding from a distance while weaponless, and I might throw up if I have to be close by while he schmoozes another woman. Here’s to also hoping that I can get a sweet middle.

Why was there no warning for our team to scope out the place first?

Why the hell does he need me to be there while he flirts up some woman who, by all accounts, was made for this type of world? Maybe she’s going to be my future employer.

Grinding my teeth, I throw on my coat and try not to stomp up to the main house in my heels. Heels. Is he kidding me?

Fuck this.

I should suggest that this is a task Sergei would be more suitable to because I can’t stand there and watch—no. I can do this. I’m a professional. I survived a goddamn bomb that killed my best friend, then lost my sister a couple of days later. I lost my sister and best friend in the same week.

This? It’s nothing. Nothing.

I school my expression and will my body to relax, even though the only mode of transport will be the SUV, just to make matters abundantly worse than they already are. There’s no use wasting energy convincing myself that maybe we’d take a helicopter to the destination, or something equally as absurd. My only hope is to convince myself that I’m not back there.

The car isn’t going to explode.

No one is going to die.

TJ can’t die again.

Gaya is already gone.

I’ll be fine.

I make eye contact with Sergei as soon as I enter the foyer to ascend the stairs to Mathijs’s office.

“Outside,” is all the head of security says.

Swallowing the building panic, I nod at the door. I would take the juvenile jealousy and disappointment over this bone-deep fear clawing through my soul. I keep repeating the useless assurances to myself as I climb down the front steps toward the convoy. My knees wobble with the closing distance, but the call of my name makes me stop and change course toward Mathijs.

My mind flashes with memories of our time in the forest, and an ache starts in my core.

He’s glowing. He has been since we… rekindled. His smile is so bright, I almost stumble back from the shock. Dressed in a suit that makes him look straight out of a magazine, every inch of him is styled to utter perfection. Every strand of hair is exactly where it’s meant to be. I always thought that he’s the most attractive man that I’ve ever laid my eyes on. Seeing him beam the way he is now… no one will ever compare. Whatever beauty he has is rooted inside him as well.

But he isn’t mine.

Mathijs smirks knowingly as he stands next to the neon green Bugatti.

I stare at it for a moment in an attempt to work out why it’s out of the garage. The realization makes me glare at him.

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