Page 27 of Mine to Ruin

“You either control yourself or you’re out,” he shouts.

I clench and unclench my fists, breathe through my nose, and storm away.

Back in my penthouse, I pour myself a tumbler of whiskey and slump into an armchair.

Why did she crash into my life and plant this storm inside me? I shut my eyes and rub my temple.

I always got what I wanted. I fought, earned respect, and raised from the ashes of a victim to a phoenix of a survivor.

And still, one plea from the woman who begrudgingly raised me, and I back off, letting go of my chance with my dream woman, because this is what I always do when it comes to him, sacrifice anything for him—have sacrificed so much for him already.

I will stay away this fucking time, even if I have to chain myself to my damn office.

Chapter 10

Ellia

One day chases the other, a routine settling in, with no sign of Kian, again. I step out of the elevator on the restaurant floor and take in the various culinary offerings. The smell of rice and vegetables stir-fry draws me in. Chatting to Lorene in the lunch line for takeout, I reveal that I love Georgia O’Keeffe, and that her art has always inspired me.

“So why Las Vegas?” she asks.

“There is something about the red rocks and endless heat and it’s only a few hours away from my parents’ place.” I shrug. “It reminds me of the landscapes O’Keeffe did. Vegas brings out a new inspiration for me.”

“The city that never sleeps, that’s why I came here,” she shares with a conspiring smile.

Brandon appears from nowhere like the ninja he is. Lorene’s phone rings and she moves away to take the call.

“Guess who has a personal gallery of O’Keeffe’s art?” Brandon leans into me, whispering in my ear.

“No way. Where?”

“In his penthouse, the third room on the left.”

“I want to see it!”

“If I can snatch his card, you’re telling me you’d go in?” He taps his chin, not hiding his disbelief.

To see O'Keeffe’s painting… He has no idea.

“Of course, I would.”

Skepticism bounces in his hazel eyes, and I add, “I would.”

Back in my studio, I catch myself craning my neck now and then, only for frustration to spread through me whenever the door opens and it’s not Kian.

Just as I am about to lock the studio, Brandon comes to a screeching halt in front of me, his hands on his knees, panting.

“I have it.”

“What?”

“His card.”

He dangles it in front of me, and nerves twist my stomach, but also excitement. I stretch my palm out, and he drops it in my hand.

“You have at least four hours. He’s at a fundraiser with Melanie.” My heart constricts in my chest with the sudden hurt, and my shoulders sag.

He clasps my shoulders and says, “Feel free to mess with his perfect setup. The idiot deserves that.”

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